Entitled To A Sense Of Control

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 He sat there, in his Cadillac Mirage, watching her through her open window for a few moments. She was standing in the kitchen of her little cottage, swaying her hips slightly and stirring something on the stove. Stan wondered what she was making, what song she was listening to. The urge to find out was nearly unbearable, as per usual.

Stan finally summoned the resolve, and got out of his car. It wasn't weird or anything to come to her house, he had walked her home twice, of course he knew where she lived.

He rubbed his temples as he walked. He dreaded his worst fears become realized; that Roxy would somehow become alerted of his slightly possessive behavior and cut him off. He had to play it cool. He wasn't a stalker or anything, he was just looking out for her. She probably didn't know it yet, but she loved him, he was sure of it. He had seen the look in her eyes when they had been dancing the night previous.

And he loved her, too. More than she would ever know.

He rapped his knuckle against the door, shifting on his feet as he waited for her to answer. There was a brief pause and he could hear the chain lock slide from the other side before the door swung open to reveal the love of his life.

She looked even better than she had last night. Her vanilla-blonde hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, with a few stray locks falling around her face. Her bangs were clipped back with a hairpin, he noted. He liked it. He noticed that Roxy often used her hair as a curtain of sorts, a way to hide her face. He liked this new and exposed version of her, shameless and breathtaking.

"Hello, Roxy." He smirked down at her, his voice low and smooth. "I thought I'd stop by. I'll be on my way, but I figured I'd invite you to the spring gala. It's next weekend at the docks."

The scent of something savory and mouthwatering hit him, he assumed whatever was cooking on the stove.

Roxy's lips parted and bright red color rose in her cheeks. She fidgeted with the hem of her apron, her fingers trembling slightly.

"I... I would love to!" She squeaked, eliciting a smile from Stan. She was always so cute. How did she manage to do that? To be so cute all the time?

"Fantastic." He hummed, leaning against the doorframe. "Let me get your number. I'll text you all the details later." He already knew her phone number, of course, but obviously he had to maintain appearances. If he had messaged her out of the blue, she would have suspicions. There was no place in his plan for suspicions.

She smiled oh so sweetly up at him, her baby blue eyes wide and excitable. "Of course!" She chimed. "Here, let me just grab my cell phone. You can text yourself from it."

He had to clench his jaw in order to swallow the grin that was threatening to spread across his face. Could she make this any easier for him? His impromptu invitation was proving to be more and more lucrative by the minute.

Stan peeked over her shoulder, quirking a brow. A fat orange tabby cat was slinking across the counter, investigating the bag of shredded cheese on the island.

"Your cat." He pointed, eliciting a shriek of surprise as Roxy whirled on her heel and dashed back to the little kitchenette, grabbing the tabby around it's pudgy stomach and scolding it.

"My phone's on the coffee table. The passcode is 9378." She called to him. He padded towards the couch and snagged her cell.

She was far too trusting, he decided. It was a good thing that he was here to look out for her, or else she might have trusted the wrong person, someone who wasn't of pure intentions like he was. Giving her phone's passcode to someone who was still practically a stranger to her? Didn't she see the danger in that?

Either way, he was thankful for her naivity. He sent himself a quick text from her message app, before strolling back over to the kitchenette and setting her phone down on the counter. He couldn't afford to make his next move now, he didn't want to arouse her suspicion by messing around on her phone longer than was absolutely necessary. He had to bide his time, of course. Patience was a virtue.

She smiled up at him, her sparkling blue eyes playful and warm. "Taste." She raised a spoonful of the sauce she was cooking to his lips, and he gratefully obliged. The sauce was delicious, some sort of tomato-based thing with just the faintest hint of... Alcohol? He scanned the disarray of ingredients strewn across her countertop, and immediately located the source.

"Belvedere?" He questioned, the corners of his lips lifting in a smile. She nodded, humming slightly.

"I'm making penne with vodka sauce for lunch. I haven't had much time to do cooking lately, so I figured I'd let loose a bit today and make my favorite." There was a tiny hint of sheepishness in her voice, and he figured by the flush in her cheeks and the slight slur in her words that she hadn't just been using the booze for her cooking.

"If you'd like, I can pour you a screwdriver. I had one earlier." She offered, smiling shyly as she confirmed his suspicions. He shook his dead, regretting driving there.

"I have to drive home. I can't." Real regret painted his voice, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. The little touch sent waves of electricity up his spine and he swallowed hard, hard enough to hear a little click in his own dry throat.

"At least stay for lunch, then. I was planning on eating outside on the patio, it's a beautiful day, and I would love to have your company." She murmured, taking a step closer towards him. His heart raced in his chest, drumming in his ears and drowning out everything else. Oh, how he wanted to grab her and press his mouth against hers. To let his hands roam her skin, to touch and kiss the creamy skin of her thighs. To tear away her striped sundress and take her right then and there, in her cramped little kitchen...

"Okay." He agreed lamely, his voice cracking weakly. He prayed she wouldn't look down to notice the growing arousal in his jeans. Thankfully, she didn't. She only beamed, whirling back to her sauce and humming excitedly.

"Wonderful!" 

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