Marquise

For the first six months, I would move from shelter to shelter, until I couldn’t stay there anymore. Tonight, which is actually my first real night on the streets was shaping up to be hell. It’s cold as fuck and I had sold my coat for food long time ago. I thought being on one side of the dumpster would block the wind. It was doing a good job, until the girl from the restaurant came upon me. In another blink of an eye, a giant of a man walked over, picked me up like I weighed nothing, and carried me to his car.

In his arms, the warmth radiating from his body is overwhelming and much needed. It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me. I welcome his touch. In his arms, I can take in his scent. He smells of pine and something I can’t quite put my finger on. Unfortunately, I must smell awful to him as I am standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom. I honestly can’t remember the last time I took a ‘whole’, hot shower. Trying to clean and straighten myself up in the tiny half bathroom is not working. The sink is too small and modernized to do any more than wash my hands.

Reminiscing about the past will get me nowhere fast. Reluctantly, I walk out of the room and go to the kitchen where I try to stay away from him. He’s ridiculously good looking and I mean panty-melting hot if I had any on that is. His dark skin against my pale and dingy skin is breathtaking. When he talks to me in that deep masculine voice, I try to clench my thighs together. It doesn’t help. Instead, I stand there and am unable to say anything back to him. I am afraid I’ll be tongue-tied and look stupider than I do right now in someone else’s too big knock-off tracksuit. I thought it would be warm, but fuck was I wrong.

I vow to remain silent until I know what he wants. Really, what the hell does someone like him, who lives in a place like this want with a homeless person anyway? I am imagining scenarios like Saw and a great many porn movies I saw back when I had the internet. It cannot be anything good. Besides, I don’t have the right luck for that. He could be a murderer, and frankly I am not sure I wouldn’t welcome it if I were being honest. I need help. I know that I do, but I don’t know how to get it. My life, such as it is, is in shambles. The very last thing I should be thinking about is this god-like man in a now wrinkled suit doing amazing things to my body.

“Can you tell me your name?” he asks with such tenderness in his voice. I almost start crying from the gentleness coming from him. I start to back away from him. Not because I don’t want him to touch me, but because I am afraid that once he does, I’ll never want him to stop. He crowds into my space until my back hits the wall. While I am surprisingly not afraid that he’ll hurt me, I am afraid of him. Afraid of what he means to me. He reaches out and touches my dirty tear-stained face, gently with his large hand.

“I know you don't have a reason to trust me ...yet. But you will, my gift. You will. Until then, I will work every day to get you used to me. To this between us. Like it or not, you have met your future. Now, let’s go and get you cleaned up,” he says, scooping me up in his strong arms again. I could get used to this and that isn’t good. I snuggle into his chest and damn if I don’t purr like a kitten before I can stop myself.

This isn’t good at all.

Despite all the incomprehensible feelings flowing through my body in regard to this man, whose name I don’t know, this could all be over in an instant or I could wake up and find out this was all a dream. Either way, I have to be prepared for all possible outcomes. Getting cozy here won’t solve anything in the long run.Chapter ThreeMarquiseI cannot keep my eyes off of her as I run the bathwater and make sure to put soothing aloe in the water. Once it is ready and I’ve made sure it isn’t too hot, I walk towards her trying to take it slow. The need to put my hands on her is a driving force I’ve never experienced before. Needing to feel her heart beating as proof she is alive and within my grasp.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” My hands make their way to the bottom of her shirt and I begin to lift it, not sure if she is going to raise her arms or not. Lowering my eyes and looking deeply into hers, I pray she can read my intentions. Well, my current intentions anyway. When she bites her lip and raises her arms, I have to place my tongue at the front of my mouth to keep from placing my mouth on hers. “That’s a good girl,” I tell her as I pull her pants down and help her step out of them.