assume you are staying here tonight,” I say. I don’t know if I’m answering the question she is pondering or not, but it still has to be something on her mind. Besides, I feel resigned to letting her stay.
“Oh, no, no,” she says with a shake of her head. “I couldn’t impose…”
I want to laugh, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate the humor. I go with straightforward instead.
“There really aren’t a lot of options,” I point out to her. “It’s late. I’m tired and going to bed. You can stay or you can go, whatever you want obviously, but I wouldn’t go anywhere until tomorrow.”
“I guess you’re right,” she admits. Her fingers twist around each other on top of the table.
I stand slowly and start collecting the dishes and fill the sink up with water.
“Oh!” she suddenly cries out. “Let me do that!”
She’s beside me a second later, apparently planning on washing the dishes herself. I consider for a moment, and then take a step back.
“By all means.” I’m curious to see if she really intends to do it or if she is just trying to be polite. Her hands go into the sudsy water, and she begins to scrub. There aren’t many, and she’s done quickly and efficiently. When she places the last dish in the drying rack, I realize I’ve been watching her the entire time.
Slowly, I pull the towel from my shoulder and hand it over to her. She mumbles a thank you as she takes it and quickly dries her hands. She looks around the tiny kitchen area and finds the little loop used to hold towels and threads the drying cloth through it before looking back to me.
For a long moment, I only look at her and try to figure her out. Some things are obvious – she’s running from someone. Maybe he dumped her on the side of the road and maybe she ran off, but she’s trying to get away from him. That much is clear. On impulse, I check out her ring finger. No ring, but there’s a clear mark around the skin – she’s worn one until recently.
Interesting.
Is it lying in the dust out there in the road or hidden away in a little pocket of the backpack she left lying next to the still open front door? I tilt my head to one side and feel the brush of the fan’s wind against my neck. I need to turn it – and the generator – off for the night. I do both before walking to the far side of the little room where I live.
It’s still too fucking hot.
Gripping the hem of my shirt, I pull it up over my head and off before tossing it into a basket under the window. I reach down and thumb open the button on my faded blue jeans. I feel my mouth turn up into a half smile as Lia blushes and looks away from me – as if there is anywhere else to really look in the shack. I shake my head and try not to laugh out loud as I dump my jeans around my ankles, bend over to pick them up, and fold them a couple of times before placing them in the nightstand drawer.
Deciding to at least leave my boxers on for her sake, I drop down to the bed and toss the thin sheet back just in case she wants to use it. It is way too warm for a blanket, even a thin one, but who knows? Maybe she is one of those who always needs a blanket.
“Um…where should I sleep?” she asks quietly, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“There’s only one place to sleep,” I say, which should have been pretty fucking obvious. Rolling and scooting to my side to offer her as much room as possible, I gesture to the other side of the twin bed. “Right here.”
She looks around a bit, and I can almost hear her mind contemplating her options. There are the rocking chairs on the porch and the card table in the kitchen, which wouldn’t hold half her weight. Other than that, there is the wood floor to sleep on – that’s it.
I shake my head slowly.
“Just lay down.”
I watch her throat bob as she swallows again, then walks slowly over to the side of my bed. She doesn’t bother taking anything off, which doesn’t surprise me at all. She’ll be way too hot to sleep, but that’s her problem.
Actually, she’s just plain hot.
I’m pretty sure it’s not just because I haven’t seen an actual female for three months that makes me think like this. Her hair is gorgeous and makes me want to run my fingers through it while my cock slides in and out of her mouth. She’s got a perfect build, too. She’s not too skinny, which I fucking hate, but has kind of an athletic build. She isn’t quite muscular enough to remind me of the chicks who served with me, but still well-formed. She’s got a real woman’s hips, which I want to grip while I pound into her pussy. Nice ass, too, which makes me want to roll her over on her stomach and grasp both cheeks while my cock pistons in and out of her backdoor.
There seems to be a theme to my thoughts.
She bites down on her lower lip as she first sits on the bed and then stretches out next to me, which is when it occurs to me that I’d really like to just kiss her, too. I chuckle silently to myself and try to get in the most comfortable position possible. I lie down on my side still facing her and lay my arm across my own body with my hand resting on my thigh so she has enough room to lie down without having to touch me. She also lies down facing me, which I find intriguing. A lot of people would have turned around and faced away from a relative stranger, feeling protected by their own backs. She knows better and realizes she needs to be able to see me so she’s not taken off guard.
She’s also staring at my bare chest.
Her eyes are just a little wider than I would expect from someone contemplating sleep, and her muscles are tight and stiff. She’s not mentally tired at all, but only going through the motions because it’s time to go to sleep, not because she wants to. She may be physically exhausted, but her mind won’t let her relax. She’s too anxious to sleep, and I wonder if her thoughts are more on the strange man whose bed she is in or the one who dumped her on the side of the road without regard for her safety.
That thought pisses me off a bit.
I watch her watch me, and every time I look at her lips I think of either covering them with my own or maybe filling her mouth with my cock. Every time I look lower, I want to find some other warm place to hide my dick for an hour or so.