The Purpose of Love, Part 1

Blake

With a sigh, I hoist the bag onto my shoulders. The room is shrouded in darkness, a chill hanging in the air. Eigil—the son of the cottage owner—is busy fiddling with the central heater. I give him a minute before flicking on the lights, his voice a low murmur as he chats on the phone.

I take a leisurely look around the room. It’s been spruced up a bit. The bed in the center of the room is an antique, but the mattress and bedspread are fresh and new. The cottage boasts French windows, now adorned with new curtains.

A quaint vintage chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling. Two old standing lamps flank the bed. To the right of the window, a small workspace has been carved out.

There’s no closet in the room, but they’ve installed some wardrobe cupboards near the bathroom. The wooden floor is cold against my sock-clad feet. Eigil reappears, apologizing, “I’m sorry for not turning on the heater. I didn’t know you were going to show up tonight.” I nod in response. “Hmm… My younger brother is going to get you dinner. It might take some time, but it won’t be late.”

“Okay.” He scratches his neck, struggling to find the right words. His accent is thick, and he looks young. “If—If my Dad or Mum calls you. Please don’t tell them the cottage was cold and the heater wasn’t on. They would have my head.” I nod again. All I want right now is a quiet meal and a good night’s sleep.

“Hmm…”

“Thanks, you can leave.” He looks surprised but doesn’t protest. “Okay. Well—I will just ask my brother to leave the food outside.” I nod, not accompanying him to the door. I hear him exit, the door closing behind him. The doors have been upgraded to automatic ones, though the main door outside the drawing room is still old-fashioned.

I wait for a few minutes, trying to come to terms with the fact that I’ve left my old life behind—the only life I’ve ever known. I sigh, closing my eyes before turning my gaze to the windows.

I’ve spent a significant portion of my savings to live here for as long as I can. The lease is signed for a year. Aksal—the cottage owner—lives at the end of the street.

The cottage had been listed on housing.com for a month before I snagged it. The main reason I chose this place is its isolation—there are no other houses nearby except for a two-story home. There are a few more houses on the other side. The town and market are a mile away, which suits me just fine.

I approach the French windows and push the curtains aside. My gaze is immediately drawn to the house across the way. I’m taken aback by the sight. A woman stands in the middle of her brightly lit room, completely naked.

What shocks me is that she’s standing there, bare-assed, her hair cascading down her back. I can’t see her face or front, just her back and the curves of her body. My feet are rooted to the spot, my eyes glued to her.

She’s touching herself. I swallow hard as she leans forward, her hair falling forward to obscure her face, her breasts swaying with the movement. Her free hand cups her right breast. My eyes are drawn to her love handles. She’s a bit on the larger side, but undeniably beautiful.

I take a deep breath, trying to tear my gaze away from her, but I can’t. She takes her time, slowly sinking to the floor, spreading her legs wide, and sliding her hand between her thighs.

My pants tighten uncomfortably, and I can feel myself growing hard. The cold isn’t helping either. My gaze shifts to her thighs. They’re thick but long. She throws her head back, her toes curling as she rocks her body against her fingers, her other hand playing with her breasts.

I let out a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘You should look away. This isn’t… This isn’t right.’

But I can’t seem to heed my own advice. My mind and heart are captivated—it’s impossible to ignore the erotic scene unfolding before me.

I watch, feeling like a desperate voyeur. It takes her another two minutes before her body convulses, and she collapses onto her back. She lifts one leg and then lets it fall. Her breasts jiggle as she starts laughing, her eyes seemingly closed.

I can’t help but smile as she slides her hand back between her folds, lifting it to watch her own wetness glisten on her fingers. I’m jolted back to reality by the sound of the doorbell. I take a shaky breath and hastily close the curtains.

I take a few deep breaths as footsteps echo through the house. “Hello? Mr. Blake?” I step out of the room to find a teenager holding takeaway containers, bundled up in a thick jacket.

“Your food. I decided to drop it inside as it’s cold outside.” He sets the containers on the table and grins. “Thanks.”

“Okay. See ya later.” He doesn’t linger, rushing out the door. He can’t be more than twelve or thirteen years old. After closing and locking the main door, I pick up the food containers and head to the kitchen.

The images from earlier are still fresh in my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone in that way. Hell—it’s been years since I’ve touched someone. Theodore has joked that I’ve mentally committed to celibacy.

“Let’s not go down that road,” I tell myself, setting the container on the island and quickly fetching some cutlery.