It's 10.15 when a faint knock on the door rouses me out of the drowsy state
of half-awakeness. Sleepy, I stand up to open the door. A second impatient
knock greets me when my hand almost makes it to the doorknob. Whoever is
standing on the opposite side of the wooden barrier must be either very
impatient or angry enough to smash it.
It's Catherine who looks at me when I pull the door open.
Or just eager to see me again.
"Hey." A sweet smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
"Hey." I return her beam before stepping back to let her in.
Her shoulder brushes my arm as she passes me, carrying a brown bag of groceries. "I brought some breakfast," she explains without me even considering asking.
I nod at her back, then follow her to my kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I watch her moving around in the small space, opening this cabinet in search of sugar, opening that to stow away honey. Without batting an eyelid, she closes the fridge when four different kinds of take-out face her.
I love to see how easy she moves in my kitchen.
And I love how easy she makes me feel.
Finally, after everything is stowed away, and our breakfast is waiting for us, she comes to hold and looks at me. Her eyelids flutter like nervous birds as I brush a lost strand of hair out of her forehead. "Good morning," I say softly. It strikes me that we haven't been speaking a word since she entered my apartment.
Instead of answering, she mirrors my motion, placing a warm hand on my cheek. I lean into the touch, and close my eyes, relishing the simple contact.
"How was your night?" she asks when the silence threatens to grow loud inside the walls, her thumb gently stroking the skin above my temple.
"Quiet," I whisper back, reluctant to open my eyes. "Yours?"
She shrugs it off; I can feel the small movement through her hand before she uneasily withdraws it. "Rough. Do you mind if I take a shower?"
Sensing the changing of her mood, I open my eyes to have a close look at her. She won't tell me; it suddenly feels as if there's still the door between us. "Sure. Towels are under the sink. Oh, and Catherine?" Maybe I should ask her about the case.
Her eyes, reserved and tired, change my mind. "Nothing."
There's a rustling of cloth as her jacket lands on the counter before she disappears down the hall.
Soon the water starts. I imagine the warm droplets falling down onto Catherine's shoulders, running over her stomach, dripping off her legs, and I'm all but tempted to join her, to touch every bit of her skin the water is covering right now.
Instead, I prepare coffee and waffles.
Wet footsteps sound on the floor behind me, and before I can turn around, two just as wet arms slide around my waist. I feel my t-shirt getting damp as she leans against my back, her hair falling down onto my shoulders. I don't care about wetness. "Didn't take the time to dry yourself, huh?"
She smiles against my neck, pressing her lips gently against the sensitive skin. A featherlike touch, and yet it makes me jump. "Uh-uh. I thought you could give me a helping hand with that."
I turn around in her tight embrace to face her. "I'm sure I could." A small droplet wanders down her left shoulder, and I lean down to capture it with my lips, subsequently kissing my way up the side of her neck, over her chin, to kiss her fervently. She presses her body against mine, the contact sending shivers up and down my spine. No way to ignore her teasing.
I let my fingers travel over the small of her back, following her backbone, drawing the outline of her shoulder blades. She shivers in return.
"You'll get cold," I say, pulling back, and take the towel she left on the counter. "May I?"
She nods her agreement, already leaning into my touch. I begin to gently rub her dry, planting small kisses on her shoulders, breathing in her warm smell. She smells of my shower gel, and of something even better that is pure Catherine.
I take my time to dry her, tracing an invisible path over her body. Her skin is soft as silk, and my fingertips cause small goose bumps to rise on her forearms. She moans in protest when I stop at her ankles. I plant one last kiss on her left hip, straightening up, and hand her the towel. I wink at her, already heading for our breakfast.
Turning back around to pass her a plate, I find her standing in the middle of the room, the towel draped loosely around her hips. Redundant to mention that she wears nothing but that towel.
Now, this *is* a nice view!
Motionless, she looks at me, an unreadable expression in her eyes. Is it just my imagination, or is there a blush creeping up her neck into her cheeks?
Catherine finally breaks the silence, motioning at the waffles. "As much as I like the way you're staring at me, I feel like I'm starving. Let's... eat first, 'kay?" She moves closer, reaching for the plate. When she does so, I get hold of her wrist, leaning down to whisper into her ear, "I didn't stare.", relieved that I haven't lost my voice. Her hair tickles my nose.
