I woke in the morning and she wasn’t beside me. I checked the time and it was still early. I heard the shower running, I laid back in bed against the pillow that still smelled like her. Then I got an excellent idea. A shower sounded like a great way to start off the morning.

I stepped out of bed and put my feet on the floor. I went ice cold. Wet. It was wet, and water poured out from under the bathroom door. Bile rose in my throat as I stood frozen, memories I’d tried my hardest to forget assaulting me from every direction.

“Rachel,” I called out, but got no response. I could barely breathe. I raced to the door and tried to turn the handle. It was locked. More water came pouring out from under the door. I slammed my hand against it.

The door was wrenched open and Rachel stood there sopping wet and in a towel. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her to me, my heart thudding so loudly, I was sure she could hear it.

“Kill, I’m sorry. The stupid curtain went outside the shower and I didn’t even notice. I soaked your bathroom,” she said, muffled against my chest. I kissed the top of her hair.

“It’s fine. I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re okay.” She pulled back and I relaxed my hold on her to let her.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? Are you okay? You’re shaking.” She ran her hands along my arms.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I said, clearing my throat, pushing aside the emotion that had bunched there. Relief replacing dread. She stood in front of me in nothing but that towel and I needed to really feel her. “Are you going to finish your shower?”

“Yeah, I’ll dry the floor first. Sorry again.”

“It’s fine. I’ll join you.”

“In cleaning the bathroom?”

“In showering,” I said, giving her a look. Her eyebrows scrunched and then shot up a mile high.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. I’ll go get some towels and join you.” She smiled and dropped her towel before stepping back into the shower.

* * *

I jumped up from my chair at the thumping knock at my door. Without checking the peephole, I opened it and came face to face with a familiar sight. A slightly mussed and a little sweaty Rachel. This time her hands were filled with two grocery bags.

“Hey,” I said, staring at her, my hand still on the door. I hadn’t invited her. I’d put myself on a self-imposed Rachel embargo.

“Hey. I know you didn’t invite me over, but I got out of work early and I wanted to cook something for you,” she said, adjusting the bags in her hands. “Is…is that okay? I know you didn’t invite me over and I know…I shouldn’t have come.” She turned to leave.

“No!” I shouted, making her jump and reaching for the bags. “No, come in.” With any other woman, I would have slammed the door in her face and been sure to let building security know to never let her back up. But she’d given me the perfect excuse. I hadn’t had to call her. She showed up on her own. I tried not to think about her other motives for being at my apartment. I was just happy she was.

I set the bags on the kitchen counter and started helping her unpack everything. At the sound of bottles clanking in one of the bags, I raised an eyebrow at her.

“I noticed that you like scotch, so I thought we could try a little whisky and dessert pairing.”

I pulled out three bottles. A bottle of Scottish whisky aka Scotch, Irish whiskey, and bourbon. A lot of people didn’t realize they were all whiskies. I was impressed.

The labels on the bottles screamed vintage. Again, I wondered just what she was doing working for Rhys. But she was oblivious.

“I have three different desserts to go with the whiskies. A cinnamon apple tart for the Scotch, a dark chocolate soufflé for the Irish, and bourbon cream brownies for the bourbon,” she said, turning around and acquainting herself with my kitchen. I sat back and watched her work. She even brought an apron. After drinking over at least a quarter of a bottle of each, we talked about how our days had gone, leaving out the obvious elephant in the room, and we discussed what we would be doing for Christmas.

“You’re just going to stay here by yourself?” she asked, glancing around at my apartment, like the apartment that took up a quarter of the whole floor was lacking.

“The city is full of things to do. Don’t worry. I won’t be all alone. There are thousands of others like me wandering the streets with empty stockings, shuffling along until we find the perfect spot in the park to lay down and cry.” I took a bite of one of the dark chocolate brownies she put on a plate in front of me.

The explosion of deep, dark chocolate brought out the sweetness of the smoky whisky. She stood in front of me with her hands wrapped around a kitchen towel, waiting for my response.

“It’s okay,” I said, hiding my smile. Her face dropped and she plucked a card from the counter.

“Only okay? Damnit. I followed the recipe,” she said, running her finger down the recipe card.

“I think I know what might have been missing.” Her head popped up.

“What?” She glanced around the counter.

“Come here,” I said, gesturing with my finger. She leaned over the counter and I dragged her up over it, pulling her to me. She yelped as I lifted her up and plastered my mouth to hers. A moan broke free from her throat.

“Yeah, I think that’s what was missing. It tastes so much better on you,” I said, feeding her some of the brownie. And the mischievous glint was back in her eye.

After that night things changed. I don’t know how or why, but they did.

Rachel came to my apartment every night. I didn’t even have to tell her to come. She’d show up looking rumpled and ruffled with her bag slung over her shoulder filled with clothes for the next day. I’d take it off her and we’d fuck against the wall right by the door. Other nights she would be the aggressor, pushing me back against the wall and blowing me before even saying hello. She was a woman on a mission. I thought that first time was a fluke, but the minute I threaded my fingers through her hair and she took me in her mouth, I only ever lasted a few minutes tops. She’d pop up from her knees, so pleased with herself. Those were the nights I ate her until she begged for me to stop. I had to show I could give as good as I got.

Sometimes I’d make dinner. Feed her before I fucked her. Sometimes it was hard and fast and other times it was slower, but every time, I kept waiting for the moment where it was enough. Where her smile, laughs, kisses were no longer a fascination for me. Where I could close the door after she left and know it would be the last time, but that never happened. I was more and more addicted. I texted her throughout the day. I hurried home after work in case she could leave early.

