Glued Attraction

The glue can had been sitting on the counter for three weeks. Sunlight had faded the bright orange label, PERMANENT BOND: INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH. Cheap adhesive had given up at the corners, causing it to peel. Mara had meant to fix the wobbly chair leg with it, but life kept happening instead. Bills, bad dates, the way her cat knocked over her coffee every Tuesday like clockwork.

Mara’s pink rubber gloves squeaked against the countertop as she scrubbed at a stubborn ring of dried coffee. The cat, a perpetually unimpressed tabby named Mittens, watched from the windowsill with the detached judgment of a minor deity. She’d been cleaning for two hours straight—her therapist called it "productive avoidance," but Mara called it Tuesday. The glue can wobbled when she bumped it with her elbow. She caught it before it tipped, exhaling through her nose. "One more thing to deal with," she muttered, peeling off the gloves with a snap.

Naked cleaning was her thing. Clothes just got in the way, tangled in the mop handle or soaked with bleach splatters. She’d learned that the hard way after ruining her favorite band tee last summer. The kitchen floor was cool under her feet; the afternoon light caught dust motes that swirled like lazy fireflies. She grabbed the glue can again, this time with purpose. The chair leg could wait, but the counter’s sticky residue couldn’t. The cap resisted at first, then gave way with a wet pop—too much force. A thick, glossy wave of glue surged out, splattering across the tiles in a slow-motion tsunami.

Mara yelped, hopping back, but her bare foot landed square in the spill. Her arms pinwheeled, sending the can flying. It hit the fridge with a hollow thunk, rolling to a stop by the cat’s food bowl. Mittens flicked his tail, unbothered. The glue was already setting; her foot was glued fast. She tugged, grimacing at the tug-of-war sensation between sole and floor. "Okay, okay—" she breathed, bending to peel at the edges. Her fingers slipped, smearing more glue onto her skin. Panic prickled up her spine. She reached for the dish towel hanging on the oven handle, but her balance was off, her other foot sliding dangerously close to the spill’s edge.

The fall wasn't graceful at all. First her knees, then her hands, and the worst part was her bare breasts hitting the ground. The glue was kind of warm, sticking to her like a second skin when she tried to push herself up. Her hands wouldn't budge. Her knees followed. Mara craned her neck; her cheek pressed to the tile, and let out a shaky laugh. "This isn’t happening." Mittens stretched, yawned, and sauntered over to sniff at her hair. She wriggled her hips experimentally. Nothing gave. The glue had her in a grotesque parody of a snow angel, splayed and immobile.

Mittens’ whiskers tickled Mara’s ear as he investigated this sudden human floor ornament. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, which only made it stick to her glue-smeared forehead. "You could help," she muttered. The cat responded by stepping onto her bare back, his claws pricking her skin as he balanced precariously on her spine like a furry tightrope walker. "Traitor," she hissed, but the warmth of his little body was weirdly comforting against the growing chill of the kitchen tiles.

Her phone sat on the counter, three feet away. It might as well have been on the moon. Mara twisted her head, trying to see if she could wriggle closer, but the glue held her torso firm. Her hips were fused to the floor in a way that felt both ridiculous and vaguely obscene. She imagined the headline: Local Woman Found Naked and Glued to Kitchen Tile, Cat as Sole Witness. Mittens chose that moment to bat at her ponytail, his tail flicking against her nose. "I swear to God, if you start grooming me right now—.

The glue had begun to harden, pulling at her skin whenever she tried to shift. She exhaled, forcing herself to think. The dish towel was still hanging from the oven handle, fluttering slightly from the AC vent. If she could just—Her toes flexed, her right foot barely free enough to scrape against the tile. Maybe if she hooked it around the chair leg… The chair, of course, remained unfixed, wobbling mockingly at the edge of her vision.

A memory surfaced: her father, years ago, teaching her how to escape quicksand in their backyard. "Slow movements, kiddo. You fight it, you sink faster." She’d been eight, covered in mud and laughing. Now, she inched her left arm forward, millimeter by millimeter, feeling the glue resist like cold taffy. The dish towel swayed. Mittens lost interest and jumped down, his tail brushing her elbow as he sauntered toward his food bowl.

