The Collector | 18+

【11】Hellraisers

I halted with a foot on the first step and turned around to look at him. Ugh, he was so stupidly handsome. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and I wasn't sure what to tell him. I genuinely didn't want to go out, but the hope I could see in his eyes made me reconsider. Even though he shouldn't have been here, he was, and it proved that he was eager to see me again—just like I'd hoped. He'd come all this way despite knowing I might refuse his offer and send him away.

But going out with him not only meant that I might end up doing something stupid—like jump him and ride his face—it also meant I had to get ready, instead of slipping on my comfy pajamas. But then it implied I'd take a while, at the very, very least fifteen minutes.

"Do you want to come and wait upstairs?" I caved in. The beaming smile he gave me was worth it.

"And meet the cats? Absolutely, I do."

He joined me with long, impatient steps, and we began our ascension to the fourth floor. My legs were unsteady as I climbed the numerous steps, but I gave everything I had not to let it show. I could hear him right behind me, his fine leather shoes echoing on the wooden stairs, along with my rubber soles.

The entire way up, I was aware of the fact that my behind was probably right in front of his face, my cheeks on full display because of how tight my shorts were. All I hoped was that the poor light of the staircase didn't allow him to see the weird patch of sweat that made it look like I'd peed myself.

My knees were trembling when I reached my door at the end of the corridor, but that was understandable. What was more disturbing, though, was the way my hands shook as I turned the key in the lock. His presence, so close to me, was making me nervous, unhinged. This raw attraction between us had to lead somewhere, and temptation would be everywhere in my apartment. My bed, the couch, the kitchen counters... And honestly, every single wall he could plaster me on, or every adequate surface that could hold my weight.

Maybe it would have been wiser to let him wait downstairs...

As I unlocked the door, I tried to remember what state I'd left the apartment in this morning. Our common area was always neat because Gigi insisted on it. My bedroom, though, was in a constant state of partial mess. He won't be in your bedroom, I reminded myself.

I pushed the door open, and barely two steps in, the furry gang was on me, begging for their dinner. I kicked out my sneakers, telling them to calm down. Mr. Westergaard still hadn't entered when I reached the end of the entry hallway. "You can come in. They don't bite."

Worried I might lose them, I put my earbuds back into their case. I was unfastening my armband when I saw him enter the living room. He'd taken off his shoes, which I wasn't expecting but appreciated. His socks, red with yellow stripes, made me grin widely. With a hand on the high counter, I stretched my thigh, holding my foot against my butt cheek. The cats were all over me, acting as though I hadn't fed them for a week, despite their generous breakfast this morning.

Mr. Westergaard was still by the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes unabashedly fixed on me.

"See that blue tin box over there? Would you mind getting it?" I asked him. He easily located it, and without a word, he went to take it. As soon as he picked it up, the meowing quartet went to him instead. I switched feet, holding the counter with my other hand. "The bowls are under this window and there's a measuring cup inside. Half of it for each of them," I told him.

He raised a brow at me, apparently wondering if I was really going to make him do this. The cats were relentless, though, so he didn't protest and got to work. "What are their names?"