Virgin Spark

by Celia Crown

  It’s almost soulless.

  Leslie comes in and stands at the space for shoes as she calls out for Anna. The girl comes barreling into the hall and smiles nervously. I stand beside Anna, setting a hand at the dip of her spine to steady her.

  I saved her from skirting the hardwood floor on her face.

  Leslie goes straight to the point, “What are you doing?”

  “Meeting my neighbor?” Anna’s long lashes flutter in uncertainty.

  “You’re in his home, eating his cake and drinking his milk,” Leslie lists the things that she sees from the doorway; her attention to details is a great skill to have.

  My fingers peak through the side of her hip, it’s a test of Leslie’s ability to hone in on details, and she passes with a flicker of her eyes down to my hand.

  “He offered,” Anna says, unaware of the implication I put out through subtle actions.

  Leslie doesn’t change her expression. It’s still the deadness in her eyes that makes Anna fidget anxiously.

  “Probably because you cried.”

  Anna stammers, “W-what, no! I didn’t cry!”

  She whips her head up, and I lost the battle of backing her up because her amber eyes are watering too swiftly. It’s not normal behavior, but it is a characteristic that Anna has.

  “You were about to,” I remark lightly.

  Another interruption comes from the familiar face of Forester. His eyebrows shoot up when he stops at my door. He lives one floor below me, and there is no reason for him to be up here unless another force compels him to leave his comfort zone.

  I have a good idea of what’s going on between Leslie and Forester.

  One would be blind as to not see the sexual tension in the air. It’ll explode with the right spark, and I rather not see the aftermath of it.

  “Oh no, please no. Not again, I can’t. I thought I escaped this nightmare when we moved!” Anna shakes her head in denial.

  I wait for her to clarify as to what she means.

  “I need sleep!” she chokes a dry sob. “No more adult activities, please. I’ll do anything, just not in this new apartment.”

  “How cute,” Forester comments, “Adult activities… just say sex, kid.”

  In the act of desperation, she slams her body into mine, clinging to my muscled body with her delicate tits rubbing at my side and the most manipulating begging eyes I have ever seen.

  “I’m yours for another night!”

  She honestly doesn’t know how bad that sounds to the ears of others who don’t know what happened last night, and I’m one thin string away from pushing the couple out and show her what’s it like to be mine.

  “Problem solved,” Leslie claps her hand and leaves her roommate in the hands of a beast ready to tear her clothes off.

  “I will be next door if you need me, kid,” Forester offers.

  Anna whines into my shirt.

  Chapter Five

  Anna

  I should be fine for the night. It’s not a big deal to sleep two nights in a bed that isn’t mine or not in my apartment, but it’s the handles I have been dealt with without any preparation time.

  At least I don’t have to hear prehistoric velociraptor screeches coming from the other room. I stopped trying to distinguish whose voice it is, and I would focus on jamming music in my ears.

  Some people have that voyeuristic tendency where they get aroused by knowing and hearing people have sex, but Leslie is like family to me, so it’s hard to not cringe whenever I see Forester in our kitchen the morning after.

  It’s been a while since I got a good night sleep even though it was a stranger’s home, but I slept like a baby last night. It’s the thought of Luke right beside my room that provides the best sense of safety. I was able to put my guard down and fall asleep within minutes.

  I chalked it up to the whole day of moving boxes, but deep down, I knew Luke already had an influence over me.

  I don’t try to deny it anymore; not the attraction, not the protection he gives me, nor do I deny the tingling feeling in my tummy when he kisses me with abandon. Not a care to the world and with a passionate snarl of my name, I’m putty in his hand.

  I towel off and dry my hair with the hairdryer that he has hidden in a drawer below his sink. The hot air flings moisture towards the mirror as the fog persists after I had wiped my hand down the condensation.

  When I asked Luke for another night with his spare bedroom, I hadn’t given much thought into the preparation, and I’m regretting it now.