Mara's fingertips grazed the dish towel—just once, a ghost of contact—before the glue yanked her hand back down with a wet smack. "Oh, come on," she groaned, blowing a glue-stiffened strand of hair out of her eye. Mittens crunched his kibble with the loud, deliberate satisfaction of a cat who knew exactly how useless he was being. The clock above the stove ticked. Four-thirty. Her roommate wouldn’t be home for hours.

She tried rocking her hips, a slow, awkward grind that only made the glue creak ominously. The sensation was bizarrely intimate, like the floor itself was refusing to let go. Her breasts had fully adhered now, the skin pulling taut when she inhaled. "Okay," she muttered. "New plan." Twisting her head, she eyed the chair again—the wobbly, unfixed, stupid chair. If she could just hook her foot around the leg…

Her toes stretched, brushing the chair’s shadow. Mittens chose that moment to saunter back, his tail flicking against her bare thigh as he inspected her progress. "You’re mocking me," she accused. He blinked, slow and smug, before plopping down squarely on the small of her back, a furry paperweight.

The glue had cooled to a rubbery consistency, tugging at her skin with every shallow breath. She imagined paramedics arriving—would they peel her off like a sticker? Would she leave a Mara-shaped stain on the tile? Mittens had settled into a tight loaf on her lower back, purring like a tiny engine. She was debating whether to scream for help when the knock came—three sharp raps at the back door. "Mara? You home?"

Her stomach dropped. Eli. Her neighbor, who fixed her leaky sink in a rainstorm last month and smelled like cedar and pine. The one who’d asked her out twice, and she’d panicked both times. The back door’s frosted glass showed his silhouette, blurred but unmistakably broad-shouldered. "Uh—" Her voice cracked. "Now’s really not a good time!"

The handle jiggled. "Your cat’s been yowling for ten minutes. Thought something was—" The door swung open. Eli froze. His gaze traveled from her glue-stiffened ponytail to her naked, shapely bottom, her bare hips glued obscenely to the floor, then back up. His Adam’s apple bobbed. "…wrong."

Mittens chirped, as if to say Ta-da!

Eli’s boot scuffed against the welcome mat as he stepped inside, his eyebrows climbing higher with every inch of the disaster he took in. The glue can on the floor by the fridge. The broken chair leg. Mara, naked and splayed like a butterfly pinned to a board, her skin glistening where the adhesive hadn’t fully dried. Mittens trilled triumphantly from his perch on her back.

"You—" Eli’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "You good?"

Mara groaned, pressing her forehead to the tile. "Define good."

Eli crouched beside her, careful to avoid the glue’s creeping edges. His fingers hovered over her shoulder, then retreated. "Okay. Okay, uh—" He raked a hand through his hair, which was unfairly thick and soft-looking even in crisis. "Industrial strength, huh?"

Eli’s fingers hovered over the worst of the glue patches—a thick, glossy smear across Mara’s lower back where Mittens had been loafing. "This might… pull," he said, his voice strained with the effort of not laughing. Or staring. Or both. Mara, totally embarrassed, squeezed her eyes shut. "Just get it over with."

His touch was warm, calloused from carpentry work, and agonizingly gentle as he tested the adhesive’s grip. The glue resisted, then gave with a wet schlop that made Mara groan into the tile. "I’m gonna need therapy after this," she muttered. Eli’s breath hitched—was that a laugh? As he peeled another section free, his palm slid along the small of her back, sending a shiver through her body. Yes, it had been a while since a guy touched her, especially a good-looking one like Eli. "You’re doing great," he lied.

Mittens, traitorously unbothered, circled Eli’s ankles like a tiny shark. Mara’s right hip came loose with a sound like tape tearing, leaving her skin tingling and oddly cold. "Okay, roll toward me," Eli instructed, his voice steadier now. She tried, but her left side remained cemented to the floor. "I can’t—ugh—it’s like the tile wants me."

Eli braced a hand under her shoulder, his thumb brushing the edge of her breast by accident. He froze. Mara did too. "Sorry," he blurted, cheeks flushing. "Just—physics." She wanted to dissolve into the grout. "It’s fine," she lied, higher-pitched than intended. Mittens chose that moment to leap onto the counter, knocking her phone into the sink with a splash.

