Freezing

by Tarrah Anders

  “That’s ridiculous. By what you bought, you ran out of milk. I go to the store when I run out of things too. It’s an absolutely normal part of adulting.”

  “Well, my Friday night plan was going to consist of eating a whole box of cereal and likely watching porn on the Internet, since I don’t have cable.”

  “That sounds thrilling.”

  “That would have been dependent on the porn that I chose.” I shrug with a smirk, hoping she gets that I’m joking.

  She playfully hits my arm and then leaves her hand on my arm. She looks at where our bodies are touching, licks her lips then slowly her eyes travel up to mine again. I keep still, fearing that she may freak out if I make a move, but all I want to do is to push her against the couch and kiss her. My breathing deepens with the onslaught of thoughts. She quickly takes her hand away and, in a flustered fashion, she grabs the remote to find the second movie.

  She settles back into her spot, with her knee on my thigh. I watch her out of the corner of my eye and see her fidgeting with the ends of the pillow she’s hugging across her lap. She pauses the movie and excuses herself to the restroom, and I take the brief moment to adjust my aching cock so it no longer presses against the inside of my thigh at the angle it was at when I sat down. Shortly after the water stops running, I hear her walk over to the kitchen where she grabs more snacks and more drinks. She hands me one as she plops down on the couch, resuming her position. It’s taking me all my willpower to not drape my hand across the top of her leg. That internal fight lasts about five whole minutes before I casually stretch my arms over my head and then set my hand comfortably on top of her knee as if it were meant to be there all along. When she doesn’t flinch or move away, I take that as a sign that it was all right.

  What the fuck are you doing? Women aren’t your main priority right now.

  My inner demons chastise me. I push the thoughts aside and go with the flow. I doubt that she’s as conniving as the stripper from Vegas was. I seriously doubt that she has any ulterior motives, and she sure as hell isn’t after my fame and money.

  She’s still female, and all females aren’t trustworthy. I shake my head to squash the feelings of doubt and just settle into the movie.

  Sometime a while later, Mika’s head is resting on my shoulder, her hand is covering mine and my gaze lands on the ceiling as I open my eyes. I slowly lift my head off the back of the sofa and notice the television is on the Netflix home screen. Her home is quiet, aside from the even breathing coming from my shoulder. I don’t want to move, but my bladder may burst at any moment and I don’t want to be the guy who pissed on her couch. I slowly remove her hand and try to move her knees from atop my leg. I’m unsuccessful as she stirs and slowly opens her eyes.

  “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you,” I apologize softly.

  “What time is it?” Her voice sounds groggy as if she’s underwater.

  I look at my watch. “It’s the middle of the night – three.”

  “Oh god. I’m such a horrible host.”

  “I fell asleep too, but I need to use your restroom.”

  “Sure, uhh… it’s down the hall over there, the first door to your right.” She yawns.

  I do what I need to do as quickly as one can when they’re practically asleep and meet her again in the living room. She standing now and picking up the assortment of snacks from our evening. She straightens as if she forgot I was here with her movements slowed from being half asleep.

  “So, it’s super late and it looks like you’re sleep walking as it is. I would feel better if you just stayed here tonight. I don’t want you leaving and ending up as a missing person,” she says sleepily.

  “I have no problem getting home right now. Don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy,” I tease her, smiling.

  “No. I won’t have that. I insist. I have a second bedroom, and besides storing dust, I think it could get some use.” She smiles.

  “I don’t want to be a bother. You barely know me.”

  “I know enough to know that you’re a decent guy. Plus, I may or may not have googled the shit out of you.”

  “Googled the shit out of me?”

  “Well, you know, you’re the Bradford Maddox. You’re you,” she points at me.

  “I’m me. So, what kind of juicy gossip did you pull up?” I cross my arms and follow her into the kitchen as she puts away things and throws the garbage away.

  “Oh no. Not right now. It’s the middle of the night, we both need to get back to sleep. See, I’m asleep right now, delirious and telling you things that I shouldn’t be.” She waves me away.

