Filthy Desire

by Sebastian Ex

  “Because I have nowhere else to go.”

  I look into her brown eyes and realize how broken she is. Just then I hear her stomach rumble from hunger. “When was the last time you ate?” She tries to move her head but I tighten my grip. “Ella?”

  “Yesterday.”

  I let go of her and take in a huge breath, walking away.

  “Have you got anything of value in your car?”

  “Just the shoes you bought me, and my other uniform.”

  “Anything else?” She shakes her head. “Get your stuff. You’re coming with me.”

  “I can’t,” she protests.

  “Why, do you have a better offer?”

  “You don’t like me. You think I’m dumb.”

  “I don’t think you’re dumb; I think you’re just ordinary. Now grab your purse, because you’re coming with me.”

  “Where are we going?” she asks, but she’s not moving.

  “My apartment.” Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Relax. I’m going to feed you, let you have that bath, then we’re going to talk about how on earth you ended up in this situation.”

  “Okay, Matt. Thank you.” Her voice is tender and soft. I can imagine how much it must have hurt to accept help. Especially from an asshole like me.

  “Don’t bother locking your car, ‘cause it’s a heap of shit. I’ll get it towed in the morning.”

  She steps back from me, and I almost want to grab her and pull her close again. But I can’t be such an arrogant prick, thinking about myself all the time. She must be hurting badly and in a really desperate state if she’s agreed to go home with a man she barely knows, and doesn’t seem to like much.

  She opens the passenger door and stands looking into my car as I slide into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. “What’s the problem?” I ask as I see her hesitation.

  “I’m dirty and I don’t want to ruin your seat.”

  “They can be cleaned. Get in.”

  “But my feet are filthy.”

  “Just get in the damned car and stop worrying about it. It’s just a car.” She gets in, puts her seat belt on, but I can see her holding her feet up off the carpet. “Are you kidding me? I’ll take it to get detailed tomorrow. Put your feet down.” Her feet drop to the floor.

  She doesn’t say anything on the drive to my place, but her eyes are wide as she takes in the transition of scenery between neighborhoods. When the Onyx Club started doing well, I managed to secure a penthouse apartment in an up-and-coming area. Now, it’s worth five times what I paid for it because all the young white-collar workers have bought into the neighborhood.

  I pull up to the garage door and enter my code. I park in one of my two designated spaces. In the other spot is my ‘weekend car’, a fully restored 1965 Shelby Cobra. She’s beautiful, the most exquisite piece of machinery ever created. Most restored Cobras are silver, blue, or red. But I wanted something different. I went with green, a dark green, a shade so intense and bright, it sparkles like a finely-cut emerald. I have a cover over her, and a security camera permanently pointed at her, recording 24/7. I’ve never had any trouble here, and I’m sure as hell not about to take a risk now.

  I park the car and round the other side to open Ella’s door before she has a chance to do it herself. “Thank you,” she says in a small voice as her eyes fall to the floor again.

  “For God’s sake, stand up straight and stop looking at the floor. I’m sick of talking to the top of your head.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And stop apologizing.”

  “Sorry,” she says in a flutter.

  “Look.” I take her upper arm once she’s out of the car, “I’m tired of you apologizing.”

  She tries to duck her face away from me so I can’t see her eyes, but I grab her chin and turn her to face me. “Okay,” she mumbles.

  I let her go and walk over to the elevator, call it, and we wait for it to arrive. When I look behind me, Ella is two steps away, looking around the garage like she wants to escape. “Why are you over there?”

  She just shrugs.

  I turn back and wait for the elevator. Within seconds the doors ping open and I stick my arm in so they won’t close again. “After you,” I say, waving her in.

  “Thank you.” She tiptoes in.

  I get in hit the ‘PH’ button and enter the code for my floor.

  “You have the penthouse?”

  “That’s what the ‘PH’ stands for,” I reply gruffly. She shrinks away in the corner of the elevator. “I shouldn’t be so rude. My apologies.”

