To be completely honest, I hope Mark can fix the pipe, so my problem will be automatically resolved. He seems capable with his hands. My cheeks instantly heat up, remembering him in nothing but sweats. No one has any business being that manly. No one.
Suddenly I become all too aware of how cold my nose has gotten from sitting in the frosty air for too long, so I stand and grab my laptop. “Let’s go, Ghost. Mama needs a shower.” He trots behind me as I catch myself. Mama? Really? Because Mark is his daddy. Does that make us something? I roll my eyes at my silliness.Seriously, Alicia? Did you really go there?
I get back inside, collect everything I need for the night and breakfast, and make my way to Mark’s house. The back door is left unlocked as promised. I lock it behind me.
The first place I go is the bathroom to wash off. It seems too intimate to run a bath in his home, so I settle on a shower, running it for a few minutes until it reaches the most perfect hell-like temperature. When the water is finally hot enough, I place my body under the warm stream and instantly appreciate that the shower was built for tall people.
I’m so used to crouching while trying to wash my hair. Even at home, everything was made for my mom’s height, and she’s five foot five. Everything is built so she can reach without a struggle, and the rest of us can crack a skull by just walking around.
My dad is six feet tall, yet he’s been living with such a low shower-head because mom said so. How? And more importantly, why? I’m assuming the answer is simple: love. Something I’m not sure I’ll ever have the pleasure of understanding.
The hot water feels so good on my aching muscles after their constant workout over the last two days. I stretch, allowing myself to feel how tired they all are, and place my hand on the wall, steadying myself.
I look at my hand and imagine Mark standing in the same place, leaning on the wall as he’s washing his body. A soapy hand roams down his cut torso, then lower, over his happy trail, before going farther down. Down. And down. Down to his thick, veined cock that I imagine matches the whole big package.
My eyes suddenly burst open. I didn’t even realize I closed them while daydreaming. I feel so guilty for imagining that, at his place, where he trusted me with his dog.
Damn it, Alicia!
I quickly shampoo and condition my hair before using soap. I brought my own shower gel, but Mark’s soap with a strong sandalwood smell is far too tempting for me to resist, so I quickly ditch mine and use his just so I can bask in this unexpected smell of safety.
After my shower, I settle in front of the mirror to do my skincare routine. Suddenly, I feel more level than I have in days. My skincare is my constant. No matter what type of day I have, I’m somewhat sane if I finish it the right way.
That and my work. I can live so many lives through my books. I can have as many adventures as I want. I can have as many kinks as I want. I have no one to judge me there. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen in real life, especially not for me. It’s why I started writing. Making money off of it was sheer luck. I grabbed it with both hands, and I’m still trying not to let go.
I put my pajamas on, consisting of long, thick pants and a long-sleeved shirt two sizes bigger than I need, and walk to the living room. I take care of Ghost’s dinner, walk outside with him to the backyard, and go back to the house. By the time I’m done, it’s 9:00 p.m., but I can barely stand.
I decide it’s time for bed, so I go to Mark’s gorgeous bedroom, admiring the handiwork again before drifting off to sleep.
Waking up drenched again is a bummer. I don’t remember the dream itself, but since I woke nice and dry yesterday for the first time in years, I got my hopes up, thinking maybe something about my new situation had helped cure me. A silly presumption, I know. But after so long, it felt so nice. Descending from the clouds this morning is painful.
I look at my phone. It’s six thirty in the morning. I don’t know when Mark gets off his shift, but I assume it’s early. I give a snoring Ghost a gentle kiss between his eyes, but he doesn’t stir.
“Lazy dog.” I chuckle, but he only grunts in response and wiggles himself deeper under the covers.
I brush my teeth before going to the kitchen to make breakfast. I could do it at home, but I brought enough for two people, hoping I could make breakfast for him as a little thank-you for his hospitality. I fix an omelet, bacon, and some toast, then cover it in foil and leave it on the table.
Ghost trots happily to the kitchen, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor.
“Look who’s awake.” I crouch next to him to pet his cute, furry cheeks. “You’re a good boy.” His face spreads into a smile. “A very good boy.” I walk him outside, where he goes about his business, not looking particularly happy to be out in the cold. I fill his dishes with food and water when we’re back inside and crouch next to him again.
“I’m gonna go. Your daddy will be home soon.”
If I expect him to look crestfallen, I have another think coming. He digs into his food with gusto without giving me a second glance.
“Traitor,” I accuse before walking outside through the back door.
* * *
A couple of hours later, there’s a knock on my door… or what’s left of it. When I open it, I find Mark standing on my doorstep with a toolbox in his hands. He’s wearing a worn-out, blue-jean jacket with fur on the inside, the collar turned upward. Dark blue jeans hug his powerful thighs like a second skin. I’ve never liked men in tight pants, but it doesn’t seem as though Mark is wearing them on purpose. His legs are just so muscular, they’d stretch any pants he’d wear.
His eyes are tired, with deep, dark circles under them. I instantly feel guilty for keeping him out of his comfortable bed when he needed rest. His full shift surely didn’t help either.
I open the door, welcoming him in. He steps inside and shrugs off his jacket.
“Did you find anyone to fix it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But I found a guy to fix the floor. He said he’ll come in a couple of days to take a look.”