  “C’mon. You can’t just say that and not elaborate,” I push, now awake and curious.

  “That’s a story for another time. Shoo. Time for bed!” She grabs my shoulders and turns me around and gives me a little push towards the stairs.

  “Okay, Ms. Bossy Pants. Your house, your rules.” I let it go, but I’m still very curious – as well as taken aback – that she researched me. While I’m not completely comfortable with that information, I also understand why she would feel compelled because of my past.

  She directs me to the spare bedroom and, after she heads to her bedroom, I lie down in the full-size bed with my feet hanging off the edges, my arms crossed behind my head, and stare at the ceiling fan thinking about the woman in the room across the small hallway.

  Mika

  He’s in my house right now. He’s in the bedroom across the hall. He’s mere feet away from where I’m currently lying. In my half-awake state, I let the cat out of the bag about googling him. Luckily, he bought my excuse of it being the middle of the night so I could avoid any further explanation and get him upstairs.

  I hadn’t intended to fall asleep on the couch, but during the second Thor movie I was more focused on his hand on my knee than I was on the movie. Willing it to inch up my thigh or to have his thumb caress my skin – anything other than it just resting on top – apparently drained what energy I had left. I hate to give him credit for that sly move of yawn, stretch, then place. It’s a classic move I’m sure all guys learn from movies. I’m not knocking it; it worked.

  So now I lie in bed, wondering if he’s already fallen back asleep, or if he’s just as awake as I am. I’m running all kinds of scenarios through my head of what would happen if this were a romance novel or a movie.

  I would like to think that if my life was a movie or book, it would be a romantic comedy.

  I’m funny.

  I’m all romatical and shit.

  I’m probably more funny though, if we’re being honest.

  If my life were scripted, I would get up from this bed, tiptoe across the narrow hallway into his room, and stand next to the bed like a creeper while I watch him sleep for a few minutes before I climb on top of him. When his eyes open and focus, his hands would go to the top of my thighs and glides up towards my hips. He wouldn’t toss me out of bed, because he wants this to happen just as much as I do.

  Then I would cross my arms around my torso and grab the hem of my shirt, then slowly pull it over my head and bare my breasts to him. He would then lean up and capture my hard nipple in his mouth, causing me to arch my back as I grind slowly on his dick. His clothes would somehow disappear even with me still on top (because it happens magically like that in the movies) and he’d only be wearing boxers?

  Boxer briefs?

  Or would he go commando?

  Ahhh, so many details!

  Since my life isn’t a movie and I’m not bold enough to go across the hall, I settle for what I just created in my imagination and slide my hand down my tummy and into the waistband of my bikini underwear. Mr. T would make too much noise, so he’s staying in the drawer. My fingers slide against my outer folds, around and around. I slip my middle finger inside, then my index finger joins it and slowly my fingers fuck my pussy as my other hand palms and kneads my left breast. My hips move, meeting my fingers as the heel of my palm rubs against my clit at just the right pressur
e to bring my orgasm crashing in. I feel my toes curls, my hips thrust and hold, then thrust and hold again as I rub my clit a few more times. Brightness flashes behind my closed eyes and a breath gets stuck in my windpipe as I feel all the sensations unfold.

  I try my best to be silent, but the attempt is futile. I know that.

  I’m not sure exactly how loud I got, or how noisy the bed got, but I’m only fifty percent sure that Brad could have heard from across the hall anyway. Honestly, coming down from such an intense orgasm, I’m not giving any fucks. Masturbation is a human reaction to very human urges, and I’m sure that once someone hits a certain age, it’s a regular occurrence, some more than others. Sure, it’s taboo to speak publicly about it, but face it, everyone does it.

  Once I regain my composure, I sit up on the bed and straighten my shirt, which had been hitched over my breasts. On wobbly knees – thanks, massive orgasm! – I tiptoe to my bedroom door and I put my ear against it and hear silence in the hallway. Slowly, I turn the knob and open the door. It creaks loudly and I cringe before padding down the hall towards the bathroom. The spare bedroom door is open; it’s dark in there and I try my best to keep my head forward. As I approach the bathroom, I notice the door is closed and the light peeks out from underneath the door.

