Page 70 of Lotus

As the hours roll by, I take a quick shower and change my clothes as I prepare to head next door. Before I depart, I pause to look back at Athena, her dark, pleading eyes gleaming at me from between the thin metal bars. Her arm slips through and reaches out, and I know, without a doubt, that I am severely lacking in the willpower department.

“All right, Athena,” I sigh with defeat, unlocking her crate and silently begging for the animal to behave. “I’ll return in a few hours. Don’t cause trouble.”

I make sure the door closes and latches behind me, pushing against it just to be sure. Athena is already showing signs of domestication—I’m fairly certain she’ll be on good behavior.

A few minutes later, I’m letting myself into Sydney’s home, observing the sound of the showerhead turned on from one floor above me. Peeking at my cellular device, I note that I’m a bit early and decide to pass the time in Sydney’s bedroom while she finishes her shower. Her bed is made up, designed with a mandala print, colored in dark gray and robin’s egg blue. The room is adorned with funky posters showcasing her tastes, a light mint wall color, pillar candles, and various knick-knacks and quirky décor, everything coming together in a way that is perfectlySydney.

Taking a seat along the side of the bed, I fold my hands in my lap and wait, glancing absently around the room. My eyes land on her bedside table, distracted for a moment by the hypnotizing lava lamp, then shift to a novel with a bookmark peeking out halfway through. There’s an oddly shaped device sitting atop the book that has me furrowing my brows with curiosity.

That curiosity gets the better of me, and I reach for the object, studying it with a mix of intrigue and bewilderment. My thumb hits a button and the contraption bursts to life, buzzing and vibrating in my hands. I let go, startled, and it clatters to her hardwood floor, causing a ruckus. It must be some kind of electronic massager.

Fascinating.

I lean down to capture the device, fumbling to turn it off, then quickly discard it into the drawer of her nightstand. The adjacent book catches my eye, so I snatch it up and begin flipping through the pages, eager to uncover the kinds of stories Sydney enjoys.

It’s not long before the truth is revealed, and I’m torn between hiding the book along with the vibrating gadget, pretending to have never seen it, or continuing to read.

Goodness.

I have an assortment of burning questions to match the burning of my cheeks, but one, in particular, stands out:

What is a moist muffin?

I’m so absorbed in the erotic prose, I don’t even hear the shower turn off, nor the subsequent footsteps. However, I do hear the gasp of surprise from the bedroom doorway.

My head snaps up to find a wide-eyed Sydney standing a few feet away in only a t-shirt, her hair still damp, the water blotching the cotton fabric and dripping to the wood planks below.

I clear my throat, sitting up against the decorative pillows. “My apologies… I let myself in.”

She blinks, feet glued in place. “I could have walked in naked.”

“Yes, that would have been intensely awkward, I’d imagine.” I try hard not to imagine that very thing. “I saw your book and it looked compelling.”

Mouth twisting to the side, she heaves in a rattled breath. “I see that.”

“Your taste in literature is… unanticipated.” I’m afraid she’s going to scold me, but Sydney’s posture begins to soften, her chin dipping to her chest, soft laughter spilling from her lips. Book still in hand, I glance down at the open pages and begin to read a passage out loud: “She cups his warm balls in her trembling hand…”

The blush instantly appears as Sydney stalks over to me, her wet strands of hair leaving tiny droplets in their wake.

She tries to swipe the book from my clutches as she approaches, but I dodge her. “Why is the temperature relevant?” I inquire, a smile hinting.

A huff of exasperation, and possibly a semblance of embarrassment, is drawn from her lips. “It’s a description, Oliver. It pulls the reader into the scene.”

She reaches. I dodge. Holding the book high above my head, too high for her smaller stature, I clear my throat and tease, “They were a balmy seventy-two degrees.”

“Oliver!” Sydney leaps up onto her tiptoes, her laughter a bewitching contrast to the flush staining her cheeks, and tries, in vain, to retrieve the novel.

My own laughter competes with hers as I attempt to elude her flailing hands, and then she’s climbing on top of me, straddling my thighs. I lean back further, stretching my arm as far as it will go. “What is a moist muffin?”

“Stop!” Giggles rip through her body as she presses into me, her chest flush with my face, and she bounces up from my lap in a final effort to reclaim her book. “You areterrible,” she says with playful admonishment, her chilled hair whipping against my cheek as she collapses back down, empty-handed.

And then I realize my body seems to have registered the fact that her bottom half is covered in only a thin layer of underwear before my brain did. It’s when the apex of her thighs collides with the stiff bulge beneath my slacks, that I inhale a sharp gasp, a strained moan, and we both forget about the book.

Sydney freezes, the smile leaving her face in a way that’s slow and captivating, like how the sun sets behind the horizon after a glorious summer day. Her hands are settled on my shoulders, her fingers fisting into the fabric of my shirt sleeves, as if she’s trying to hold on tight to the easy, jaunty mood that has been snuffed out. It has fallen, just as the book falls from my grip and hits the mattress beside us, giving my hands the opportunity to grasp her hips instead. It’s a hold that is tantalizingly familiar.

It’s Sydney’s turn to release a shaky exhale; a lust-filled squeak. The sound is a shot of arousal straight to my groin. I decide in that moment, that if I could recreate even one of those scenes from her book, I would die a happy man.

Her eyes are closed, masking the truth she knows I’ll see in her dark pupils. “Syd…” I croak out, sliding my hands up her hips, her waist, until she catches them just as I reach her breasts.

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