Electra dropped her bags at the door, the cab driver having already huffed and puffed her heaviest bag up the walkway. She looked up at the boarding house, if boarding house was even the word. It just looked like your run of the mill nice house, probably had a massive basement in addition to the expansive upstairs. She shrugged, a college scholarship for free off campus housing seemed too good to pass up. Anything to get out of the dorms, especially if it meant she didn't have to fly back home internationally when campus shut down for long breaks. She took a deep breath. Time to meet the pervert who volunteered his house for international students in need, especially women wanting privacy. Her eyes rolled at the thought. She pressed the doorbell and waited. And waited. Panic set in as the minutes dragged on. Is this the right address? Does she have the correct time? As she starts fumbling for her phone to check her email the door opens. She stops, forgetting to breathe, freezing as the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Instead of a slovenly fat man with glasses, she's greeted by a filled door frame, sweat dripping down along a shaved head, through a trimmed beard, along well-defined shoulders, before tracing its way down a very solid forearm.
Something in the air fizzles and she can breathe again. She looks up at a warm grin wondering why she was suddenly so afraid. "Sorry, I was downstairs in the gym, I had to re-rack the weights before coming up to let you in. I'm James, welcome to the international boarding house." A wry grin twists his mouth at the words. She looks him up and down again. He's definitely not the tallest, or the widest guy she's ever met. Late thirties. Big but not huge. She'd dated a football player or two and they were huge and not scary, so why did she feel like a rabbit caught in headlights when he opened the damn door? She shook her head to clear it, and ruefully went to start dragging the heavy ass suitcase with her books and knickknacks inside the house. As she struggled with it, suddenly the overwhelming scent of man filled her nostrils, and the suitcase was taken from her. Lifted off the ground. She did a double take; he already had her massive toiletry bag in his left hand. She blinked. He was standing with her heaviest suitcase in one hand, casually. She re-evaluated the lines hinted at along his arms and shoulders under his black T-shirt. She looked up and saw dark brown eyes, blushing when she realized she had been caught checking him out. "Your room's upstairs let's go. The other boarder dropped out this semester by the way, so you can pick either room." Alone with him? This semester might not be too bad.
* * * * * *
James headed back downstairs, letting her set up her bedroom and pick which bonus office she wanted. Why do the girls always end up with a heavy ass bag they can't even lift? He shook his head ruefully. Regardless, it seems today is a heavy bag day after lifting. He definitely wasn't expecting to open the door to a flirt skirt and semi-translucent top today. The only thing keeping it decent was the solid white tank-top underneath the blouse. Clearly, she wanted to make an impression, and he was still riding the lifting high just enough to stare, hard. He'd have to watch that. Despite the rumors, he just wanted company in a house that was too big for him, and he didn't care enough to date anymore. After the divorce, the idea of dating left a bad taste in his mouth. He looked down at where the wedding band used to be, and as the rage filled him, his fist slammed into the bag, creating another dent along the middle, the perfect shape of his fist. She wouldn't get half the house he paid for. He was gonna die here to deny her that. He kept slamming into the bag, forgetting his gloves, headless of the blood that dripped down the bag to the concrete floor below, creating another pattern of red and brown droplets across the floor to match the bag's sway.
* * * * * *
Electra giggled to herself. Midterms were done, and that party was a blast. Just what she needed to blow off steam. She staggered a bit, leaning hard on... Tim? Tom? Trent? It was hard to remember, she'd definitely had too much to drink. She even took something, but couldn't remember what. She did know her insides were very warm, and the soft brush of her tiny little dress against her nipples was sending little jolts to her pulsing clit. As she fumbled for her keys on the stoop, Mr. T pulled the dress down and started playing with her exposed breasts. God she was so sensitive, the warmth of his hands a definite improvement over the brush of her dress. She came right then and there on the doorstep. He kept going, roughly.
Mauling rather than teasing, but frat boys are gonna be frat boys. She giggled at the thought, as she slid the key into the lock and opened up the door. "You gotta be quiet. Mr. James sleeps down here." The stage whisper had barely left her mouth before she collapsed in a fit of giggles not even remotely quietly. There was a sensation of movement, it made her head spin. She wasn't being carried, there were no arms. Suddenly a soft embrace of cushions enveloped her. She moaned at how they felt against her inflamed skin. Wait, where was T-man? She hears a "FUCK!" and giggles again. That's the point silly. Where was he? The door slammed shut, that's not good, Mr. James will wake up. She furtively tries to shush, not realizing all that's coming out of her pursed lips is air, rather than noise.
Arms pick her up, cradling her, the smell of man in her nose. She liked that smell. Her hands traced along his chest as she enjoyed it. Mr. T must have taken off his jacket. She giggled again at the thought of James seeing a random jacket in the middle of his living-room. The world spins pleasantly as she gets carried up the stairs. As her back hits the bed, her hands grip hard on the shirt, bringing the frat boy down with her. Her body is hot, and her lips are greedy for a kiss. Suddenly a mouth is on hers. Hard. Possessive. A tongue forcing into her mouth. Why was her face prickly? It didn't matter, eyes were too hard to open right now, and she really needed this kiss. Hands passed over her exposed breasts, teasing, tweaking, caressing. Mmm, that's nice. But she's too hot, the softness of her cotton sheets caressing her back is enough to turn her on. What was that little pill T-boy gave her? With a frustrated grunt she grabs a wrist and attempts to push it down. It doesn't move. She pushes again, this time with a whine, and the hand slides down to the juncture between her thighs. Ooohhh, those are good fingers. They play her like an instrument, again and again. Teasing along her labia, sliding deep inside to rub against her g-spot, the palm managing to grind into her clit in a pleasant rocking motion. Cresting wave after wave of bliss as she groans into the kiss she was so very hungry for. The lips hers and she feels them slide down, tracing along her neck and collar. Down the slopes of her breasts, teeth teasing along a turgid nipple. The first time he bites down she comes again. The lips slide along to her other breast, and the dance begins again. Later, as she finally starts to come down from her high, exhaustion hits her. The fingers leave. The lips that had been tracing every inch of her upper skin vanish. T should definitely get another round in the morning with those fingers. Maybe her number. She drifts off to sleep as the door closes.
* * * * * *
James closes the basement door, thankful again for the soundproofing. He starts up the Bluetooth speakers, blasting music so loud he can't think. As he slides the weights onto the barbell, getting ready to deadlift, he finds himself licking his fingers. This won't do. Sleeping with a boarder in his house? Not a good idea. Time to move weight until he quits thinking about going back upstairs. Exhaustion will do it eventually. Four plates now on each side, he removes his shirt, widens his stance, and starts pulling. The weights and his thoughts synchronize.
That dress pulled down to her waist. Slam. Her nipples between his lips. Slam. The sweetness of her. Slam. This is a bad train of thought. Anger. He needed anger. That fucking jock. Slam. Really thought a few inches of height meant the world in his own damn house. Slam. The armbar. Slam. Pulling entirely too far until that unmistakable pop. Slam. Sucks for him. Slam. Guess it's now an off season. Drop. Crash. As he gasped for air and wiped the sweat from his brow, he snarled as the speakers intruded on his thoughts. Hinder was NOT what he needed right now. The fact that ladies come first was still on his mind.
