The rooms were tidy; spotless, even. She liked it that way and yet the longer she paced through them alone, the more anxious she became. The apartment didn’t look homely enough; it suddenly seemed too clean and clinical. She stood and briefly considered the living room before hurrying to move things; putting vases out of place, pulling novels from their assigned bookcase positions and stacking them erratically on the shelves instead. She balanced a book on the arm of the sofa like it’d been absentmindedly forgotten there but doing so made her feel like so much of a fraud that she put it back.

She sighed at her own foolishness and went back into the bathroom to distract herself. She brushed her hair again, putting it up into a high ponytail and appraising her resulting reflection critically. Her makeup was painstakingly perfect but regardless, she leaned forward to touch it up.

Him. It was all for him. She unscrewed a tube of mascara and sighed. Him. Nobody else got to her like he did. The idea of finally seeing him again sent a thrill throughout her entire being. So close. Ten minutes to go. He was always on time. Ten minutes and he'd be there, right there and all hers.

She thought of his body, the sheer masculinity of it; so much more essential than hers, all strong lines and architecture. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. It sent a shudder through her and she had to take a moment to close her eyes and exhale. The things he did to her. Her stomach clenched, hard. He always knew what she wanted and he gave it to her, over and over, pushing inside her and reading every reaction until he’d figured her out like only he could.

She opened her eyes and looked at herself in the spotless bathroom mirror. The ceiling light was bright and unflattering, and the longer she looked, the more nervous she became. She tilted her head a few degrees one way and then the other way. Did he see her like she saw herself? The way he looked at her always made her feel like hiding.

And now she was thinking of him too much and all the things he said to her and the sound of his voice and the way it eased inside her and made everything glow warm. She breathed in hard. The anticipation was almost unbearable. She felt infuriatingly jittery. She couldn’t look in the mirror anymore, couldn’t do it to herself; too long and she wouldn’t let him in at all.

Besides, they’d probably wind up in the shower and then all this, all the superficial, all of it was unnecessary and he’d see her just how she really was and she knew he wanted her that way anyway so why was she doing it to herself? Because. Because she wanted to look good for him. Feel good for him. Feel worthy, special, feel like something that could fit beside him, something he’d be proud of and want to look at even though she could hardly bear it when he did. Nothing ever made sense around him except the golden joy that dazed and delighted her like alcohol.

She thought of him until it hurt. Often, it took her breath away. He knew how to touch her, knew how to make her weaken and in those moments, vulnerability was beautiful; she couldn’t stop falling for him and as long as he was there, everything was motion; pulse-racing, terrifying, exhilarating; like the further they got, the more there was to go for. It was endless, beautiful, addictive; his body fitting to hers, the push of his cock and the way his voice came out lower when he was inside her; his eyes holding hers, so magnetic she couldn't dream of looking away. In those moments, she knew she was truly his and it felt like endless freedom.

“God...” she whispered the word. She went back into the living room. Two minutes to zero. So close. Her heart was pounding, the sound in her ears. She had to remind herself to breathe.

“God,” she said it again. She bit her lip hard and then remembered the lip-gloss and released it hastily. He was coming. He was practically there.

She walked to the door and leaned against it. She felt like she could hear his footsteps on the stairs and then she really could, the way he walked, she knew it, she felt it, recognised it like her own heartbeat. She was aching for him, any part of him, his hand or his face or his arm, or just the feel of his warmth. She wanted to push her body against his and stay that way forever, feeling his body heat and inhaling the perfect smell of him as she listened to him breathe and talk. The buzzer sounded later than she expected - she almost thought she’d imagined hearing his approach - and she’d meant to give a half minute before opening the door as though she wasn’t really very bothered by his arrival but she couldn’t. She couldn’t play games or be patient, she was turning and opening the door before his finger was even off the bell and then he was there, right there, and the way he looked at her made her feel like he knew exactly who she was, more than she even knew herself and after every emotion and every insecurity and every fucking self-created catastrophe, all she felt was peace and contentment. Serenity. He stepped inside and shut the door and she knew nothing could ever go wrong.