A little avoidance

The apartment was quiet when she walked in. The day had dragged, but at least it ended up being productive, even though there were meetings that could’ve been emails. Campaign revisions no one could agree on. Someone from upstairs had taken the last of the cold brew from the office fridge and didn’t refill the carafe, which somehow felt like a personal attack by the time three o’clock rolled around.

But now she was home, with just under an hour to pull herself together. She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her heels, and headed straight for the bedroom. Not even pausing to see if Aiden was home.

The bedroom door shut quickly behind her, as she turned on the ceiling fan light, casting everything in a bath of light. She peeled off her blouse and unzipped her skirt, tossing both over the arm of a chair near her closet. Her bra followed, then her panties. Grabbing her robe from the foot of her bed where she’d left it this morning, she moved to the bathroom without a glance down the hallway.

Aiden heard her from his room as she came in the front door, the sharp clack of heels on the floor before taking them off. He paused his game, listening for the occasional greeting of her coming home. Sometimes she’d call out a quick “hey” or mutter something about traffic. But this time, he could hear her footsteps moving straight down the hall without slowing, and the door to her bedroom shutting a moment later.

He stayed in his room for a few more minutes, debating whether to head out to the living room or give her space. Eventually, he tucked his phone into his pocket and wandered out. The light outside was getting darker earlier now, with the sun already low on the horizon. He dropped onto the couch and unlocked his phone again, half-heartedly scrolling through the usual rotation of social feeds, headlines, a few half-watched videos that never seemed to keep his attention lately.

He opened a game, stared at it for less than a minute, then closed it again. His attention kept drifting toward the hallway. Her door stayed shut, but his ears stayed tuned for any sound. He didn’t know why. Maybe he thought she’d pass through the living room, or at least poke her head in with some half-smile that said everything was completely normal.

Then he heard her bedroom door open quickly. Bare feet tromping toward the bathroom. He turned to look, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but the bathroom door had already shut with enough **** to signify she was either mad at him, or in a hurry.

He blinked and sat back into the couch, phone loose in his hand. She hadn’t said a word, or even looked in his direction.

The shower was a quick neck down only by necessity, but she let the water run hot and steady, sluicing away the weight of the day. Abandoning her typical scrubber in haste, she started at her shoulders, working the soap into her skin with both hands, gliding down her arms in long motions. The warmth brought awareness to the constant buzz running through her, that seemed ever-present lately.

Her hands moved across her chest next, circling over her breasts. She didn’t intend to linger, but the contact made her breath suddenly coming out in more of a sigh. They were always sensitive, especially under her own experienced touch, and tonight was no different. Her thumbs grazed over her nipples, in a slow and unintentional action at first, but the response came before she could pull back. A faint tug in her belly reminded her how keyed up her body felt.

She made herself move on, turning to soap her back, while rinsing her front at the same time, reaching over one shoulder and then the other. Her muscles were tight between her shoulder blades, and she rolled them once, exhaling as the steam sank into the tension. Her hands moved down next, crossing along her ribs, her waist, and over her hips, then to her legs. Steadying herself against the wall, she worked the lather along her thighs, her calves, behind her knees.

When she reached her ass, her touch slowed again. It was firm and round, and she always took a little pride in how it looked - how it felt. Lately, she’d been more aware of that. Of how good her own hands felt there, or even one of her toys. Her responsiveness to the pressure, the way her opening twitched beneath her fingertips. Her palms slid over the curve, giving a quick squeeze, a private smile tugging at her mouth over the dividends of yoga and routine sessions in the gym at work.

Then she reached between her legs. The first contact was just for cleaning, nothing more, but the second pass lingered. Her fingers pressed inward slightly, enough to make her thighs tense. She wasn’t trying to get worked up, but the pressure sparked that insistent pulse that left her wanting more than just clean skin.

Her eyes flicked upward to the showerhead and the detachable wand hanging on its mount. She considered it for half a second, with a skipping pulse. It would be fast. She knew exactly how to angle it, exactly how long it would take. She could be done in less than a minute, once she got the water pressure just right...

But then her hand dropped to her side, coated in lather, but now wet with more than just the water, and she leaned into the spray to rinse. She didn’t want fast tonight. There was no satisfaction in chasing the edge just to take it off. She already had a plan to go out, and that would be enough.

She stepped out of the shower buzzing, aware of how sensitive her skin felt under the towel. It clung to her in places where the heat hadn’t left her yet, and when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, flush-faced and her skin glistening from the beads of water she hadn’t wiped away, it only sharpened her resolve.

Wrapped in a towel, she hurried back to her bedroom. The carpet was soft under her bare feet as she crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer that she usually avoided during daytime hours.

Aiden was still on the couch when he heard the bathroom door open again. The quick patter of her footsteps followed, heading back down the hall. He turned instinctively, hoping she might come into the living room. But the steps never made it, veering off into her bedroom before disappearing behind her closed door, once more.

He stayed facing that way for a few seconds longer, staring at nothing, the silence settling in around him again. He didn’t know what he’d expected. The last time she left her room came with nothing either. Maybe it was possible she’d come out with that glance, a single word even, some small thread of normalcy. But whatever it was he’d hoped for, it hadn’t come. And the more time passed, the more it was clear something had shifted between them, and he wasn’t sure how to get it back.

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