"Well, are you going to stand there all day?" Her voice carries a barely restrained smirk.
"Can't you just leave?"
My voice sounds almost pleading now, but I immediately regret the weakness in it. Katrin only smirks, slowly shaking her head, and her hair—like a golden waterfall—spills over her shoulders.
"Nope," she drawls, stretching the word as if savoring every second of my discomfort.
Her eyes gleam like a cat's that's just cornered a mouse. She leans against the doorframe, deliberately relaxed, but there's a predatory grace in her posture—she knows she's in full control.
"Stop stalling and come out already," she waves a hand dismissively. "I'll see you naked soon anyway. Or do you want to sleep with me while still dressed?"
Her tone is playful, but there's a bold confidence beneath it. She knows she's teasing me, and she loves it.
I freeze, feeling my pulse hammering in my throat. Deep breath. Exhale.
"Fine," I finally give in with a heavy sigh.
The door swings open, and I try to slip past her toward the bed, moving quickly, like a thief in the night. But Katrin is faster. She steps forward smoothly, blocking my path. Her body is inches from mine, and I catch the faint scent of her perfume—something sweet, with vanilla and a hint of something forbidden.
"Move your hand," she orders, nodding at my right palm, which instinctively covers what's no longer a secret to her.
I feel the blood rush to my face.
"Though, what's left to hide?" flashes through my mind.
She's already seen nearly everything. But now, under her unwavering gaze, I feel… exposed in a far deeper way.
Her eyes flicker downward, and the corners of her lips twitch in a barely-there smirk.
Slowly, I lower my hand, feeling the air brush against my bare skin like invisible fingers, raising goosebumps. It's unfamiliar—standing before her like this, defenseless—but there's no mockery in her eyes. Only warm, alive interest, something that makes my insides tighten and burn at the same time.
Katrin takes her time looking me over, her gaze sliding across my shoulders, chest, lower—studying but never crude. It's as if she's memorizing every line, every curve, like I'm a piece of art, not just a naked man. Then she steps closer, circling me, and I feel her presence enveloping me, her breath ghosting over my back—light, almost weightless, yet enough to set every nerve alight.
When she stops in front of me again, her fingers curl around my neck, pulling me closer. Before I can speak, her lips meet mine—soft at first, almost hesitant, but in the next moment, I kiss her back with the same hunger that's always simmered between us.
The kiss is hot, nearly scorching. I feel her body press against mine, her fingers tangling in my hair, and all I want is to never let go. My skin burns, my pulse pounds, and a strange, sweet tension spreads through my chest. I don't dare look down—if I do, things will only get harder.
"You're a very handsome man," she whispers, pulling back slightly, but her hands don't release me.
Her fingers trail over my shoulders, forearms, grazing the edges of my chest, as if marking where her playful bites or scratches haven't left their traces yet.
"And you shouldn't be ashamed of your body. I like it. A lot. So feel free to show it off more often."
Her words sound like a promise, a hint that these "lessons" might repeat. The thought sends another shiver down my spine.
But then she suddenly steps back, her gaze flickering downward for a split second before meeting mine again. That same mischievous smile plays on her lips—the one that always spells trouble.
"I just wanted to show you this today. Now I'll leave, and you can finish your shower… because you clearly need it."
Before I can respond, she's already gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Leaving me alone—with a racing heart, scorching skin, and thoughts tangled between indignation, desire, and an odd gratitude for that… unexpected compliment.
I rush back under the shower, but the water streaming down my body can't wash away one thing—the memories. They crash over me in waves, making my skin burn and my breath hitch. Every time I close my eyes, she's there—her assessing gaze, her soft touches, that kiss that still lingers like fire on my lips.
My body demands more, but I grit my teeth and turn the water colder. Forty minutes of fighting myself—and finally, I step out, dressed but not calmed.
That little tease has riled me up good, and now I'm coming for answers.
The kitchen greets me with the smell of fresh coffee. Katrin sits at the table, mug in hand, and when I walk in, her eyes meet mine—wary, as if expecting a scolding.
"I hope you're not mad about what happened an hour ago?" Rebel asks, quieter than usual, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug handle.
I remember her past antics—how one joke taken too far once left me hurting. But now… now it's different.
"No. I can handle mischief like that," I smile, trying to ease her worry. My voice softens, the corners of my lips lifting just a little higher than usual—just for her. "You weren't trying to humiliate me. If anything… the opposite."
Her shoulders relax, as if a weight has been lifted, and a faint, almost childlike smile tugs at her lips. Relief flashes in her eyes, but deep in her gaze, that familiar spark of mischief still smolders.
"I'm glad I didn't cross the line this time," she murmurs, her voice warmer, quieter. "When you're being a troublemaker, it's easy to… overdo it."
I nod, feeling the warmth of her gaze slowly melt away the last traces of tension.
"I get it. But this is fine. Just… a little awkward at first."
Katrin tilts her head slightly, her hair slipping lazily over her shoulder. Her expression softens, but that defiant glint remains.
"That's nonsense," she grins, playful. "If we're together, we should be comfortable no matter what. Want me to strip in revenge?"
Rebel Girl. Of course she can't just leave it at that. Her lips curl into that smirk—bold, self-assured. She's throwing down a challenge, one she seems to relish.
I laugh, stepping closer. Her scent hits me—light, warm, with a hint of something sweet, like strawberries and caramel.
"I wouldn't mind. But not today." My hand settles on her waist, pulling her close before I retreat, leaving the air thick with unspoken tension. "We've got class, and tonight's our date. Doubt they'd let you in naked."
My girl arches a brow, her eyes flashing defiance, as if waiting for me to change my mind.
"Why not? Am I too pretty for the place?"
I bite my lip, fighting a smirk, but the corners of my mouth betray me.
"You'll see tonight," I whisper, just to tease her further.
We finish breakfast slowly, stretching out the moments. Her fingers occasionally brush my arm—light, lazy, as if by accident, but I feel every touch.
We head to class together, and today, I pick her outfit again. A green dress hugs her waist, making her figure even more enticing. She pairs it with black tights and a leather jacket, adding an edge to the look. It's a mix of styles, but I like it. The contrast makes her stand out even more.
She, however, seems indifferent, slipping into the clothes without comment. She couldn't care less about what she's wearing—her gaze says my presence matters more than any outfit.
At the university, no one bats an eye. We've become part of the scenery—like a single entity. Dimka isn't here, probably sleeping off last night's binge.
After lectures, we head back to the dorm. I grab a few more things, leaving only off-season clothes behind. Surprisingly, the room is clean. I guess my roommate woke up, saw the mess, felt a stab of shame, and decided to make amends.
I scribble a note: "Gone. For a long time."
Leave it on the table and walk out.
Back at the apartment, we change again. I go for black jeans that accentuate my frame and a red T-shirt for a rebellious touch, topping it off with a dark green jacket—light but stylish.
For Katrin, I pick deep red jeans that highlight her slender hips and a snug beige top that hugs her curves. We both slip into sneakers—comfort's the priority today.
Our outfits are simple, but there's something undeniably harmonious about them. The colors complement each other, as if we planned it.
We exchange a glance—her eyes gleam with restless excitement, and I can't hide my smile.
Time for our date.
And while it promises to be fun, I suspect nothing could ever compare to my Rebel Girl.