Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

Sixteen

When we return to our building and park in the underground garage, we don't speak.

I've redressed myself but I'm sure my hair is sloppy and my skin is flushed. Kylo's self-contained composure is back, he's as placid as ever. He exits his car and doesn't wait for me to get out as he walks to the elevator.

As he steps inside, I scramble to keep up and join him. We're trapped together in the confined space and I'm aware of the vague smell of my sex in the air. He hasn't spoken since his words of praise, but the silence no longer makes me feel uneasy. Now that I'm somewhat aware of what's going on inside his mind, my troubled thoughts have disappeared.

I'm standing at his side and we're both facing forward. The numbers on the panel climb as we make our way to the penthouse.

And then I feel his hand on my back. Thick strong fingers are tracing up and down my spine, sending breathtaking sensations throughout my being. It's the first gentle touch he's gifted my body.

The doors open on the forty sixth floor and his tantalizing hand motions stop, he walks ahead of me to unlock our door.

I'm not sure what comes next. Will he try to bed me now? No, don't be silly. He's hot and cold, that's his game. And fuck was that car ride hot, so I know to expect blistering cold.

And without fail, he drops his keys on the front table and disappears down the eastern hallway. I hear the door to one of his studios open and close, and then he's gone.

But this time, my heart doesn't sink.

This time I know what the flip side of the coin feels like. I can handle the cold now that I've had a taste of the hot. I'll endure whatever he throws my way, just for the possibility of more praise. More passion. More Kylo.

The next few days pass without incident.

I cook our meals, he eats about half of them, and some of those we share at the kitchen table. He works obsessively on his art, disappearing for hours at a time in his studios. I run his errands, work on emails and spreadsheets, connect with Phasma about upcoming art shows. He doesn't touch me, our bodies never connect, but I know that if I'm patient I'll be rewarded. So I throw myself into work.

Finally, the holiday party is a day away.

I spend the morning decorating the penthouse. I've ordered multiple Christmas trees, and polite delivery men help set them up for me to decorate. There's a festive pine smell, and for a moment it brings back childhood memories that I push down.

I've decided on a silver and white color scheme for the party, knowing it will go well with all of the black furniture and Kylo's aesthetic. The trees are strung with white lights, silver and white baubles, tiny hints of silver tinsel. They're magical, and give classic and snowy vibes.

It's also the fifth day of Hanukkah, so I make sure to have a menorah and candles in the window for those that celebrate.

I place dozens and dozens of white candles on every surface, ready to be lit and add to the ambience. White poinsettias are sporadically placed around the apartment. Delicate paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling.

When I'm done, I'm beyond pleased with how it has all turned out. It's a winter wonderland.

The last half of the day is spent readying some of tomorrow's feast. I do as much prep work as possible to lighten tomorrow's load. By the time darkness falls over the city, I realize I've been working nonstop since sunrise.

After cleaning the kitchen and making one last sweep of the apartment, I grab a joint and my coat and wander out to the terrace.

Kylo has been quiet all day, working away in his photography studio. He popped out once at lunch, but took his meal in solitude. I saw his eyes roam around the apartment but he didn't give any hints to whether he was pleased with what I had done.