Chapter 1: Introduction
The apartment smelled like vanilla and something else—something warm, like the way Anaiah’s skin smelled when she leaned in close to whisper a joke in his ear. Shiven sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers drumming against the glass coffee table, the rhythm uneven with his nerves. The city lights outside his floor-to-ceiling windows blurred into streaks of gold and blue, the kind of view that usually made him feel like a king. But tonight, it just made him feel restless.
He glanced at his phone for the tenth time. *Still nothing.*
Anaiah was late.
Not that it mattered. She was always late. But tonight, it felt like torture. Every second stretched, heavy with anticipation.
Shiven's eyes flicked to the abstract painting on the wall, the one he'd bought on a whim last year. It was a mess of colors, chaotic and vibrant, much like Anaiah herself. His gaze drifted to the photo on the coffee table, a candid shot of her laughing, her eyes crinkling at the corners. He'd taken it at a party last month, sneaking a moment when she wasn't aware of the camera. It was his favorite photo of her, maybe his favorite photo, period.
He picked up the frame, tracing the cool glass over her image. "You're killing me, Anaiah," he muttered, a smile tugging at his lips despite the nerves twisting in his stomach.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and exhaled slowly, watching his breath fog the glass of the coffee table. The apartment was too warm, the air thick with the scent of his own anticipation. He could practically taste it—sweet and intoxicating, like the way she always smelled after a long day of work, her perfume lingering on her skin.
Shiven’s fingers flexed against the glass, his pulse quickening. He’d spent the last hour pacing, then sitting, then pacing again, his mind replaying every moment they’d shared over the past year. The way she’d laughed at his terrible jokes. The way her eyes had lit up when she talked about her latest project.
He could feel his cock getting harder as he thought about her , his breath coming faster. He needed to touch himself, to ease the tension building inside him. He stood up, his body moving on instinct, and walked over to the couch. He sat down, his back against the cushions, and looked down at his lap. His fingers hovered over his zipper, his mind already imagining Anaiah’s hands on him, her touch warm and sure.
He undid the button slowly, his breath hitching as he pulled down the zipper. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy in his hand. He wrapped his fingers around it, stroking gently, his eyes still on the photo of Anaiah.
He could almost see her there, her smile bright, her eyes sparkling with that laughter that always made his heart skip a beat. He bit his lip, his grip tightening as he imagined her hands on him, her touch soft and firm, just the way he liked it.
He started going faster , his strokes becoming more urgent, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud in his ears, and the sound of his own moans, low and guttural, echoing around the empty room.
"Fuck," he groaned, his hips jerking forward as he imagined Anaiah’s mouth around him, her lips warm and wet, her tongue teasing the sensitive tip. He could feel himself getting closer, his balls drawing up tight, his breath coming faster.
He leaned back against the couch, his fingers still moving, his eyes still on the photo.