Eli exhaled sharply through his nose, as if he were mentally filing this under Things I Did Not Expect To See On A Tuesday "So," he said slowly, gaze darting from the glue can to Mara's predicament, "you're... redecorating?"

Mara's laugh came out more like a wheeze. "Avant-Garde performance art. Stuck: A Tragedy in One Act." She tried to shift her weight, but the glue had other plans, adhering her left thigh to the tile with the commitment of a bad tattoo. Mittens pawed at a loose thread on Eli's jeans, utterly failing to convey the urgency of the situation.

Eli crouched beside her, his knees popping audibly. Up close, he smelled like sawdust and the cheap lemon soap from the bodega down the block. "And it had to be industrial strength, huh?" He tapped a fingernail against the hardened glue near her hip, producing a sound like a plastic spoon on Tupperware.

"Please don't—oh god—make it weirder by narrating," Mara groaned, her forehead thunking against the tile.

Eli's fingers hesitated at the edge of the glue patch near Mara's ribs, his throat working silently as he calculated the least mortifying angle of attack. "I, uh—" His voice cracked. "This might—"

"Just do it," Mara hissed into the tile, her ears burning. The moment his fingertips made contact with the outer curve of her breast, she realized two things simultaneously: first, that the industrial-strength adhesive had thoroughly fused her breasts to the floor, and second, that Eli's hands were unfairly skilled at precise, careful movements. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast as he worked a fingernail under the glue's edge, peeling upward with agonizing slowness. The adhesive resisted, then released with a wet pop that made them both flinch.

Mara's breath hitched as the cold kitchen air hit newly freed skin. Eli made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his fingers trembling where they hovered over her other breast. Mittens, ever the opportunist, chose that moment to pounce on a dust bunny near Mara's elbow, his tail whipping across her bare shoulder. "You're enjoying this," she accused the cat, her voice an octave higher than normal.

Eli cleared his throat. "Okay, so this one's—" He gestured vaguely at her left breast, now visibly puckered from the glue's grip. "It's sort of... suction-cupped?"

Mara groaned. "I paid good money for that effect at Victoria's Secret once."

The choked laugh Eli tried to smother came out as a snort. His fingers returned to their work, this time pressing flat against her ribcage to avoid unnecessary contact. Not that it mattered—every millimeter of separation between his palm and her skin felt like a spotlight. The glue peeled away in reluctant strips, taking what little remained of her dignity with it. When her nipple finally came free, Mara squeezed her eyes shut so hard she saw stars.

"Almost done," Eli murmured, though his voice had gone suspiciously rough. Mittens abandoned his dust bunny to headbutt Eli's knee in apparent solidarity. The last patch of glue clung stubbornly to the dip between Mara's collarbones, requiring Eli to brace one hand between her shoulder blades as he worked. His forearm brushed the side of her breast—accidentally, probably—and Mara bit her lip hard enough to taste copper.

Her freedom came suddenly, sending Eli stumbling back with a glue-crusted strip dangling from his fingers. Mara pushed herself up on shaking arms, her skin buzzing where the adhesive had been. They stared at each other for one pulse-pounding second: her flushed and glue-streaked, him with his hair sticking up in five different directions from running his hands through it too many times. Mittens sneezed.

Mara’s knees wobbled as Eli helped her up, her skin still tingling where the glue had peeled away. The kitchen air felt unnaturally cold against her bare body, and she crossed her arms instinctively, acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin. Eli’s grip on her shoulders was steady, his palms warm against her chilled flesh. She couldn’t meet his eyes—not when she was standing there, naked, glue-streaked, and utterly ridiculous.

Then he said it.

“You’re beautiful.”

The words were quiet, matter-of-fact, as if he were commenting on the weather. Mara’s head snapped up, her cheeks burning. But Eli wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t laughing. His gaze was steady, sincere, his thumbs brushing lightly over her collarbones where the last of the adhesive had been.

She blinked. “I’m covered in glue.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, as if it were irrelevant. His fingers traced a dry patch near her shoulder, his touch feather-light. “And you’re still beautiful.”

