by Celia Crown
“There are new toothbrushes in the bathroom,” I gesture down the hall where there are a bathroom and two bedrooms.
“I want you to go straight across the hall when you’re done; you’re going to sleep there, and I don’t want to see your ass out here until tomorrow morning.”
She peers at me with big eyes and nods obediently, “Thank you.”
She acknowledges my demands, but she doesn’t move. Anna stays where she is and is too intrigued by the inks on my skin as if she is on a mission to memorize all of them.
“What are you still doing here?” I question in a low voice.
She squeaks and clumsily nods, “Going, and good night.”
Chapter Three
Anna
It turns out that Leslie is still not home yet when I called her in the morning. She’s doing extra drills in the fire station to catch up on her workout and the new area. She wants to understand the layout of the station house, so it doesn’t move her active time to get ready for her slide down the stripper pole.
I heard someone call it that once and I could never not hear it whenever I see the pole, and I go to her old station a lot to bring her things when she would forget them. I don’t know how she is a fully functional superwoman, and yet she has the worst memory ever.
Last year, she forgot that she needed tampons on her menstrual cycle because she’s so excited about going to work. Sometimes, I wonder how she doesn’t have any embarrassing stories, but then I remember she sees every mistake as a learning experience, and there is nothing to be ashamed of.
Leslie isn’t human; that is something I am absolutely positive about.
Without her key, I’m stuck in Luke’s apartment, and he’s actually letting me stay until Leslie comes back. I could be a bad person and steal everything from his place and his money too, but I’m a girl with good morals so I would never do that.
If I wasn’t who I am, and it’s someone else, then they’ll probably loot the entire place. The part about that scenario bothers me is not the robbery, but the part where someone else in his apartment.
My stomach drops when I think about it; it’s weird to imagine that someone in his place. I try so hard not to picture a woman in a shirt of his walking out of his bedroom. The implication is there, and I would rather not go there with this odd possessiveness.
It’s all imaginative, but the jealousy is too real in my gut.
“Do you need more sleep?” Luke’s voice draws me out from my fatigued state.
It’s hard to wake up at seven in the morning to call Leslie to see if she’s coming back, and it’s even harder to stay awake when Luke is distractingly handsome in his shirtless state.
I swear that man has a dislike for shirts, but I’m not going to argue with a wall of solid muscles about how it’s doing funny things to me in his own home where he can do anything he wants.
I did thank him for his hospitality for the night. He saved me an awkward trip to the building manager.
“No, I’m okay. I’ll just go get the key from Leslie. I could use the morning walk.” I shove a big yawn down and blink the blurriness from my vision.
I spin around to walk towards the door. Luke grabs my elbow and jerks me around to his chest, his very burly chest, hot and hard; two words that make me think of something else from yesterday though I should not be a pervert.
And, I can feel it pressing on my belly. It’s another reminder of the difference between us in regard to sizes. His monstrous height and the thickness of his muscles can make him seen as an antagonistic alpha male to others waiting to challenge him.
Men and their testosterone.
“W-wait, where are you taking me?” I stutter out as he drags me back into the apartment where he leads me to the room that I haven’t been in.
It’s a safe bet that it’s his room and I’m suddenly feeling anxious about this. He opens the door and shoves me inside. I survey his room; the curtain is open to let the sunlight in. It’s so clean and neat that I’m ashamed of my own room.
The bed is made with pillows in the correct places, no stray socks or clothes on the ground, and everything has its own place in an orderly fashion. It’s too neat that I feel wrong about stepping in with my messy hair and wrinkled pajamas.
“Change,” Luke grunts, pushing a pile of clothes into my hands and walking out of his room with the door closing behind him.
I look down and feel the heavy materials; a pair of heavy-duty sweatpants and a big sweater. It’s not winter yet, so I don’t think all of this is necessary.
Though fall can be unpredictable when it comes to weather and the wind lowers the temperature from the sunlight.
I pull the sweater over my head, and his scent engulfs me, embracing me and sinking into my skin with a sneaky brand of his ownership. His pants are pulled up above my sleeping shorts. They’re so big that the strings have to be tied and tucked into the waistband, so it doesn’t dangle down to my knees.
The next thing I do is roll up the sleeves up to my wrist and bend down to pull the pants to my ankles. He’s generous enough to let me borrow his clothes, and it would be rude of me to sweep the city’s floor with them.
My fingers comb through the nest on the top of my head. The tangles rip through my skull as I try to slowly run it down. It’s no use when it wants to be stubborn, but it’s better than before since the surface looks decent enough to be shown to other people.
I walk out of Luke’s room, and he’s standing there with his arms crossed, eyes skimming through the attire, and I wait for a commentary. I know I look funny and I can’t help it; he’s a giant, and I’m a mouse next to him.
My mind’s bound to become conflicted when it comes to sizes, and it jumps into the gutter quicker than an Olympian sprinter.
I’m never like this. I have no interest in sex before I met Luke. It was just never in my mind, and I have always wanted to focus on my blog, but then Luke just had to open to the door with his briefs and open that part of my mind that wouldn’t shut up about the big mystery between his legs.
