I devote most of my free time at the warehouse, experimenting with different ideas. When Jason's text arrives announcing his flight, my energy surges and I hurry home to prepare.
I arrange the scene carefully - a chair positioned just so in the living room, marked with a "Both" sign. I label myself with "Me" and hold a plate of freshly steamed vegetables and shrimp biryani marked "Food." The aromas of saffron and spices fill the kitchen.
The front door's electronic beep sends a flutter through my chest. His footsteps echo through the living room, then pause - he's checking the bedroom first, having learned to expect my surprises. In the early days, he would check his phone for forgotten anniversaries or holidays, but after two months he understood: I create these moments simply because I love seeing his face light up.
When he enters the kitchen, his soft chuckle makes my heart skip. His gaze takes in the scene - the signs, the setup, the delicate lace against my skin. I move toward him with practiced grace, maintaining eye contact.
"So... what will it be, my love? Do you want the food, or me, or both?" I whisper, close enough to feel his breath.
His eyes sparkle with mischief as they dart between the plate and chair. "What does 'both' look like?"
"Sit, and you'll find out."
He settles into the chair, and I hand him a fork. "Eat, my love, and enjoy your food." Soft music fills the air as I join him.
I begin my task of unwrapping him like a cherished gift - the silk tie sliding free, each button of his vest revealing more of what lies beneath. His skin radiates warmth under my fingertips as I trace patterns across his chest. When his attention wanders from the food, I gently redirect: "Eat."
He obeys, taking a carrot between his lips as I settle between his knees, the floor cool against my skin. My hands glide up his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath the fabric. His breath catches as I reach his zipper, our eyes locked in silent communication.
He begins to eat while I slowly undress him, removing his tie, suit, and belt. Amusement dances across his face as he watches me.
I unbutton his shirt, sliding it out of his waistband, and trace my fingers down his exposed chest.
"Eat," I gently command when he gets too distracted and stops chewing.
He places a carrot in his mouth, chewing slowly, captivated by my gaze. Setting the plate on the dining table next to us, I slide off his lap and kneel on the floor in front of him. My hands move to his knees, spreading them apart to make room. I let my hands glide slowly up his thighs until I reach his zipper. Leaning in, I lock eyes with him.
"Eat," I instruct softly.
He scoops a spoonful of rice into his mouth as I unzip his pants and release his erection. In sync with his chewing, I take him into my mouth, my lips moving over him as he watches, mesmerized. His eyes darken, his breathing growing heavier with each movement of my lips.
When he pauses, I stop too, glancing toward the food to remind him to continue eating. His gaze flicks between the plate and me, and he quickly takes another bite of rice. I resume, and he eagerly takes a mouthful of vegetables, chewing with hunger. I quicken my pace to match his. As he closes his eyes and leans back, his breathing becomes more labored. Sensing his need, I intensify my motions, using my hand along with my mouth. He grips the armchair as I bring him to the edge, and with a groan, he sinks deeper into the chair, his release surging into my throat. I swallow, though some spills from the corners of my mouth. Standing up, I grab the linen napkin, and dap the spillage away.
I offer him a spoonful of rice. "Want some more, my love?"
He shakes his head. I move behind him, letting his head rest against me as he closes his eyes and relaxes.
I massaged his shoulders, allowing him to calm down. "My love, I've been thinking about getting a job. What do you think?"
His eyes open as he gently stops my hand and beckons me to join him. He pushes off his pants, leaving only his underwear and unbuttoned shirt, before guiding me to the sofa and onto his lap. As we settle down, his gaze, full of warmth and intensity, remains completely focused on me.
"Why do you want to work? What is it that you need?" he asks.
Feeling a little flustered under his tender scrutiny, I admit, "Well... it's not that I want to work. I just... have time... and I miss you, and... I need a distraction... from missing you."
I can't help but feel embarrassed as I confess so I deflect,
"Besides... I should work, shouldn't I? Isn't that what people do?"
He gently lays me down on the sofa, his warm presence enveloping me as he hovers above. "People have to work, but you don't. What is it that you truly desire?" His voice is tender, each question punctuated by a soft kiss.
"I want to learn how to play golf," I venture.
"Hmm. I'll have Jason arrange the best instructors for you," he assures me.
"I want to learn horseback riding," I add impulsively, my legs wrapping around him.
"I'll let Jason know," he replies with a warm smile.
"I want to master archery, rival Robin Hood, wield a sword like Alexander the Great, create paintings inspired by Van Gogh but without the melancholy, attend fashion school to design our own clothes, invent a weather predictor as precise as a heart monitor, craft exquisite molecular gastronomy dishes, draw captivating manga, figure out eugenics, clone people for fun, assemble the perfect time-traveling team, and there are at least 150 other things I want to do," I confess dramatically, my fingers playfully tugging at his shirt as I eagerly voice my whimsical ideas.
The affectionate amusement in his eyes makes my heart swell with adoration.
"Only 150 things?" he teases, his voice soft and encouraging.
"I want to build a time machine!"
He chuckles, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"I'm not sure how to help, but if you find a way, let me know," he says, his words interwoven with tender kisses.
I pout slightly. "Aren't you spoiling me too much? What if I become completely dependent on you? I already rely on you emotionally, and now... wait... do we have bills... aren't I already financially—"
"Then depend on me," he whispers, his eyes filled with promises as he adds, "I'll take care of you. Pursue every whim that captures your heart."
His sweet promises fill me with indescribable joy, and I can't help but smile shyly as I draw him closer.
"You're an enabler for my bad habits!" I accuse between my kisses.
"I have one condition," he says, his gaze turning serious. I mirror his solemn expression, waiting.
"Don't break time."
We laugh as we cling tightly to each other.
###
Mohamad studies her sleeping face. Has she become more beautiful? The thought registers — unwelcome. His pulse shifts. He dismisses it as physiological misinterpretation.
His arm beneath her head tightens slightly, drawing her closer against his chest. Warm. Familiar. Expected. He inhales slowly.
Work, she said. Freedom. Independence. Choice. He understands now. Not emotionally — structurally. Her attachment requires autonomy. Remove that, and she withdraws. Leave it intact, and she moves closer on her own.
He cannot cage her. So he won't. He will give her space. Movement. Decisions. The illusion of self-direction.
It doesn't matter where she goes. What she chooses. Every path can be contained. Every option shaped. Every outcome redirected. Control doesn't require restriction. Only boundaries she cannot see.
As long as she believes she is choosing, she will choose him.
He needs time. Time for Project Eve to stabilize. Time for gestation to begin. Time for inevitability.
His hold tightens imperceptibly. Once Eve exists, her future narrows. And when that happens —So will Ace's.