  “It’s okay, Matt.” Damn her, and her complete insubordination. “I’m used to it.”

  What does that mean?

  When we get up to my apartment, I shrug off my jacket and throw it carelessly toward the coat rack. I miss, as I usually do, and ignore it. Ella stops and looks at me, then my jacket, and picks it up, shakes it out, and hangs it up for me. “Rhonda would’ve gotten it,” I say defensively.

  “That’s not a nice way to treat your girlfriend,” she snaps, finding the confidence she had in my office yesterday.

  I chuckle. “She’s not my girlfriend; she’s the sixty-five-year-old housekeeper who comes in once a week.”

  “So you need someone to pick up after you,” she mumbles under her breath, but obviously not low enough, because I heard it.

  I choose to ignore her snarky, smart-ass comment and put it down to hunger. “Do you want something to eat first or to take a bath? Actually you can have a shower.” I ask as I walk through the apartment, turning on the lights as I go.

  “Um.” I turn to look at her, and she’s reverted back to looking like a meek little kitten again. “Um.”

  “Um is not an answer, Ella. Either you want to get rid of the stench of who knows how many days off you, or you want to eat.”

  She lowers her eyes, finding her filthy toes more interesting than me. “Shower, please.”

  “This way. You can use the guest bathroom. The décor is dark and won’t show up the grime washing off you.” Oh shit, why am I being such a prick to her? “Sorry,” I add quickly, stopping in my tracks and rubbing my temples because I feel like an ass.

  “It’s okay.” She accepts my apology so easily. “I appreciate you bringing me here for the night. I promise I’ll be gone before you wake.”

  Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. I probably won’t sleep a wink, thinking about her in my guest bedroom, between the sheets. Naked, between the sheets, or better still, in one of my t-shirts and a pair of my boxer briefs, between the sheets. I gotta get her in the bathroom so I can go to mine and jack off.

  “Here’s some towels. Don’t you women like one for your hair and one for your body?” I ask as I hold out two towels, one bigger than the other. Smooth move, Matthew. Sexist much?

  “I’m just grateful for hot water,” she says, making me feel like a total dick.

  I step into the bathroom, turn on the lights, and go to the vanity to get out a new cake of soap, shampoo and conditioner for her. “Here.” I place them on the vanity, along with a new toothbrush and toothpaste, and start to leave. But she’s just standing in the doorway.

  “Thank you.”

  I step up to her. My eyes lock on her eyelashes, and her eyes are still downcast. My gaze slides down to her long, pale, luscious neck. It has a beautiful dip between her collar bones. A mouth-watering amount of skin is showing and I’m exercising all the control I can muster not to reach out and touch her.

  “Please move,” I say to her before I do something stupid. Like rip my clothes off and join her in the shower. I can imagine letting my hands trail down her body, feeling her skin heat beneath my touch, watching her tits rise and fall as I soap them and pinch her nipples.

  “Matt?” she asks as my eyes visualize what her naked body looks like.

  I snap out of my dirty thoughts and drag my eyes away from her. “I’ll grab you some clothes that don’t fit me any longer. I’ll leave them by the
door.” I step out of the bathroom and hear the door close behind me, with a gentle click of the lock.

  I walk into my room and go directly to my closet, opening my t-shirt drawer and grabbing one along with a pair of boxer-briefs.

  Damn it, I have to control myself or I’ll find my cock buried in her, and I can’t have that. She works for me, and I won’t cross those lines.

  Taking the clothes to the guest bathroom, I keep reciting to myself that I don’t want to feel her pussy. I don’t want to feel her wetness engulfing my cock, I certainly don’t want to feel her tongue as it twirls around the head of my dick, or hear Ella moaning while she pushes her pouty lips further down my shaft. And I definitely don’t want to fist her hair through my fingers, and pull it until tears are streaming from her eyes. I don’t want to bend her at the waist and lift her right leg over the kitchen counter, kneel beside her and eat her pussy until her body is violently shaking around my tongue. Nope, I don’t want to know how she feels, how her tits taste, how she moans and begs for more, or even how her body looks covered in goosebumps as a fine sheen of sweat blankets her body.