It’s not much of a guessing game when his briefs are so tight that it outlines his cock.
He wordlessly walks away, and I stumble to catch up to him. His shirt stretches across his torso with muscles eating up the fabric while the inks on his arms shoot shivers to my fingers. The urge to stroke those patterns is strong. It’s a siren’s song that’s waiting for me to drown myself in the arms of his beefy muscles.
“Do you know where the fire station is? I think Leslie is there and I need the key.” I slip my shoes on as he waits for me by the opened door.
“Come on. I’m going there.”
My eyebrows shoot up, “You’re a fireman too?”
“What did you think I was?” he scoffs with his back turned towards me.
“Wrestler, boxer, thrill-seeker— oh maybe baby-oiled bodybuilder,” I laugh as he takes his keys out to lock the bolt on top of the doorknob.
I wait for him to lock his apartment and take me to the elevator, which is already on the fifteenth’s floor. We only had to wait for the elevator to descend, I would assume that more people are leaving to work, but it’s just Luke and me in the metal death box.
I never liked being in elevators. Studies say that I have a better chance of dying than being on a plane.
The elevator shudders with a sound of the exhaust, and with a clanking of machines, it skirts to a halt. Luke’s arm curls around my shoulder to steady me as we’re forcibly stuck between two floors and I curse my stupid brain for even thinking about it.
“I knew it!” my voice cracks in fear, “I knew it! Today’s going too well. What kind of karma is this? Is it because I ate your cookies? I know Leslie said to give them to you, but you said I could have them—”
His fingers curl in my hair and yank my head back. His black eyes rage up a storm as his face is void of emotions, and it’s the scowl on his face that allows my lungs to intake air again. His permanent scowl is a good indicator that h
e’s not panicking so I shouldn’t either, but I am struggling to not have a mental breakdown because of course, this would happen to me.
“Stop,” he commands, and it does magic to my frazzled mind.
My mouth clamps shut as I wait for him to say anything before I’m running my mouth like a train going off the rail. It happens a lot, and Leslie usually smacks me upside the head to stop me.
He only used his voice, and it works just as well as Leslie’s head slap.
“This happens sometimes,” Luke remarks calmly and I fail to see the need to be calm when we’re stuck in here.
If it happens a lot, then why don’t they fix it!
“What do we do?” I said with an edge to my voice as his hand tightens in my hair.
I’m officially panicking again, “Reports say that deaths related to elevators have risen up a two percent in just this year! Survivors recount their experience, and they say that it took them eight hours to be rescued and a backpack didn’t survive because they got the last person out, but the backpack went up in flames with the elevator!”
Luke doesn’t answer with words, but he shuts me up with his lips. His very soft lips slant over mine, muffling my voice as he curls his tongue with mine in a dance of sinful intentions of breathing his influence over the thrumming of my heart.
He kisses with a demand that I let him dominate me. My submission is a necessary evil that my inner demons want him to have. Strong fingers fist my hair, tilting my head to angle our lips in a perfect harmony that leaves my chest shuddering with scorching hopelessness.
The material of his jeans presses between my thighs, the pair of sweatpants brush my thighs as he draws me closer to his chest. My pussy grinds down on his thick thigh, and a choked mewl answers the prayer on my swollen clit from being firmly trapped on his thigh. He doesn’t move, nor does he stop his kisses. My head spins with the lights of the elevator flickering in a nightmarish tempo.
He pulls back, unaffected in his appearance but I feel the thick bulge on his zippers pressing on my belly. The thick sweater doesn’t stop me from feeling one solid pulse of his cock. The heat from his thickness spreads through my tummy like a meteor slamming down on the ground.
Oh, dinosaurs.
I really should get my head checked. There is no reason why I should be thinking of dinosaurs when I have this hotter than a wildfire and more nefarious than sin devouring my air as if it is his.
“Don’t do that again,” he says vaguely.
I cock my head in confusion, “Do what?”
“Panic,” he clarifies as the elevator begins to move again and descends us down the rest of the floors.
He’s not letting go, and I’m finding more comfort in his arms than the detergent-scented clothes, and my hands are holding his waist on their own with my nails digging into his shirt.
“It’s a proper response to a situation like this,” I pout grouchily. He’s so inconsiderate about the near-death experience we just had.
“I will make you cry,” he threatens with such an intense and ambiguous statement that urges me to panic just for the heck of it.
“Um, make me cry?” I swallow thickly as he takes my hand to haul me out of the elevator for others to go in.
The lobby is big with people coming in and out, but it’s the cool breeze that gets to my skin. The sun helps a bit when the wind dies down as we get outside, but it’s an on-going battle between too hot and too chilly.
“For the record, that wasn’t panicking. It’s a strategic flow of information that you needed to know for future references when we get stuck there.” I clear my throat as a wash of embarrassment hits me with the same heat as the sun as he pulls me along.
The busy streets of the city have honking cars, clicking bike chains, and barking dogs as the apartment complex is close to a dog park. I do like the city better than rural areas; there is danger in every corner of this earth, but I have a better chance of calling for help in a crowded city than in the middle of nowhere with cows mooing and horses neighing.