Mittens chose that moment to weave between Eli’s ankles, purring like a malfunctioning engine. Mara couldn’t breathe. The kitchen clock ticked. Eli’s thumbs were still tracing her collarbones, his calluses catching on the sticky residue. Something hot and reckless uncoiled in her stomach, and she knew that if she made the wrong choice, she would regret it for the rest of her life. "Fuck it," she muttered, and kissed him.

Eli made a startled noise against her mouth, his hands freezing on her shoulders. For one terrible second, Mara thought she’d misread everything—then his fingers slid into her glue-stiffened hair, tilting her head back as he kissed her properly. His mouth was warm, insistent, tasting faintly of the spearmint gum he always chewed. Mittens yowled in protest as Eli backed her against the fridge, the magnet-covered surface rattling against her bare bottom.

She could feel every ridge of his flannel shirt through the glue still smeared across her chest, the contrast of rough fabric and her sensitized skin making her shiver. Eli’s palm slid down her side, pausing at the dip of her waist where adhesive still clung. "You’d better Shower," he rasped against her jaw. "Before this sets again."

Mara nodded, her pulse thundering in her ears as he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his hips on instinct. The glue between her thighs pulled uncomfortably, but she barely noticed—not with Eli’s teeth scraping her neck, not with the way his grip tightened on her ass as he carried her down the hallway. Mittens trailed after them, chirping as if to say About damn time.

The bathroom mirror fogged up within seconds of the shower turning on. Mara hesitated at the threshold, suddenly hyperaware of her glue-streaked thighs, the way her ponytail had hardened into a lopsided sculpture. Eli stripped off his shirt without ceremony, revealing a chest dusted with dark hair and a scar that curved over his ribs like a parenthesis. He caught her staring and grinned, unbuttoning his jeans with deliberate slowness. "Are you going to help, or just watch?"

The shower spray was lukewarm at first, sluicing the worst of the glue from her back in milky rivulets. Eli’s hands followed the water’s path, working the remaining adhesive free with a focus that made her knees weak. His thumb circled a stubborn patch near her hipbone, his breath hot against her shoulder. "Almost got it," he murmured—then bit down lightly on her earlobe when she squirmed.

Mara turned in his arms, the water cascading between them as she pressed her palm to his chest. His heartbeat was rapid under her fingers, matching the frantic pace of her own. The last flecks of glue floated away down the drain as Eli kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs. She gasped as he lifted her, her back hitting the slick tile wall, the contrast of cool ceramic and his burning skin making her dizzy.

Mittens’ indignant yowl from the hallway barely registered. The shower curtain rattled on its rings as Eli pinned her harder against the wall, his mouth leaving a trail of fire down her throat. Mara tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging just to hear him groan—a rough, broken sound that echoed off the tiles. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as he adjusted his grip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

"You’re gonna flood the bathroom," she managed between kisses, her voice thin with want.

Eli nipped at her collarbone. "Worth it."

The water turned lukewarm before either of them noticed. Mara shivered, her skin pebbling, but Eli’s body was a furnace against hers. He reached behind her to shut off the spray, droplets clinging to his lashes as he studied her face. "Still with me?"

She answered by hooking her legs tighter around his hips, grinding down just to feel him shudder. His forehead dropped to hers with a thunk. "Christ, Mara—"

Mittens’ indignant yowl cut through the steam. Eli groaned as the cat’s paw batted at the shower curtain. "Your chaperone’s losing patience."

Mara bit his shoulder. "Ignore him."

Eli laughed against her mouth, hands sliding up to cradle her ribs. His thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts—deliberately this time—and she arched into the touch with a gasp. The bathroom mirror was still fogged, but she caught a glimpse of them in the fractured reflection: Eli’s broad shoulders bracketing her smaller frame, his forearms flexing as he adjusted his grip.

"Bedroom," she gasped, desperately needing to go there.

He groaned into the curve of her neck, his stubble scraping her collarbone. "Mittens will follow."

"So, lock the door." She nipped his earlobe, relishing his shudder. "Unless you want an audience."

