Gemotions

The pounding on the door was insistent, almost aggressive. Sarah glanced at the clock: 2:17 AM. Ugh. She’d been enjoying a very specific kind of dream. Now this. She fumbled with the silk robe, the fabric cool against her skin.

“Coming!” she called, her voice a little breathless, a little thick. She couldn't quite bring herself to meet the eyes of whoever was on the other side.

The man, Mr. Henderson from next door, stood in the hallway, clutching a dressing gown. He was older, paunchy, his face etched with disapproval. “The noise,” he started, his voice a low grumble. “It’s… quite disruptive.” Sarah swallowed, suddenly very aware of the faint scent of sandalwood that lingered in the air. She found herself imagining the way his skin might feel, warm and pliant.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Henderson,” she said, her voice a little higher than usual. "I… I didn't realize." The words felt inadequate, hollow. Her eyes flickered over his form again, and a warmth spread through her.