Chapter 0181

Deciding that none of the first seven drawers are right for me — and honestly, feeling a little like picky little Goldilocks at this point

saying “too hot” or “too cold,” I move to the eighth drawer.

My hands slow when I pull it open and see the silkiest little nightgown in gunmetal grey. I gasp a little, pulling it out by its

spaghetti straps and holding it up. Unlike some of the other drawers which had...accessories...this little nightie sits by itself.

There’s not even a shoe polaroid next to it, suggesting it should be worn barefoot.

Unable to stop myself, I quickly unclasp my bra and tuck it in the empty drawer, and then pull the nightgown on over my head,

loving the way that it slides over my chest and comes to rest just at the top of my thighs. It’s simple but, somehow, just so

incredibly chic.

I spin around in it, biting my lip and enjoying the slide of the silk against my skin, excited. My choice made, I quickly fold the little

pink sweatsuit and tuck it neatly away before I leaving the closet and close the doors behind me.

Eager to get back to my first curiosity — the books — I move swiftly across the room to the fireplace, which is luckily electric. I flick

it on, hoping to warm up a little, and then go to the first bookshelf.

To my chagrin, all of the books are turned spine-backwards. The result of this is aesthetically pleasing, but...damn it, I have no

idea what the books are. So, frowning, I spend the next hour or so finding out what Kent is hiding here, pulling the books out one

by one and looking them over. I making a little pile of those I want to read and put back those which are uninteresting to me,

getting excited about my afternoon plans.

Overall, I have to admit that I’m...impressed by Kent's collection. When I first saw the books, I assumed his decorator put them

all here as part of the room’s design. But, as I flick through them, I realize that many of them have notes in the same tiny, neat

handwriting. He has quite a variety here too — some classics, some military strategy, some contemporary texts and some pieces

of fiction of which I've never heard.

I have to admit, I didn’t think had it in him. I don’t think he'd strike anyone, ever, as a bookworm like me.

After I get through about a quarter of the shelves, I carry my little pile over to the fireplace and spend the next few hours reading,

the little throw blanket tucked neatly around me. At some point food appears, but I only notice it because the smell of roast beef

creeps across the room to me and I turned my head towards the scent, spying a little tray by a door in the corner of the room.

My mouth falls open — how the hell did that get there? And then I blush to think that someone must have quietly brought it

through another door, and they must have seen me sitting mostly naked in this nightgown lost in my book and decided to leave

me alone. I sigh, bringing the tray over to my warm chair, deciding not to worry about it. And then I eat as I read, losing myself in

a book of military strategy that — by Kent’s frequent annotations — he apparently liked as well.

A few hours later, I find myself yawning, my eyes drooping. I look around, hesitant, realizing that the whole day has passed

without word from Kent. But...he did tell me not to go.

So, with a little shrug, I make my way back to the bed, leaving the little fire on to light the room a little bit while I sleep. And then I

curl up in the bed where Kent tucked me in a few hours before, trying to keep my eyes open to read a little more of the book, but

eventually falling asleep with my cheek pillowed on the page.

I'm awoken, I don’t know how much later, by the feel of something heavy on the mattress next to me. Surprised by the sudden

change, I gasp a little turning towards the movement, but I quickly realize that it’s him, warm beside me. Kent, his body stripped

down to his boxer-briefs — his skin and hair a little damp, apparently from a shower —

Wait, where was his shower? The little bathroom I used through a door next to the fireplace was just a little half bath —

“Shhh,” Kent says apologetically,

working to put me at ease after he

woke me. He slides his body close to

mine and his hanasare\isténtly on

rhavoae Siding behind my head so

that my head is pillowed on his arm,

the other slipping down over the silky

grey nightgown and then flipping it

aside, moving upwards again up the

length of my thigh to my stomach.

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.

I press my back into the warmth of his chest, grumbling a little at having been woken but pleased to have him near again.

“Where did you find this flimsy little

thing,” Kent murmurs, eres

f eto shaukean running his

libs across my skin. I smile, yawning

a little. Please read the original

content at .

“Oh, this old thing?” I reply. “I've had it for years. Practically a rag.”

Kent gives me a punishing little nip

on my shoulder for that. “This is

watered silk, Fay,” he murmurs,

nudging my shoulder asi hiehdse I

soy pat (tua awsy a bit, giving him

the freedom to drop kisses along my

shoulder blades and down the length

of my spine. “You call it a rag again,

and you'll pay for it.” He moves his

hand to my ass, cupping it a little,

reminding me of my “punishment”

this afternoon. Please read the

original content at .