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Marcus looks at me and smiles. “She’ll do all the work for me,” he says, satisfied with himself.
Now that Fiona is gone, my mind travels back to that kiss and the memory of his soft, warm lips consumes me all over again.
I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, because his gaze travels back to my lips and a muscle in his jaw ripples. “We should get to my apartment so I can show you the guest room,” he says.
“Thank you again for letting me stay with you.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
I really can’t wait for a shower. I bet his apartment has amazing water pressure, unlike my house. There were a lot of things that made my house inferior to most: its small size, its one bedroom, its leaky roof, and terrible water pressure that was more of a fast drip than an actual flow. But it was all mine and I could forgive all those things.
I just wish I had clean clothes to change into once I’m done with my shower. Hopefully he has a washer and dryer and isn’t one of those people who hires a service instead.
We get to the high rise, and it’s definitely not at all like the apartments I’m used to seeing where I come from. It’s not a cluster of eight-hundred square-foot, two-bedrooms where everyone has their designated parking space with a shared pool in back. This is where rich people cluster together when they want to live downtown and are too busy to bother with lawns and housing staff—though I’m sure they have cleaners and maids here too.
We’re met by a valet who takes the car to a garage somewhere nearby. Then we’re greeted by a front desk clerk. I’m not sure why there’s a front desk clerk since these are apartments and not a hotel. You literally have to ask permission to go to someone’s apartment. They obviously pride themselves on safety because we pass several security guards along the way.
We get into an elevator and there is an elevator operator wearing a fancy uniform, pressed and meticulous. This is crazy. It’s like something out of a movie. I can’t imagine living like this—or having the kind of money it takes to live like this. I’d be too afraid of losing it all. I bet if I were rich I’d still live in a tiny one-bedroom house and save every penny—just in case. When you’ve been poor for so long and have had to count every penny you’ve ever earned, it’s hard to let go of old habits. Marcus obviously doesn’t have that issue.
I start to wonder about his life growing up. Was he born rich, or is he just so confident in his abilities as a designer and businessman that he lives freely no matter what the future holds. That confidence is evident in his stride, the way he holds himself, the way he is still friendly to those beneath his station. He doesn’t have to pretend to be better than everyone else. Everyone he sees he greets with a smile, even the janitor who is cleaning up a broken vase on the carpeted hall floor. As I watch him interact with these people in such a respectful way, I can’t help but think a girl like me might actually stand a chance with a guy like him. Even though he so very clearly loves his material things, he doesn’t come off as materialistic.
He glances at me so suddenly I don’t have time to avert my gaze and I’m caught staring at him. An eyebrow lifts high on his forehead. God, he’s sexy. Everything about him just does it for me.
“Ready?” he says. That’s when I notice the elevator door is open and he’s been waiting for me to walk out of it. I was so busy watching him that I didn’t even realize that we’d stopped.
My cheeks flush and the elevator clerk gives me a playful wink.
Inside the apartment opens up into a grand, elegant room with heather-gray furniture, crystal accents, and one of the biggest chandeliers that I’ve ever seen in a house. It’s like a dream, a beautiful, shiny dream. When the sun comes in through the massive east-facing windows, it hits the crystals in the chandelier, spilling rainbows across the room.
“This is incredible,” I say in a breath of awe.
“I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
This doesn’t look like a place where one gets comfortable. It is a place of fear and constant worry that something is going to break or get stained. Either way, I’m happy to be here, even just to experience being in a place like this.
“Do you have a washing machine by chance?” I ask.
He gives me a wry smile and I think maybe I said something to embarrass myself, but I’m not sure yet what it was. Then I realize I’m talking to a men’s clothing mogul, someone whose fashion lines don’t makes anything under one hundred dollars—which is a pair of ankle socks. Not a package. Just one pair. Even those have to be washed a certain way and it definitely isn’t in a washing machine.
“No, but I have something you can wear while I send your clothes out to the cleaner,” he says.
“Great, thank you. I’m going to get in the shower.”
“I’ll pick up a few personal items you might need.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say out of politeness because it’s not his responsibility to do anything for me.
“I insist.”
Our eyes lock for a moment and I can’t seem to look away. Neither can he, it would seem, though he’s the first to break eye contact. He clears his throat and says, “Well, I better get to it. Towels are in the hall closet. If you can’t find any in there, I should have some in the closet in my room.” He points to a door on the left. “Help yourself. When you’re out of your clothes, just toss them into the hallway and I’ll take them to the cleaner while I’m out.”
I cringe at the thought of him handling my dirty clothes—especially my underwear. But they need to be washed. What choice do I have?
“I’ll have something for you to wear laid out on your bed when you’re done. Your room is right next to mine. The linens are fresh and there’s a shower in the adjoining washroom. If you want to use the tub, you’ll have to use the main bathroom down the hall.”
“Thank you so much.”
He nods and heads for the kitchen. The tub sounds fantastic, actually, so that’s where I head. I can’t wait to get these clothes off. Inside the bathroom with the tub, I pause and take everything in. If there were such thing as an Olympic sized tub, this thing would be it. More like a Jacuzzi than a tub, really. There are even jets. Everything is stone and natural materials, the sinks (all three of them) are made of copper.
I could live in this bathroom. In fact, this bathroom might have more square footage than my house that recently burned down. I turn on the water. Steam fogs the mirrors and warms my skin. I shed my clothes and toss them to the side. Takes a while, but once the tub is full, I climb in and turn on the jets. I rest my back against them, letting the bubbles massage my aching muscles. They unwind all the tension and knots from sleeping in my car. I realize just how exhausted I am. I could probably fall asleep in here.
I lean back, using all the fancy soaps and shampoos Marcus has on display in here. Are these things he uses or that he keeps for guests? I smell the body wash and it’s definitely him. I’m going to smell like him too, and I’m okay with that. Falling asleep to his scent will probably give me all kinds of fun dreams. I’m okay with that too.
The scent instantly brings me back to our kiss in the restaurant, and his hand on my thigh. I close my eyes, and touch the same place he had touched, a poor substitute for his own hand, but it does the trick for my fantasy in the moment. I glide my hand along my skin, pretending it’s his, and touch the growing urge between my legs. Letting out a slow moan, I insert a finger, feeling the slickness of arousal.
The jets massaging my back give me a good idea and I rise up out of the water and position myself in front of one. Spreading my legs in front of the jet, it hits just the right spot and I’m thrown into pulsating pleasure that has my eyes rolling in the back of my head.
Masturbating in Marcus’s house, imagining that it’s his hands groping my breasts and not my own, that he’s the one pinching my nipples, has me on the edge of a quaking orgasm. My body starts to shake.
I hear a faint sound. Was that a knock or somet
hing falling off the side of the tub? The jets are loud and muffle sound. Probably just something falling. I’d set out all the shampoos and body washes on the edge. More than likely, I put them too close to the edge. I don’t hear the sound again so ignore it and go back to pleasuring myself. The incident is all but forgotten as I’m reunited with the incredible pleasure the jets give me. But then I hear the same sound. I open my eyes just in time to watch the door swing open.
I startle and let out a yelp of embarrassment when I see Marcus in the doorway. His eyes go wide as he takes it all in. There’s really no denying what I’m doing. I mean, my legs are stretched and propped up in front of the jet.
I quickly dip my body back into the water up to my neck, but what I really want to do is drown right now.
“I’m …” he starts to say, fighting back shock and then laughter. “I apologize. You hadn’t put your dirty clothes out so I assumed you were still dressed.”
SHIT.
I forgot all about putting my clothes out in the hall. I’d been too consumed with thought of a long, hot soak. I’m so stupid.