I didn’t like it. I didn’t like her having this control over me. This power I didn’t know how to get back, and what was worse, I didn’t know if I wanted it back. I didn’t know how to cure my impossible obsession with Rachel.

Rachel: I can’t come over tonight

Me: Why not?

Rachel: I’m going to an exhibition for Dahlia tonight and I need to be at work early tomorrow. By the time I got to you after, there wouldn't be any time to get sleep and make it to work on time.

Me: What if I come to you? Stay at your place?

I held my breath. Was I really this fucking needy? I couldn’t have one night away from her? But I didn’t take it back. I didn’t send a message saying ‘never mind’. I waited, my heart pounding in my chest as the waves crept higher and higher, threatening to drown me. Rising, ready to overwhelm me as the three little dots appeared on my screen.

Rachel: You want to stay at my place?

Me: Do I ever do anything I don’t want to do?

Rachel: No

Me: Then I’m coming to you.

Rachel: The exhibition is at 6, so I’m heading home at 5. See you there

She sent me her address and the code for the door lock in case I got there first. I wrapped up in the office, pushing everything off until tomorrow. The light feeling was back. The glowing ball in my chest grew with each step I took closer to her. It was a big step to go to her place. I didn’t think I’d been over to a woman’s place since high school.

* * *

I climbed the steps to her apartment, and looked at the digital lock. Pretty high tech. I punched in the code and the lock turned. Before I could put my hand on the knob, the door was wrenched open. A tall woman with a ripped t-shirt showing off her bright orange lace bra opened the door and scowled at me. Her jeans were skin tight and ripped at the knee. The roommate.

“Hi. You must be Dahlia. I’ve heard a lot about you,” I said, extending my hand.

She glanced down like it was a bug and opened the door wider so I could step in. She closed the door behind me and crossed her arms over her chest.

“So, you’re the elusive Killian.” She pushed off the door frame and stalked toward me, her sky-high heels pounding against the floor with each step. Their downstairs neighbors must have loved her.

“That would be me,” I said, squirming under her scrutiny. I wasn’t generally thrown by anyone, especially not women, then again, they were usually trying to get into my pants. I didn’t think Dahlia had any designs on my dick, except to maybe castrate me.

“You’re coming to the exhibition tonight?”

“Yes, Rachel invited me.”

“She invited you, or you invited yourself along?” I almost faltered that she’d figured that out.

She grimaced. “The jury is still out on you. Rachel seems happy. Relaxed, so you get a pass for now, but don’t think I’m not looking out for her. And this isn’t the usual protective roommate bullshit. I will castrate you in your sleep if you fuck her over,” she said, advancing on me until my back bumped against the counter. I didn’t doubt her one bit. She reminded me of some of the women I knew in my neighborhood growing up.

The door flung open behind her and Rachel came tumbling into the room. Her arms full of a huge box and a bouquet of flowers. I stepped around venom incarnate to pluck the box from her arms.

“Thanks,” she said, breathy with a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. She looked adorable as always. I shifted the box in my arms, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Hey,” I said, pressing my lips to hers. Tasting her, drinking her in.

“Hey,” she said, breathlessly.

“Those for me?” Dahlia asked, plucking the flowers out of her hands. It was a bouquet of peonies in different colors. I’d never seen so many different hues in a bouquet before. Not that I spent much time looking at them.

“Yeah, shit, you weren’t supposed to be here. They were supposed to be a surprise,” Rachel said, huffing.

“I’ll just have to pretend to be surprised. I’m heading down to the gallery. I’ll see you there and make sure you wear the shoes,” Dahlia said, opening the door.

“I’m not wearing those heels outside of this apartment. I’ll kill myself.” Rachel’s eyes were wide and her voice went up an octave.

“The deal was, you wore the shoes outside these walls within two months of getting them and your time is almost up. If you don’t wear them tonight, they’re mine. Plus, I think Killian here will have no trouble making sure you don’t topple over. Just hold on tight to him,” she said, winking.

She slammed the door shut and I turned to Rachel.

“What shoes?” I asked, my eyebrow raised. She dropped her head.

“The ankle breakers.” She shook her head and trudged into her room. I wandered around her apartment. It reflected her perfectly. It was light and airy, things were a little mismatched, but each piece flowed together. It wasn’t until I came to the lamp on her end table that I did a double take. It was a Tiffany lamp. Antique. This thing was a few thousand dollars. I knew because Frankie had one in her office.

A thud behind me drew my attention. Rachel came wobbling down the hall, clinging onto the wall for dear life.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she warned, looking like she was trying so hard to stay upright. The couch blocked my view of her feet. Did she have on roller skates?

“What are you wearing?” I held back a laugh and rounded the couch. She straightened and leaned against the wall. Whatever she had on, she couldn’t wear it out, she’d kill herself. I glanced down at her feet and my mouth went dry. Fuck me, she's never taking those shoes off again. The high heels made her already mouthwatering legs look spectacular.

“I have to wear them or Dahlia’s going to rob them from my closet,” she said, straightening her skirt.

“I don’t know if you’re going to make it out of this apartment with those things on,” I said, stepping in close to her, my chest rubbing against hers. She glanced up at me, her face scrunched in confusion. She must have seen the look in my eyes because her cheeks pinked and she nibbled her bottom lip.

“I take it you like them,” she said, her breath catching. I remembered what she’d been thinking about that first night I took her from the club. When she thought I was taking her somewhere public.

“I’m going to fuck you in those shoes,” I said. And it was a promise.