  I have no necessities. I can’t go back to the apartment for a pair of fresh panties and a bra. I know the possibility I will walk in Forester and Leslie having sex is astronomically high; it happened too many times for me to know that they never make it to her room.

  I never sat on the couch or ate at the kitchen table ever again, physically sanitizing the places where I caught them going at it like a pair of animals is not enough to cleanse my mind of the things I should never see during my existence as a human being.

  The clothes Luke graciously offered me is what I have to go for. It’s gross to wear the same pair of panties and bra for two days in a row. I could go maybe one more day with the bra, but I had switched my panties inside out to push through today’s errands since Leslie was not to be seen until I returned home late at night.

  I shove my hands through the sleeves of Luke’s massive sweater; it gets caught as I didn’t wipe off all the water on my skin, and I struggle to push my head through. Thank goodness my hair is dried before I put on clothes. I have to get rid of the feeling of wet hair sticking to my back.

  Nothing grosses me out more than wet hair. On my skin during showers, curled in my fingers when I’m washing the dishes, or riding between my toes. It’s the same feeling as seaweed weeding through my foot at the beach; I tend to avoid the beach for as long as I can.

  Too many people and too much of a risk for skin cancer, I’m not a big fan of vitamin D.

  As I pull the sweater down to my thighs, the soft fabric brushes my skin, and it’s a reminder of how naked I am underneath. It’s fine. I’ll just sneak into the spare bedroom and wait till morning to go back to my apartment.

  Another problem arises. I have no pants. Luke didn’t give me any and I don’t have anything to put my underwear in. This is going to be one awkward thing to explain to him. I should be able to steal a plastic bag from his box of garbage bags, but I would have to find it first.

  He doesn’t have anything on the counter. It’s bare, with the minimum number of things as it displays his preference for cleanliness and spacious views.

  I would love to bake in his pristine kitchen. My inspirations might flow a lot better than in my clustered bedroom and chaotic kitchen. But I have a system. I know where everything is, and I can find it with one hand.

  My chest expands, inhaling the soapy scent in the bathroom before opening the door. The preparation in my mind is not good enough. I’m a nervous wreck when I walk out with my panties and bra in my hand.

  Out of context, I would look like I’m stealing from his laundry basket. I left his clothes in there, but I can’t just leave my stuff there, he might get the wrong idea and think that I’m that crazy girlfriend who starts to invade his life with little things.

  Starting with a toothbrush, but I would be starting off strong. Panties and bras say a lot about animalistic behavior of marking my territory.

  I shake my head as I stumble out into the hall. The spare bedroom is right in front of me with the door open. I see the bed is still made. I remember telling myself that Luke offered his home to me for one night, and I don’t need to cause him more trouble by disrespecting him with a messy bed.

  It was the first time I made a bed. It felt rejuvenating for some odd reason.

  “Where are you going?”

  I nearly holler into the air; my voice would have cracked mirrors and shifted the tectonic plates. I don’t know why I'm sneaky when I’m just going to the bedroom, but the mor
e I think about it, the more I look like a pervert in Luke’s eyes.

  “H-hi!” I wince at my high-pitched voice.

  It cracked, and I would like to die of embarrassment under the covers and hope he forgets that I had practically jammed my bundled-up underwear behind my back. My tailbone throbs in protest, but I steer my attention towards his massive body leaning against his bedroom that’s a door down from mine.

  “I was going to bed!” I nod with a shaky smile. It’s for the best if he accepts my excuse instead of questioning as to why I was making way towards the kitchen to rummage for a plastic bag.

  “Hand them to me,” he says with his hand extended to me.

  There’re so many things wrong with his order, and the most pressing one is that I do not want my dirty panties in his hands. It’s gross, and I’m ashamed to admit that I have worn it for two days; no self-respecting girl would admit to that!

  Some people can stand going days without changing underwear, but if I don’t change, then I’ll feel as if I dirtied myself after my shower. It’s practically a waste of water on my part, so I opted out wearing them to save his sheets the shame of being touched by me.

