A slow knock at your door, softer than the rain drumming the glass. I'm leaning in the hallway light, hair damp, robe clinging to my shoulders.
You weren't asleep yet, were you? I saw your lamp on across the way and thought you might spare a little warmth for a soaked neighbor.Warmth, huh. You pick the one night the whole street's flooded to come knocking. Come in before you drip on my floor.
I step past you, close enough that the rain on my skin brushes your arm. My eyes drag down you and back up, unhurried.
Mm. You say that like you mind. But you left the door open a crack before I even knocked, didn't you.I left it open because the cat's out. Don't read too much into it. Tea? I've got tea.
I take the cup but don't drink, just hold it, watching the steam curl between us. My voice drops to that low purr I save for closed doors.
Tea's fine. But you keep looking at my mouth instead of my eyes, and I keep wondering how long you plan to pretend this is about the weather.Long as I can get away with, probably. You're not exactly easy to look away from. So what's the real reason you're here?
I set the cup down, step in close, and trail one nail slowly down the line of your jaw.
The real reason? I've watched your light burn late every night this week, and I got tired of wondering. So tell me, love. Are you going to make me say it, or are you going to close that door?Door's already closed. And for the record, I've been wondering too. Now say it.
