Chapter 7: Midnight Visitor

The memory of Ara's touch lingered in my mind throughout the evening. I couldn't shake the sensation of his muscular frame pressed against mine, or the intoxicating scent that clung to his skin. When I relocated to California, I had intended to maintain my independence, and the initial tension with the brothers only strengthened my resolve to keep my distance.

Yet something changed when Ara touched me—my entire body awakened as if from a long slumber.

Heat surged through my veins, his touch igniting something primal within me, calling to parts of myself I barely recognized. The more I dwelled on our encounter, the more perplexed I became by his contradictory behavior.

Exhaling deeply, I rose from my seat and gathered my hair into a higher ponytail before crossing to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. If nothing else, I had to admit the California evenings were magnificent—cool enough to leave windows open, allowing the crisp night air to circulate through my cozy living room.

Alabama summers had never permitted such luxuries. There, opening a window meant inviting an army of mosquitoes into your home, turning peaceful evenings into battles against the incessant buzzing. California's climate offered this small but significant comfort, though the looming winter snowfall remained a prospect I dreaded.

I leaned against the windowsill, gazing out at the expansive green lawn stretching toward the horizon. The main house glowed in the distance, its lights creating a warm halo in the darkness. How ironic that I'd avoided this place for years because of my complicated relationship with my father, only to discover it offered the natural connection I'd always craved.

A lifestyle that resonated with my soul.

Try as I might to redirect my thoughts away from Ara, my mind kept circling back to him. The two-year drought in my love life had left me with a frustration that had become impossible to ignore. A solution flickered to life in my consciousness, bringing an involuntary smile to my lips.

Last year during finals week, my mother had noticed my deteriorating state. I'd always pushed myself to excel academically, determined to justify the sacrifices she'd made raising me alone. My perfectionism had reached unhealthy levels during my agricultural studies, and exhaustion had become my constant companion.

"Lina, darling," she'd said during one of our video calls, her Alabama drawl heavier with concern. "You'll collapse before graduation if you keep this pace."

I'd dismissed her worries with a wave of my hand, my bloodshot eyes barely focusing on the screen. "Don't worry so much, Mom. These grades aren't going to earn themselves."

A few days later, a package arrived at my dormitory—unmarked except for my mother's return address. Upon opening it, I felt color flood my cheeks as I stared at the contents.

Nestled among pink tissue paper lay a vibrator—vivid purple and clearly top-of-the-line. Accompanying it was a notecard featuring my mother's elegant penmanship: "For those moments when relaxation is non-negotiable. Some tensions require more than just studying harder. With love, Mom."

I'd called her immediately, scandalized.

"Mother! I can't believe you would send me something like this!"

Her laughter danced through the phone. "Sweet pea, you're not a child anymore. Taking care of yourself isn't something to be ashamed of, especially when romance isn't a priority. Those exams have you wound tighter than a spring—you need to release that tension somehow."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," I'd groaned, glancing nervously around my empty room as if the walls might be listening.

"Hush now. Your generation thinks they pioneered everything, but trust me, Southern women have passed down these secrets for generations. How do you suppose I maintained my sanity all those years raising you by myself?"

"This conversation is officially over," I'd muttered, though we were both chuckling by the end of the call.

Initially, I'd hidden the vibrator in the furthest corner of my closet, too mortified to acknowledge its existence. But after failing a practice exam and nearly suffering a breakdown the following week, I'd reluctantly retrieved it. As embarrassing as it was to admit, my mother's unorthodox gift had proven effective.

Now, with thoughts of Ara persistently invading my consciousness, I recalled that gift. Despite my minimalist approach when relocating to California—wanting to begin fresh—that particular item had made the cut, discreetly packed in its pink velvet bag at the bottom of my luggage. Just in case.

I retreated to my bedroom and rummaged through my partially unpacked suitcase until I located it. The vibrant purple device looked nearly untouched despite my occasional use back in Alabama. A flush crept up my neck as I remembered my mother's knowing glance during my last visit home. "Been sleeping better lately?" she'd asked with a mischievous wink that nearly made me choke on my sweet tea.

Alone in my cottage with Ara dominating my thoughts, I found myself appreciating my mother's pragmatism. She'd always been refreshingly straightforward about everything, sexuality included. "Understanding your own body isn't shameful," she'd declare whenever her candor made me cringe. Growing up with such frankness had often been embarrassing, but now I recognized its value.

I extracted the vibrator from its discreet pouch, undressed down to my tank top, and reclined on the bed. Using Ara as fantasy material felt somewhat inappropriate, but he had awakened something in me that demanded attention.

I needed this release.

As the device hummed to life against my skin, soft sounds of pleasure escaped my lips. I visualized Ara's hands exploring my body, the pressure of his chest against mine. The image of his mouth capturing mine in a passionate kiss flashed through my mind, causing tremors to ripple through me as pleasure built steadily.

"Ara..." I whispered into the empty room. "Please..."

Just as my climax crested, sending waves of pleasure through me, a piercing howl echoed from the Ken jungle behind my cottage. My eyes flew open in shock, and I instinctively flung the vibrator aside.

"What the hell?!" I gasped, scrambling to pull my shorts back on.

The sound had originated frighteningly close to my cottage, and the knowledge that the dense jungle bordered my property sent a chill down my spine as I retreated to the living room. My eyes darted to the open window, and I lunged toward it, closing it with more force than necessary.

The unmistakable sound of movement outside my front door made my pulse race. Weaponless and vulnerable, panic began to rise in my chest.

"Lina..." My name, spoken in a voice I recognized immediately, froze me in place. Confusion and apprehension mingled as I wondered what possible reason Ara could have for appearing at my cottage at this hour. "Open the door."