  I wouldn’t want to touch myself for wearing dirty panties.

  Luke snatches my bra and underwear from behind me and holds them in his big hand. It’s scandalously thrilling to see the frilly fabrics crunched in his thick fingers with such masculine power when he takes them.

  He cocks an eyebrow, challenging me to protest against him. I don’t and I can’t because he’s walking into the bathroom with the undergarments and dumping them on top of the clothes he let me borrow.

  They look out of place and too indecent; his neutral color clothes that enhances his manly physique and my bright matching pink panties and bra.

  They’re lace too, and I think it’s making the vast difference between our style much clearer.

  “Thank you,” I squeak softly, cheeks burning with mortification as his hands become a hot zone for me to avoid.

  Anything below his waist is too because he’s wearing nothing but a pair of snug briefs. This man is doing this on purpose. He’s trying to make my brain overwork and fry itself so he can control me.

  His control and my control are different. Or they could be the same. It’s hard to tell when he’s burning holes between my legs with his intense gaze.

  He’s a fireman. He knows how to set things on fire in a controlled environment. If he wants to, he can scorch off his sweater to ashes and leave me naked. I would be lying if I say I wouldn’t want that, but I’m an adult and a responsible adult.

  I can manage this irresistible need to lick his abs.

  “We’re going to bed,” he grunts, circling an arm around my waist and drawing me towards his naked chest.

  It’s warm and hard. My ears pick up his heartbeat as he runs a hand in my hair. He hums in approval of the softness. It’s about to be completely dry if I give it ten more minutes. I can play on my phone for those minutes and then go to sleep; that was my original plan before he said we.

  “We?” I repeat the confusion from my mind.

  “You are not staying up later than this. You need to sleep.” Luke push me into his room, and I’m more trapped than I have ever felt.

  It’s not constricting, but my heart is readily punching my ribs for escape. I’m searching for my own safe space when his presence heats up my back, the hotness from his body temperature and the thick material of his sweater simultaneously heighten my smaller body’s slow-boiling desire.

  “The spare bedroom…” I trail off with a moan as he latches his teeth onto my neck, nipping and scraping with recklessness.

  He doesn’t care if he leaves a clean mark; he just wants to mar my skin with his ministration. It’s a display of dominance that I would be happy to open my submissive side, though it’s always been out and I just don’t know it until Leslie points out how I attract men with my naïve and borderline stupid gullibility.

  “You’re mine,” he says, sucking on the same spot again, “It only makes sense you sleep with me.”

  His implication hits my gut with a trail of wildfire singeing my bones and melting them to a pile of city lights, currents bringing them back to life when he toys with the humming blood under my pink skin.

  “You’re not wearing anything underneath,” he comments, and he knows the answer since he did have my panties in his hand just moments ago.

  He slaps my ass, the thick fabric blocks half of the impact, but the sting is still noticeable. I squeal in shock, no one has hit me before, and it’s quite exhilarating to know that Luke can be gentle with me when he deems it necessary, but he will manhandle me into any position he sees fit.

  It’s exactly what he’s doing now.

  He picks me up like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. My air gets knocked out when his bulk squeezes my lungs, and I’m left disoriented as he whips his palm over my naked butt.

  Humiliation sets deep in my skin as I yearn for more of the roughness when he kisses me after he tossed my body onto his bed.

  The straightened sheets wrinkle to form a halo of lines around my body as he crashes his lips down to mine. It’s a thorny kiss with teeth and crude tongue, but he’s gentle to allow me to breathe.

  There is no pressure when kissing him. I just simply want more of him to sate the warped innocence in me.

  A kiss of a delightful promise lingers on my lips. I ache to hear his voice talking to me. Guiding me to a place where I have never experienced heightened pleasure before, I want Luke to show me things that no man has ever accomplished, nor did they ever had the chance to do so.