Our lips briefly brush each other, and Catherine smiles against my mouth as she kiss me softly, every touch a silent promise, whispering back, "Oh yes, you did." She winks at me before withdrawing her hand.
It's Catherine who looks at me when I pull the door open.
Or just eager to see me again.
"Hey." A sweet smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
"Hey." I return her beam before stepping back to let her in.
Her shoulder brushes my arm as she passes me, carrying a brown bag of groceries. "I brought some breakfast," she explains without me even considering asking.
I nod at her back, then follow her to my kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I watch her moving around in the small space, opening this cabinet in search of sugar, opening that to stow away honey. Without batting an eyelid, she closes the fridge when four different kinds of take-out face her.
I love to see how easy she moves in my kitchen.
And I love how easy she makes me feel.
Finally, after everything is stowed away, and our breakfast is waiting for us, she comes to hold and looks at me. Her eyelids flutter like nervous birds as I brush a lost strand of hair out of her forehead. "Good morning," I say softly. It strikes me that we haven't been speaking a word since she entered my apartment.
Instead of answering, she mirrors my motion, placing a warm hand on my cheek. I lean into the touch, and close my eyes, relishing the simple contact.
"How was your night?" she asks when the silence threatens to grow loud inside the walls, her thumb gently stroking the skin above my temple.
"Quiet," I whisper back, reluctant to open my eyes. "Yours?"
She shrugs it off; I can feel the small movement through her hand before she uneasily withdraws it. "Rough. Do you mind if I take a shower?"
Sensing the changing of her mood, I open my eyes to have a close look at her. She won't tell me; it suddenly feels as if there's still the door between us. "Sure. Towels are under the sink. Oh, and Catherine?" Maybe I should ask her about the case.
Her eyes, reserved and tired, change my mind. "Nothing."
There's a rustling of cloth as her jacket lands on the counter before she disappears down the hall.
Soon the water starts. I imagine the warm droplets falling down onto Catherine's shoulders, running over her stomach, dripping off her legs, and I'm all but tempted to join her, to touch every bit of her skin the water is covering right now.
Instead, I prepare coffee and waffles.
Wet footsteps sound on the floor behind me, and before I can turn around, two just as wet arms slide around my waist. I feel my t-shirt getting damp as she leans against my back, her hair falling down onto my shoulders. I don't care about wetness. "Didn't take the time to dry yourself, huh?"
She smiles against my neck, pressing her lips gently against the sensitive skin. A featherlike touch, and yet it makes me jump. "Uh-uh. I thought you could give me a helping hand with that."
I turn around in her tight embrace to face her. "I'm sure I could." A small droplet wanders down her left shoulder, and I lean down to capture it with my lips, subsequently kissing my way up the side of her neck, over her chin, to kiss her fervently. She presses her body against mine, the contact sending shivers up and down my spine. No way to ignore her teasing.
I let my fingers travel over the small of her back, following her backbone, drawing the outline of her shoulder blades. She shivers in return.
"You'll get cold," I say, pulling back, and take the towel she left on the counter. "May I?"
She nods her agreement, already leaning into my touch. I begin to gently rub her dry, planting small kisses on her shoulders, breathing in her warm smell. She smells of my shower gel, and of something even better that is pure Catherine.
I take my time to dry her, tracing an invisible path over her body. Her skin is soft as silk, and my fingertips cause small goose bumps to rise on her forearms. She moans in protest when I stop at her ankles. I plant one last kiss on her left hip, straightening up, and hand her the towel. I wink at her, already heading for our breakfast.
Turning back around to pass her a plate, I find her standing in the middle of the room, the towel draped loosely around her hips. Redundant to mention that she wears nothing but that towel.
Now, this *is* a nice view!
Motionless, she looks at me, an unreadable expression in her eyes. Is it just my imagination, or is there a blush creeping up her neck into her cheeks?
Catherine finally breaks the silence, motioning at the waffles. "As much as I like the way you're staring at me, I feel like I'm starving. Let's... eat first, 'kay?" She moves closer, reaching for the plate. When she does so, I get hold of her wrist, leaning down to whisper into her ear, "I didn't stare.", relieved that I haven't lost my voice. Her hair tickles my nose.
Our lips briefly brush each other, and Catherine smiles against my mouth as she kiss me softly, every touch a silent promise, whispering back, "Oh yes, you did." She winks at me before withdrawing her hand.