  No, I don’t want any of that.

  I want all of it.

  Over and over and over again.

  Four

  She’s been in the bathroom for nearly an hour. And I’ve been in pain since about two minutes after I threw the clothes down by the bathroom door and went to jack off.

  Now I’m in the kitchen, having a scotch, waiting for her. The water turned off some time ago, and I’m gripping the counter and trying to regain control of myself.

  I don’t have to wait long. I hear the guest room door creak open and her light footsteps pad along the slate until she’s standing in the doorway.

  God damn it. My cock springs to life; it’s got a mind of its own. It’s almost like it can smell her arousal and it wants to burst through my trousers and fuck her senseless.

  “What would you like to eat? I have a mild curry with rice.” She moans softly. My cock becomes hyperaware. “Or lasagna.” She groans, and I’m hanging on for dear life. “Or I have a chicken dish.”

  “Any of those sound great,” her soft voice says. “Whatever you have extra of and don’t want to eat.”

  I grab the biggest meal in the freezer and walk over to the microwave. “My house keeper thinks I don’t eat well, so she also makes me these meals and freezes them.”

  “Rhonda?”

  “Yeah, Rhonda. Sit.” I point to the stool under the lip on the kitchen counter. She drags it out and delicately sits. I try not to look at her, because truthfully, I don’t trust myself. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes, please. Just point me to a glass and I’ll get some water from the faucet.” She gets up not even thirty seconds after she sat down.

  “For God’s sake, will you sit down and let me get you something to eat?” Something about the way Ella is, the juxtaposition of her shy nature with the signs there’s a tiger behind the walls she’s built around herself, makes me want to shield her from anything bad.

  “Sorry.” Her eyes widen when she notices she’s apologized, and brings her hand to clap over her full pink lips. “Sorry for…”

  “It’s okay. Just stop before I get angry.” I get her a can of lemonade from the fridge, open it and pour it into a glass. She looks at the drink, then me. “It’s lemonade.” I look at her silently asking her what the issue is.

  “Are you sure? I’ve already interfered in your night and you probably had plans. You’ve let me use the shower and now you’re going to feed me too?”

  “It’s just a can of lemonade.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.” She picks up the glass and brings it to her pretty mouth. She sips on the lemonade, savoring it as her eyes close and she licks her lips.

  “Ella?”

  “Hmmm?” She opens her eyes and looks straight at me.

  “Why are you living like this?” I wave my hand over the dirty clothes she’s brought out of the bathroom with her.

  She looks away, and begins to fidget in her seat. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I-I-I…c-c-can’t t-t-tell you,” she stammers.

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “N-n-no.” She’s lying. The stuttering gives her away.

  “Are you on the run from the law?”

  “No!” she yells as her head swings around to look at me. I think she’s telling the truth, about that at least.

  “From your banker boyfriend?” Her silence and shrugging shoulders are enough to tell me he is who she’s running from.

  I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean back against the counter, just watching her. The microwave pings, indicating her dinner is ready. I take it out, dish it in a bowl, and give it to her. “Bon appetit,” I say, and she smiles. “Hey, I like it when you smile.” Her lips drop and she looks down at the bowl of curry and rice. “Enjoy your dinner.” I go to the freezer and get a second one out for me, a smaller meal portion, because, well, I’m not starving like Ella is.

  She lifts the spoon and tastes the food. “Mmm, this is so good.”

  “Tell me where you’re from,” I ask as I place the second dish in the microwave.

  “Around.”

  “Tell me something that’s real.”

