Stacy Vs. SEAL

Stacy

Oh my God.

What the hell just happened? What kind of movie set did this giant of a man step out from? One moment I’m mentally readying myself to feel the sharp and cold touch of a blade, and then the next he’s standing over me, ropes of coiled muscle moving under his dark shirt. Definitely, this is not how I expected my day to start. It went from good to bad, and then from bad to… Well, I don’t even know how to classify this right now.

I’m slung over his shoulder, my limp body swaying clumsily as he walks down the sidewalk, and I don’t even know what to say. I should be embarrassed - which I am - but there’s also something very exciting about how this man dispatched a mugger with a knife using just one hand and then just picked me up like an object and began to carry me over his shoulder towards Rock Center. I mean, he did it so casually, almost as if he were picking up a duffel bag.

I’m a bit frightened to be honest but, at the same time, I feel more secure than I’ve ever felt since I slid out of my bed this morning. There’s something about the way he’s holding me, firm and yet gentle, and I can’t help but feel a pleasant warm feeling crawling under my skin.

Everyone moves out of the way as he walks toward Rockefeller Center, a sea of people parting before him as if he were some kind of urban Moses. No wonder, though - if I saw a man as imposing as he is walking down the street toward me with a woman slung over his shoulder and a nonchalant look on both their faces, I’d move the fuck out of the way as well.

He strolls inside the Rockefeller Center like a man with a purpose, and I can feel everyone in the building’s hall looking at us as if we just stepped out from another dimension. Not wanting to be carried into work like a sack of flour, I push against his shoulder with both hands and, noticing it, he allows my body to slide down from his shoulder and he grabs me with his two arms, carrying me close to his chest.

“Which floor?” He asks me with his deep rumbling voice, making his way toward one of the elevators.

“Uh, thirty,” I mumble, looking up at him and feeling my insides clench. He’s built like a god, a veritable Apollo that stepped out from legend; but more than having a ripped physique, he has a face that must be the envy of all other men. The lines on his jaw are angular and wide, making him look almost like a superhero. And, despite his cold presence, his smart eyes betray a hint of kindness hiding somewhere deep inside of him.

I wait as he summons the elevator - there isn’t much else I can do anyway - and I take a few deep breaths as I realize that my thong is starting to feel damp, the fabric sticking to my skin. I just can’t help myself; the touch of his hard muscles on my body, his skin on my skin… I’m only human, you know?

He steps inside the elevator as the doors slide open and, thankfully, it’s empty. Pressing the round button with the number 30 on the control panel, he waits in silence as the doors close, and then we’re on our way, making the climb toward the studio.

Still looking up at him, I notice that he’s flushing slightly and, reacting by instinct, my heart starts racing and I feel warm blood making its way toward my face. Has he noticed that I’m wet? Oh, God, I hope not - I’d die of embarrassment.

And then he sniffs, almost as if he has a cold, and I bet my face has just become as red as a tomato. My thong has a thin fabric and, judging by the way he’s carrying me right now, it wouldn’t come as a surprise if he could actually smell how wet I am. Because, yeah, there’s really no other way to put it - I’m a complete wet mess, my thong completely drenched in my fluids.

I know, I could just ask him to put me down… but I don’t want to. I feel so safe in his arms, almost as if none of the bad things in the world can get to me if I have his body pressed against mine.

Ding!, the elevator doors open suddenly and, without a word, he strolls into the Saturday Night Laughs office almost too casually. Everyone turns their heads toward us, a few jaws hanging open, and that’s when I see Samantha, my executive producer, making her way toward us like a storm.

“What the…?” She starts, stopping a few feet away from him, her wide eyes roaming up and down the body of my savior. “Care to explain?” She asks me, arching one eyebrow at me and pushing her horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I got mugged on the way here…” I start, realizing that my cheeks are still flushed. “You can put me down now,” I whisper, and Sanders puts me down reluctantly. I grimace as my feet touch the floor, my swollen ankle immediately complaining. “This is --”

“Sanders,” he introduces himself, his tone of voice once again flat and emotionless.

“Sanders, yeah. He saved me.”

“Uh-huh, of course he did,” Samantha whispers, her eyes lustfully tracing the contour of Sander’s bulging biceps. I feel a thorn of jealousy inside my heart, but I just shrug it off. “Come into my office, I’ll get the doctor so that he can take a look at your ankle…” She finally says, her eyes focusing on the purple swell on my right foot.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Uh, Sanders… Thank you…” I say, feeling like a complete idiot as Samantha grabs my hands and drags me toward her office at the far end of the floor..

“No need,” he says, an hint of a smile on his hard mouth. “You go on, I’ll just wait here,” he then adds, and he just stands there. It’s no use arguing with him. I sigh and I let Samantha guide me into her office.

4

Sanders

I keep guard outside of the Saturday Night Laughs’ main office, standing by the door to the reception with my hands behind my back. The minutes go by painfully slow, and I use all that time to replay inside my head everything that happened up to this point. How it felt when I picked her up from the ground, her delicate body in my arms, the soft swell of her breasts against my shoulder and --

“What are you still doing here?” I hear Stacy’s voice, and I turn on my heel to face her. She’s still wearing that tight fitting red dress, the fabric of it cling

ing to the lovely curves of her body.

“I told you I’d wait,” I simply tell her, and she opens her mouth to say something but then quiets down, looking for the right words. “I’m going to wait until you’re done so that I can take you home,” I continue then, and I notice her cheeks reddening.

“I’m actually going home for the day, but you don’t need to --”

“I do,” I cut her short, bending over to pick her up from the floor once more. She takes one step back, though, a smile taking over her face.