  My body itches under the clothing; it feels tight and heavy on my hot skin as his burning hands scrape the underside of my waist.

  Shivering as he watches my reaction, treading lightly to give me time to back away and tell him no. I don’t, though. I want him too much to tell this handsome man to stop stealing my heart. It was gone before I knew it, and he has no intention of giving it back to me without putting up the fight of my life.

  “Luke,” I mewl, his face blurs through my tears.

  I have this nasty habit of tearing up over trivial things, but I’m working hard on improving myself and not be affected by things as much as I use to be. It’s a slow process, and I don’t see any progress, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there, I know it is, and I’m waiting for the day Leslie notices.

  She can’t call me a crybaby anymore.

  “Tell me what you want,” he rasps through the hoarse croak of his voice.

  “You,” I murmur, my tongue is thick and dry. “Please touch me.”

  The chord in my belly grows bigger and tighter when the roughness of his palm slides towards my quivering belly, stroking and teasing my soft skin while he stares into the depth of my hazy eyes.

  I couldn’t meet his gaze even if I wanted to. It’s hard to focus when his fingers dance across my ribs and rub the underside of my breast.

  “Luke,” I cry, needier and my body winding up tighter.

  He pulls up the sweater, exposing my tummy and stopping at my breasts to gauge my reaction. It’s sweet of him to stop one last time to give me the chance to back out of this, but he takes my silence as his answer, and he is correct.

  I don’t think the man has ever been wrong before.

  His thumb strokes over a rosy nipple, perky and hard, and it makes my lips part for an exhale that I couldn’t catch. My stomach tenses as he caresses my breast tenderly, testing the waters of my comfort.

  I get used to his touch, and he moves on to the next part where he fully cups his calloused hand over me and squeezes the plumpness. My nipple scrapes across his palm, and shocking, little sparks nips at my clit to make me aware of the slick running down my folds.

  “Luke,” I sigh with a flick of my tongue to wet my bottom lip, the dryness is itchy, “I feel weird.”

  “How?” he patiently waits for me to find my words, holding both of my breasts in his big hand
s and toying with my nipples with tweaking fingers.

  “I’m too hot, and— please,” my mind elevates to another high when he takes one nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue over the bud.

  I squeak, pussy twitching to be touched, anything to stop the aching and ease the fidgety in my stomach.

  “Here?” he lets go of my wet bud with a strong suck.

  I shake my head, “No, lower.”

  Luke takes both of my wrists and put them on top of my chest where the sweater is bundled, “Hold it and keep it there.”

  My knees instinctively close as he doesn’t waste time to slip down to the waist, caressing the curve of my hip, running his rough fingers towards the center of my locked knees. He pries them open with a twist of his hands, and they fall apart, leaving my folds spread open for his eyes to brand the image of my leaking, twitching pussy in his mind.

  He’s adamant of committing it to memory, and he’s laying on his stomach to inhale the scent of my juices. Mortification screams at me, shaking me to the core as he purrs deep in his throat.

  Speechless, I am not prepared for the first lick from my pulsing hole to my engorged clit.

  “So fucking pretty,” he snarls with a gravelly laugh.

  I can’t stay still; Luke has me grounded to the bed with one hand on each side of my inner thighs, but my hips are chasing after his hot mouth on my pussy. I’m aching and empty. His tongue drives between my folds mercilessly to drink up my juices with the desperation of a hungry man.

  It’s easy for him to have full access to my pussy as he whispers praises to how pretty I look even though he’s talking to my pussy as if he owns it. I don’t mind him it as long as he sucks my clit harder, spinning my voice down a spiral of choked moans and broken sobs.

  I have never touched myself, and this new experience has something sinister climbing up in my tummy and hissing at the tightened chord, it’s ready to burst at any time, and I’m afraid of what’s going to happen.

  I have heard what Leslie and Forester sound like when they do the dirty things, it always sounds violent, and I’m scared it’s going to hurt.