The radiator in the hallway clinks like somebody tapping a coin on a pipe. I have been listening to it for fifty minutes.
His text came at 4:58: home by 6:05. be ready. No instructions. He doesn’t give me instructions anymore, he just says ready and trusts me to know what it means, which is the hottest and most terrifying thing about him.
So I took everything off. Folded my clothes on the radiator cover. Knelt on the rug with my knees apart and my hands on my thighs, facing the door, and I wasn’t even hard yet, I was just anxious, shivering a little in the draft that comes under the door, ass still slick from where I’d prepped myself in the shower.
6:00. Clink.
6:03. The elevator down the hall. I held my breath. Footsteps, and they went past. Somebody else’s husband, somebody else’s groceries. My stomach dropped and my cock twitched at the same time, which is rude of it.
6:05.
His key. The tiny scrape of it finding the lock. I closed my eyes because I couldn’t take watching the handle.
The door opened and cold air hit my chest and he didn’t say anything. I heard his bag hit the floor. I heard his belt.
“Good,” he said, finally, already stepping closer.
The radiator clinked again, as if to applaud.