  There goes my stealth ninja masturbation. He probably heard it all.

  The light shuts off and the door is pulled open. Brad walks out without a shirt and in boxer briefs. Now I know for future sessions, he wears boxer briefs.. Good to know. My eyes automatically go to the semi-hard dick shaped bulge basically screaming for my attention. I’m staring, and I know I shouldn’t be. I can’t help it! My eyes zeroed in on his crotch like it held the power of Thor's hammer and, honestly, he’s not doing anything the cover up. He could be purposely angling his hips forward and I wouldn’t know, because I’m just staring at his dick, and likely drooling.

  Slowly, my eyes travel up the rest of his body. His happy trail is a light dusting of hair such that, if you weren’t purposely looking (like I am), you might miss the fine, blonde hairs. His stomach is flat and toned. There’s no visible six-pack, but he’s a real person and not that many people have one. Still, he does have those sexy V-shape cuts bracketing his happy trail. Above that, dime-size nipples are perfectly placed on his defined pecs, which support his strong, broad shoulders."

  What I can see of his body is toned, tight and scrumptious. He looks like a real person and not one of those ridiculously ripped fitness models who do nothing but breathe, eat and sleep the gym. Well, they may not really do much eating, but still. When Brad shifts his weight from one foot to the other, I see his muscles flex and indeed he has abs, they’re just hidden. My eyes jump to his and I see the lazy smile form on his face as he crosses his arms and leans against the frame of the bathroom door.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asks with a knowing smile on his face.

  “Um, yeah. I need to… um… go to the bathroom.”

  “Right. Right. Well, I’ll let you get to it then,” he says as he straightens and stands tall. He motions for me to step aside as I was blocking his path from the bathroom out into the hallway. He steps past me, and stops with a small turn. “Sweet dreams, Mika,” he says huskily.

  Once inside, I practically slam the bathroom door and then sag against it. Regulating my erratic breathing and getting my rapidly beating heart back down to a normal pace feels impossible.

  Holy shit in a basket! He radiates sex. It practically oozes from his pores. His pheromones are working overtime, sending all the right signals to my brain, which flood my body with arousal. As I mentally take photos of his body while he stands in the bathroom doorway, I fight against the growing urge to toss my inhibitions and climb that sexy tower of manliness. But I keep myself in check and instead, I stare at him – all of him – most likely with drool pooling on the floor at my feet as I objectify him.

  After cleaning myself up, I quickly wash my hands and blot my face. Then I take another breath and turn off the light as I open the bathroom door. I hold my head up, even though he can’t see me and, putting one foot in front of the other, walk back to my bedroom.

  “Good night, Mika,” Brad calls from the other room.

  “Night,” I squeak out before closing my door.

  Chapter Seven

  Brad

  While I was in jail, breakfast consisted of small servings and minimal selection, usually a choice of oranges, apples or bananas, with grits or oatmeal, and bread slices with jelly or butter, and milk. Having such a spartan breakfast daily, while in some ways could be seen as healthy, was not quite enough food, especially with the amount of working out I was doing. None of the meals really ever felt like enough. Since getting out of jail, I've endeavored to make my meals both nutritious and plentiful. And so far, I've kept all the food-related promises I made to myself while locked up: 1. No more grits ever again. 2. Pancakes can be a regular part of a healthy, balanced diet. 3. No skimping on the bacon.

  I’m used to waking up early too. I was fully awake just a few hours after the middle-of-the-night bathroom break, or as I like to call it, the need to clean the love juices off my hand hallway meet-up.