Animals aren’t going to call the police for me, but cities do have that bystander effect. Both scenarios are not ideal when I’m bleeding on the ground, but I do have a man whose patience is shorter than a fuse to save me from my own stupidity that will ultimately be my own demise.
“Do you ever shut up?” he sighs, squeezing my hand with his strong fingers.
I groan in pain; my bones are not meant to handle the force of his outrageous strength. Honestly, I have never met anyone who has beaten Leslie in an arm-wrestling match, but Luke might be the one to take that champion title that she has had all her life.
I know Luke and Leslie had met since he’s the help that she said she would send my way, but I would hope that she doesn’t become best friends with him. One zealous independent person is enough in my life. Another would be torturous since they would gang up on me.
I’m not the cleanest person, and I tend to be a bit messy when it comes to myself. My room is a hazardous zone with clothes and unmade bed as a foundation when it comes to a sight for sore eyes.
Maybe a pair of panties on the night lamp and a bra hanging from the picture frame.
Those are bad habits from the old apartment. This new place is a new start for me. My new year resolution is to be a neater person, it didn’t start until the middle of autumn, but better now than never.
It’s a nice walk with Luke. The people passing by him greet everyone, but they are too afraid of the darkness looming around him to say anything to him. I think they are exaggerating. He’s not so bad once people get to know him.
He’s kinder than anyone I have met, not including Leslie. She’s the best and will always be number one in my heart.
Luke is a marshmallow wrapped in prickling thorns and coated in hydrofluoric acid to ward people off when they approach too close.
“Stop talking to yourself,” he says as a gust of wind breezes past us.
My black hair flies in my face, but I’m more attentive to what he said, and I know I have a problem with talking to myself.
It’s something I developed when I became a food blogger. It’s boring when at home by myself, so I find entertainment by talking to myself. Time passes faster, and I wouldn’t realize it until Leslie tells me that I sound like a crazy person talking to a cake batter, making commentaries about how I’m going to eat it with an intonation that I’m a breath away from being labeled as a cannibal.
She takes all the fun out of life with her sensible, adult acts.
“I can’t help it!” I complain to him, “It’s who I am, and you can’t make fun of me for the things I say.”
I can practically hear his eyes rolling, “I don’t mind it.”
“You don’t?” my voice squeaks as my eyes widen.
This is the first time someone didn’t make a semi-rude or uncomfortable remark about my talkative awkwardness. I thought it was a trait that everyone found annoying since I do say some weird and not the most appropriate things at times.
“Does that mean you like it?” I ask with a skip of my heart and a bounce in my step.
My hand tightens around him as he continues to take the lead. He comes to a big fire station with some firefighters cleaning the big, red truck.
“No, but I don’t dislike it.”
I silently push my bottom lip out; it keeps me speculating why he can’t just speak his mind or at least make it up. He can’t like something and dislike it at the same time; that’s just confusing for my simpleton mindset.
I have been to a fire station before, but it gets me every time. The self-importance of the structure and the power that emits from the sharp outlines of the red trucks are things that make me like visiting Leslie when she’s working.
It gives me the strength to be proactive when I’m not feeling the mood to write a blog post.
“Oh, Anna,” a voice that I really thought I escaped comes from behind the wet firetruck.
It’s the police chief that Leslie is datin
g. He was the head of the police department from the previous city where we lived, and this is beyond bad luck.
“I-it’s not what it looks like!” I screech when I see his eyes wandering down to the hand connected to mine.
I’m wearing Luke’s clothes and holding his hand, but I can explain all of those. This man, Forester, doesn’t need to have a misunderstanding that will lead back to Leslie because she’s going to sit me down and grill me like she caramelizes her onions.
“I don’t want to know,” Forester shakes his head with his police hat tucked under his armpit.
I stand strong, “You do!”
Forester sighs deeply and groans under his breath, “Really, I don’t.”
“I forgot my keys,” I say in one breath and squeeze Luke’s hand for support.
It’s like explaining to a dad about why I’m holding my boyfriend’s hand, but Luke’s not my boyfriend. No, he’s not. I want him to though— okay, that’s not the issue at the moment.
“You could have just broken in,” Forester replies dryly.
“And have you arrest me again? I think not, Godzilla.” I gasp with offensiveness in my tone. He didn’t have to bring that up.
Our first meeting was me being arrested by him. I thought I would meet Leslie’s mysterious boyfriend when he’s stomping around and sneaking out of the old apartment in the butt-crack of sunrise.
“Never stopped you before,” he puts his hat on his head to block the sunlight.
I refuse to let Luke’s hand go. He’s my safe line for this unreasonable man who might be making my new apartment his indecent rendezvous zone again.
“That was before you put me in cuffs for breaking into my own home,” I sniff through my nose.
“And, this was a sleepover,” I nod determinedly.
Luke grunts deeply, pinching my fingers with his bigger ones. “How old are you? That wasn’t a sleepover.”
“We were sleeping,” he says plainly as if he’s stating facts.
He is, but it has no context, and whatever background Forester has is warped. This is not how my explanation wanted to go. I had it all planned in my head about what I can say.