  “Um,” she pauses as her lips close around another heaping mouthful of food. “I’ll be twenty-three soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

  “About that. Where will you go? Family? Friends?” She shakes her head. “Do you have anywhere to go?” She shakes her head, again. “Then you’ll be staying here.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “Why, is this place not up to your standards?” I ask sarcastically.

  “I’ll be in your way.”

  I move so my arms stretch out in front of me, leaning on the island counter. “You’re staying here. That’s final.”

  “I can’t, it’s wrong.” She lifts the glass and drinks more of the lemonade.

  My anger is rising now, starting to pulsate. My brow becomes stormy as I struggle with curbing my temper instead of pounding into something. “It’s not wrong, and there’s no more to discuss.” My jaw line is so tense it feels like my teeth are about to crack.

  “I can’t.”

  I smash a closed fist on top of the counter. The smashing sound causes Ella to jump, flinching. “This is not open for negotiation. There aren’t two sides to this. It’s my way, end of story. You’re staying here and you’ll go back and forth to the club with me. I don’t care if you don’t want to be here. I don’t care what your stupid female brain is saying to you. You’re staying here, and that’s final.”

  I can feel fire boiling my blood. It feels like I’m a dragon, breathing the inferno. Ella says nothing, but continues to take tiny mouthfuls of her food. I see a tear leave her left eye and roll slowly down her alabaster cheek. Silence encompasses us, stifling the air. I force myself to calm down.

  “Okay. But I need my clothes.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I have a bag in the car. There’s not much there, but at least it’s something.”

  “Are they clean, and why didn’t you bring them?”

  “I’m not an animal,” she says, looking at me indignantly. “I wash them in public restrooms when I can.” Jesus, how can she live like that? Where is she from? And who the hell is this boyfriend she’s hiding from?

  “I didn’t mean to imply I think you’re an animal. I just wondered how you would have been able to wash them, and whether they’re worth salvaging?”

  “They’re the only things I have.”

  I take a deep, calming breath, willing my mind restore some order. “I’ll take you to the department store tomorrow and we can buy what you need.”

  “I can’t repay you right away, but I can do a payment plan,” she says eagerly.

  “Did I ask you to do that?
”

  “I have to do something.”

  “Yeah, about that…you can tell me who the hell you’re hiding from.” She shakes her head, lowers her eyes and keeps picking at her food.

  The microwave pings and I go over to get my food. As I stand opposite Ella, I start eating, though I’m not really hungry. “Don’t you want to sit down?” she asks.

  “I’ve been sitting half the night. I want to stand.” I take a mouthful of food and see Ella nod. “Can you cook?”

  “Huh?”

  “Can you cook?” I ask again.

  “I’m not the best, but I can get by.”

  “Can you clean?” She nods. “Okay, this is what I propose, and it’s not really an offer. It’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stay here. I’ll make sure you have whatever you need in exchange for you cleaning and cooking.”

  “But you already have Rhonda to do that.”

  “She’s here once a week. You’ll be here for the other six days. Feed me, and keep my house clean, and I’ll make sure you get whatever you need. Starting with clothes and whatever else you girls need. And a phone, because I need to be able to contact you at all times.”

  Her nose crinkles and her mouth screws up as she considers what I’ve said. “How about…”

  “How about nothing. There’s no other option. There’s no ‘I’ll think about it’, or counter-offer. You’ll do what I say.”

  “But I’ll cramp your style with your female companions.”

  “Not your concern. Now eat, because we need to be up early so I can take you to the department store and buy you clothes before work.”

  “I’m going to end up owing you.”

  “I’ll keep a tab if it makes you feel better, and we can tally it up when you’re more financially stable.”

  “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “No, I’ll do that. And I don’t want you to worry about anything.”

  She finishes her dinner, stands and takes the bowl to the sink. She rinses it out and starts looking around her. “What are you doing?” I ask her while I shovel the last of my food in my mouth.

  “If I’m going to work for you, I’ll start now. Where are the cleaning products?” I look at her and raise an eyebrow. “You know, to wash the dirty dishes.”