Page 16 of The Shadows We Keep

Then a slight movement on the left catches my gaze. Straining my eyes against the darkness, it becomes clearer. His hand moves slowly up and down in his lap, stroking what I can only imagine is his hard length.

Tracing my fingers down between my breast, they graze softly against my flat stomach before my breath hitches as I circle my clit. Gripping the curtains with my free hand, I pull as the euphoric sensation rises in my core as I work by body into a frenzy.

As much as I want to close my eyes and relish in the high, I can’t tear them from the dark shadow across the way. The longer I stare out into the dark, the clearer my erotic live performance becomes.

His movements get faster, his free hand reaching down to cup his sac. What I wouldn’t do to be on my knees in front of him. To be the one pulling the pleasure he’s feeling from his body. Slickness coats my inner thighs. I push harder against the bundle of nerves, causing a zing of pleasure to rush down my spine to my toes.

My breathing picks up and I moan out his name as the wave of pleasures crests and sends me over the edge. My legs buckle, I grip the curtains tighter to catch myself except my weight is too much for them and the clips pop one after the other, pulling free the fabric as it falls to my feet.

In all the commotion, a quick movement pulls my attention from the mess at my feet. His head snaps up and I swear his eyes meet mine. His body jerks in the chair as his fist slows and his body slouches. I realize that while my room is dark, the red tint from my lamp is silhouetting my figure for him.

I should move, pick up the curtains and cover myself, but everything in my head is telling me to let him get his fill. We’re at an impasse of voyeurism meet exhibitionism, and I’m almost regretful that I got the perfect show, while he got nothing.

He stands, tucking himself away, and steps toward the glass. Drawing up, he presses his palm flat against the window. So close to the window the darkness from outside hides his features in shadows, but his piercing gaze doesn’t stray from my direction.

I turn, giving him my back. Walking slowly, my hips sway to the beat of my own seductive song as I twist the knob on the lamp, plunging my room into total blackness.

* * *

Throwingmy arm across my eyes, I groan my displeasure.

Why is it so damn bright in here?

My head pounds and my stomach revolts. I strain my dry eyes open into slits and smack my parched mouth.Jesus, I feel like shit.Slowly rolling toward the assaulting light, I’m reminded of the night before and the curtains that pile on my floor.

I want to pull the comforter over my head and ignore the daylight hours, but my bladder protests. I finish up in the bathroom, wiping my hands against the damp towel from my shower the night before. Pulling my blood red silk robe from the hook on the back of the door, I cloak my body in the light fabric and pad toward the kitchen with one thing on my mind.

The delicious sweet, nutty aroma of my pour over coffee fills my body with the slightest bit of energy before I’ve even had a sip. There is something so meditative about making my morning coffee.

As the precious drips of liquid slowly fill my favorite oversized mug, I snag a few more aspirin from the bottle on the counter, placing them next to my mug so I can take them in a couple of minutes.

The pile of unopened mail stares up at me mockingly. I swipe through it lazily. Junk. Junk. Bill. More Junk. And then it happens again. The little white card falls free from in between the flyers for local businesses. I don’t have to move it to see his next message to me.

He shouldn’t have touched what’s mine.

A smile creeps onto my face. It shouldn’t please me, but it does. I’ve wanted him longer than he’ll ever know. Before she was dead. Before he moved to New York. Before I’d had the experience of being next to him in an enclosed space, hearing his deep voice.

But this isn’t enough. It isn’t me he wants. It’s only the reminder of her that spurs him on. I finger the thick card stock, wanting to put it with my other two notes from him. I grab my steaming cup of coffee, palming the card against the mug to carry them both to my room while I pop my pain pills.

Curling up at the top of my bed against the wall, relaxing into the softness while sipping on my life water, I look down at his card again. Except this time, it’s not only his sharp handwriting, I see. A design of some sort spans the background. But it’s slowly disappearing the longer I stare at it.

What the hell?

And then it’s gone.

I blink slowly.

Was I seeing things or was there really something else there? What if it was another message from him? That thought spurs a desire in me to figure it out. I think back to a couple of minutes ago. What was I doing that could have made it change?

Taking another sip of my coffee, it dawns on me. The coffee, I had it up against my hot coffee cup. I slap the card against my coffee mug, a little too forcefully, and the liquid sloshes spilling down the side and over my hand.

I pull the card away quickly; heaven forbid I ruin the secret message or distort his handwriting. But the faint outline of the logo is back.

Yes! That’s it.

The heat from the mug makes the image viewable to the naked eye.

My coffee’s cooling by the second. Instead of trying again, I shove the empty mug on my nightstand and run to the bathroom with the card in hand. Dropping it to the counter and pulling open the vanity drawers, I dig to the bottom where my rarely used hair dryer lies in a tangle of cords, covered in broken makeup powders.

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