also can’t fuck her. Not when she’s drunk and falling over herself. The way she was slurring her words did nothing to make me want to fuck her. My cock seems to have forgotten how to function properly.
Bracing myself, I open the door, only to see Margot passed out across the bed, snoring softly. My shoulders relax as I let out a sigh of relief, and I slip out through the bedroom door.
Padding silently through the house, I start opening doors at random.
What can I say? I like snooping.
I think you can tell a lot about a person by the way they keep their house. I open a bedroom that’s obviously a guest room. Two bathrooms, a home gym, another guest room.
Then, at the opposite end of the house from Margot’s room, I finally find a room that seems to be inhabited. It smells fantastic. Like fresh laundry with a sweet, feminine undertone. Maybe a bit like cinnamon? I inhale the scent deep into my lungs, and my cock stirs.
Down, boy.
I walk to the vanity, where pictures are stuck to the mirror. Staring at them, I see a young Margot with a dark-haired girl—her sister? The dark-haired girl has a dimpled smile and eyes that sparkle, even in a picture. In another shot, she has her arms slung around a pair of twins. All three of them are laughing at something.
It feels wrong to be looking at these intimate pictures, but I can’t look away. On the vanity is an old, carved box. I flip it open and find old, stained cards. Pulling one out, my eyebrows arch.
Recipes—hundreds of them. They’re organized alphabetically and split into meal categories, and the Type A side of me nods in approval. I close the box again and lay on the bed, stretching out across the pillows.
Is it weird for me to be here?
Kind of.
Do I care?
Not even a little bit.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the hard cigarette case where I keep my joints. I light one up as I stare around the room. It’s tidy, but it feels like home. My thoughts flick to the girl that was peeking around the corner of the house. Is this her room?
She was staring at me making out with her sister. Maybe she’s just as much of a creep as I am. I ash my joint into the glass of water on the bedside table, folding my other arm behind my head. I watch smoke swirl up and dissipate before it hits the ceiling, taking in all the trinkets and pictures that dot the room.
This room doesn’t feel as sterile as all the others. It feels lived in.
It feels real.
As weird as it sounds, I like being in here. It’s like a home I never knew I was missing.
After a time, I get up off her bed and head back to Margot’s room. She’s still passed out on her bed, so I close the door and head downstairs.
There are very few personal touches around the house. Everything is perfectly displayed, perfectly arranged, perfectly designed. In the living room, there’s a huge painting of Margot on the wall, naked, with her arms and legs strategically placed to hide all the fun bits. I arch an eyebrow, tilting my head.
She’s definitely hot. Maybe when she’s sober, I’ll fuck her.
Maybe her sister would want to join.
It’s not until I’m in the kitchen that I get that feeling again—the feeling that someone actually lives here. It smells incredible in here. There’s a bright yellow stand mixer in the corner and beside it, a tray of fresh-baked cinnamon buns.
My stomach rumbles, and suddenly I feel hungry. No, not hungry. I feel like my stomach is an empty pit, and even if I filled it with all the food in the world, I could still eat more.
I descend on the buns like a pack of hungry seagulls who just spotted a toddler with a corndog. The first cinnamon bun, I inhale in about three seconds flat. The second takes me a few seconds longer, but definitely less than a minute.
I groan in pleasure, stuffing my face with soft, sweet dough, cinnamon, and—apples! I laugh as I rip another cinnamon bun open. There are pieces of apple in here! I ate the first ones too fast, but this one, I really taste. It tastes like doughy magic.
I eat another.
And then another.
And then another.
They’re. So. Fucking. Good.
Better than sex. Not that I’ve had sex tonight, but this food triggers something in