  When we went to our separate rooms last night, it wasn’t long before I started hearing some light moaning and maybe a few curse words from across the hall. Plus, her bed wasn’t the quietest in existence. The noises prompted my cock to stand to attention and beg for attention. Granted, I was lying in someone else’s bed in someone else’s home, where one should be cautious about unleashing one’s cock, out of respect. But, a quick mental review found no compelling reason to deny the urge, so I took myself in hand.

  I finished before she did, it seemed, and rushed to the bathroom to clean my come from my hand, only to open the door and find her standing there – a pleasant surprise indeed. She wasn’t shy about staring at me, seeming to catalogue every part of my body, starting with my cock. To hold off my caveman-like instinct to club her and drag her back to my cave, I stood there and let her eyes roam.

  I won’t lie; my cock had been more than willing to go a round – or several – with her. It's not like my dipstick has checked anyone else's oil since before I was put in jail. And I’m incredibly attracted to her. But I remained respectful, at least, as respectful as I could after just blowing a load in her guest room.

  So, I stuck around this morning, hoping she didn’t mind. I even slipped out of the house and ran to the corner store and came back with a bagful of breakfast supplies, since she had few.

  Dressed only in my jeans from last night and a frilly apron I found hanging on a hook in her pantry, I stand at her stove cooking the bacon and flipping pancakes. I hear a creak come from the stairs but keep my eyes forward. The atmosphere in the room changes as she enters the kitchen. She doesn’t make much sound, but I can track her somehow. It’s not until she’s beside me that she speaks.

  “Smells delicious,” she murmurs while taking a deep breath. “You didn’t need to cook breakfast.”

  “It’s my pleasure, the least I can do in gratitude for not kicking my ass out onto the sidewalk in the middle of the night.”

  “Well, I’m not that horrible of a person.” She crosses her arms over her chest, which pushes her cleavage up, creating the perfect mounds of flesh peeking over her tank top.

  “Nope, definitely not,” I reply, as I place a pancake on a plate. “I hope you don’t mind, but I had to go through your kitchen drawers to find things.”

  “As long as you didn’t go in my junk drawer, I think it’s safe to say that I won’t have to murder you.”

  “That was the first drawer I opened. Condoms, lube and bubble gum? Random amounts of things in there.” I wink.

  “You never know when a situation will present itself for a bubble blowing competition,” she quips without hesitation, ignoring my comment about the condoms and lube.

  I laugh and hand her a plate with pancakes and bacon, along with a fork and knife rolled in a napkin. Habit, I gu
ess.

  “Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked breakfast, especially by a man in my princess apron.”

  I stack my plate and join her at the dinette table.

  “I’ve started really enjoying cooking. I was never a professed chef before, I usually dined out a lot. But in jail the food really sucked, so I made that one thing that I would completely change.”

  “And how has that been going for you? The acclimation back into society and the food? Not going back on old habits?”

  “You trying to counsel me, nurse?” I quirk my eyebrow

  She blushes and hides her face against her shoulder, letting her dark hair cover half of her face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m a dick. Ignore me.”

  “It’s okay. The food part has been easy. I’ll still eat like crap sometimes, case in point, cereal for dinner. But overall, cooking has become a hobby.”

  “Food is good. These pancakes are phenomenal.”

  “Thanks. The acclimation was something I was warned about, but I honestly had no major issues. I tidied up everything before getting locked up, so my finances were all right when I came out. The main things now are keeping my shit straight and abiding by the rules of my parole and finding employment. So far, I think I’ve done a decent job.” I shovel a large bite in my mouth just as the front door opens.

  “Shit! Speaking of. I forgot to tell you, Reed… he lives next door,” she whispers.

  “Fuck. This could be awkward.”

  “No, don’t worry. It’s not a big deal,” she promises as my parole officer – her brother – walks into the kitchen.

  “Smells fucking good in— here.” He halts when he sees me with my fork frozen in the air halfway to my mouth.

  “Hey, man,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Hey, Brad. Fancy seeing you here… shirtless… in my sister’s kitchen… early in the morning.” Reed turns to Mika and gives her a questioning look.

  “Did you know that Brad lives close by?” she asks.