Eli’s grip tightened—then he was stepping out of the tub, dripping onto the bathmat with a squelch. Mara clung to him, her legs locked around his waist, her wet skin sliding against his as he fumbled for the doorknob. Mittens darted between his ankles with an offended mrrp, but Eli kicked the door shut with his heel, the latch clicking decisively.

The bedroom was dim; the afternoon light filtered through cheap blinds. Eli deposited her onto the mattress with surprising care, considering how hard he was breathing. Mara reached for him immediately, her fingers tangling in the damp hair at his nape, but he caught her wrists, pinning them to the comforter. His knees bracketed her hips, his weight a delicious pressure.

"You," he murmured, tracing the last fleck of glue near her sternum with his thumb, "are ridiculous." His mouth followed the path of his thumb, slow and deliberate, down the center of her torso. Mara arched off the bed with a gasp, her toes curling into the sheets. "Says the man," she managed, "who peeled me off the floor like a—gasp—like a sticker."

Eli’s laugh vibrated against her stomach. His teeth scraped her hipbone, his fingers spreading her thighs with casual ownership. The contrast between his rough hands and the softness of her inner skin made her head spin. "Admit it," he said against her thigh, his breath hot. "You planned this."

Mara choked back a laugh. "Industrial-strength seduction? Really?" Her words dissolved into a moan as his tongue laved over her clit, teasing but not enough. Eli hummed, the sound reverberating through her core. "Worked on me."

She yanked at his hair, pulling him up for a messy kiss. Her actions left his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed. Seeing him wrecked because of her sent a fresh bolt of desire through her gut. Eli groaned when she rolled them over, straddling his hips with a victorious smirk. The glide of her wet folds against his erection drew a ragged curse from his lips.

Mittens yowled outside the door, scratching at the wood. Eli twitched beneath her. "He’s gonna tell the entire neighborhood, “He muttered, but his hands gripped her waist, urging her down.

Mara rocked against him, slow and deliberate, relishing the way his eyelids fluttered. "Let him." She leaned down, nipping at his lower lip. "I want them to hear."

Eli’s hips jerked up, his cock sliding against her in a way that made her gasp. His fingers dug into her ass as he guided her onto him, the stretch burning sweetly. Mara braced her hands on his chest, her hair curtaining their faces as she sank down, inch by inch. Eli’s throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Fuck, Mara—"

She moved, rolling her hips in a slow grind that had his toes curling into the sheets. The angle was perfect, each drag of his cock inside her hitting a spot that made her vision blur. Eli sat up abruptly, wrapping an arm around her back to crush her against him. His mouth found her nipple, sucking hard as his other hand slid between them, his thumb circling her clit in time with her thrusts.

Mara’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just to hear him groan against her breast. The bed frame creaked ominously, the headboard knocking against the wall with each snap of his hips. Mittens’ indignant yowls turned frantic outside the door, his paws scrabbling against the wood.

Eli flipped her onto her back with a growl, pinning her wrists above her head. His thrusts turned punishing, his breath hot against her ear. "Tell me," he rasped, his teeth scraping her pulse point. "Tell me how badly you wanted this."

Mara arched beneath him, her thighs trembling around his waist. "Every time—*ah*—you fixed my sink," she gasped. "Every time you—*fuck*—smiled at me in the hallway."

Eli groaned, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself to the hilt. His fingers tightened around her wrists, his forehead dropping to hers. "Christ, you’re gonna kill me."

Mittens’ final, despairing yowl was drowned out by Mara’s cry as she came, her body clamping down around Eli’s cock in pulsing waves. He followed with a choked curse, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her. They collapsed in a sweaty, panting heap, Eli’s weight a comforting pressure against her spent body.

The silence was broken only by Mittens’ disgruntled sniff under the door. Eli chuckled, rolling onto his back and dragging Mara with him. Her cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. "So," he said, tracing idle circles on her shoulder, "we should probably talk about the glue thing."

Mara groaned, burying her face in his collarbone. "No. Never again."

Eli’s laugh rumbled through her. "I mean, it worked." His fingers trailed down her spine, pausing at the small of her back where a stubborn patch of glue still clung. "Though next time, maybe try flowers?"