8
Amara
A fter the police left, I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. They pestered me with questions, and I couldn’t really answer them. All they could do was take the brick, dust them for fingerprints, and DNA test, but would they actually do it? Knowing my husband, he didn’t do this himself. He had someone do this for him.
The other residents helped me sweep the glass and board up my window until it could be replaced. I shook the whole time. If Mark knew where I was, then I wasn’t safe here.
“I need to leave,” I told my social worker. “Mark knows I’m here. I can’t stay here.”
“Do you want me to help you find a place? Maybe near your job, so you don’t need a car?” she asked.
“I haven’t gotten my first paycheck yet,” I cried, tears filling my eyes. “I can’t pay for a place, and I can’t stay with anyone else and put them in danger.”
“Oh, your first client paid your retainer already. You can use that to get a place, right?” the social worker questioned.
I froze. Lorenzo paid my retainer and directly to me? I fished my phone out of my pocket and looked at my banking app. Sure enough, I had fifteen thousand dollars in my checking account.
I could cry.
“Good, let’s get you a place in Lockwood,” the social worker soothed. “I’ll put you in a hotel room for tonight, and we’ll search for a place tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe, okay?”
I nodded, still quaking as I clutched my bathrobe to me tightly. I padded over to my suitcase and started putting my meager possessions inside. I dragged it down the hall until I reached the spare room, and I plopped on the bed unceremoniously. The social worker closed the door behind me.
It was pitch black outside now, and a police officer was parked in front of the building to keep an eye on us. It didn’t make me feel any better, though. In fact, it made me more nervous. The officer was making it obvious where I was now.
I closed my eyes, surrendering to the void as I attempted to sleep. The darkness refused to take me, though, so I tossed and turned fitfully for an hour before I gave up. I sat up, grumbling impatiently as I headed to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help me sleep.
I shed my clothes and turned on the spray, putting it as hot as I could stand. I grabbed my toiletries from my suitcase, pulled out the soap and shampoo, and placed them along the shower wall before getting in.
The water scalded my skin so deliciously that I moaned, allowing myself to be submersed in the liquid heat. I was soaking in no time, my hair clinging to my body, and I stayed under the spray for at least several minutes before I grabbed my shampoo.
I squirted some lavender-scented shampoo in my hand and lathered it in my hair, the scent calming and soothing. My thoughts wandered to my first day at work and how my first client was terrifying. But something about him, his confidence, his aura, drew me to him. He was dangerous, and I wanted more.
I rinsed my hair and grabbed a washcloth and soap, lathering up the rag until it was nice and soapy. I ran it over my body, gently scrubbing my skin as I imagined it was Lorenzo who touched me. I pictured his large, tattooed hands cupping my breasts, stroking my nipples until they hardened, then gliding lower…
I jumped as my phone rang, and I dropped the washcloth on the shower floor. Muttering curses, I quickly ran the showerhead over my body to rinse off before I reached for the phone, wiping my hand on a towel before grabbing it. As I picked up, I angled the spray away, seeing it was an unknown caller. “Hello?”
“Hello, darling,” came the rich, husky voice that sounded all too familiar.
Lorenzo.
“How did you get my number?” I whispered harshly, mortified.
“I have my ways,” he purred. “Are you showering?”
I stopped dead in my tracks, frozen to the spot. “Y-yes, why? This is so inappropriate. Call me at work during office hours.”
“Mmm, I don’t think so, darling. I know what you were doing just now,” he cooed.
My jaw dropped. There was no way he would know what I was doing. “Yeah, I was showering, your point?”
“You should really close your curtains,” he husked.
My eyes darted past the sheer curtain, and sure enough, my curtains weren’t drawn. Why did I leave the bathroom door open? Anyone could be watching me right now. Did he send someone to spy on me, and was this a three-way call?
“Yeah,” he groaned, and I heard shuffling on his end of the phone. “Show me how you want me to touch you again, gorgeous.”
His voice was hypnotizing, delicious, like warm honey dripping down my spine. I whimpered, my free hand moving of its own accord, dragging along my chest, between my breasts, and down to my navel.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered, growling as my hand drew lower. “What I wouldn’t do to be in front of you right now.”
I moaned, circling my clit with my fingers, my hips rotating automatically. This was filthy, forbidden, but I couldn’t stop. My pussy clenched, reminding me how empty I was as I felt myself get drenched down below. My clit throbbed against the pads of my fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. I craved Enzo more than I had for any other man, aching for him so badly.
“Fuck,” he groaned, and I heard him lick his lips. “Look at you. A fucking delicacy.”
I picked up the pace, moaning softly as I closed in on my clit, pure rapture mounting faster and faster, and I knew I was ready to burst.
“I’ll make you forget your husband ever existed,” Enzo rasped, his chest rumbling deeply. “You’re mine now, darling. Say it.”
“I-I’m yours,” I yelped, desperate for release. I would tell Enzo anything if he just sent me over the edge. I’d never felt this much pleasure before. He was driving me crazy.
“That’s my girl,” he praised. “Now stick your fingers in your cunt and come all over yourself like a good girl.”
I placed my thumb on my clit as I shoved my other fingers inside myself, and I shouted, spasming around them as I crashed. My knees buckled, and I had to kneel as I felt light-headed, unable to hold myself up.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
“Lorenzo—”
“Call me Enzo,” he interrupted, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Like you used to. Next time when you come, say my name.”
I opened my mouth to say something but stopped myself. Smirking, I yanked the shower curtains open, stepped out, and walked toward the window, dripping everywhere.
In a black hoodie and pants, a man outside lowered a phone from his face, hidden in the shadows. I stopped at the window, dragged my fingers from my pussy, and smeared my arousal all over the window, smirking at the man.
“You made a mess,” I teased. “Come clean it up.”
His head tilted to the side, clearly amused by my boldness. He groaned, bringing the phone back to his lips. “Soon, Darling. I’ll be there before you know it.”
The line went dead. I winked at the man as I put the phone down. I grabbed the curtains and closed them, ending the show as abruptly as he ended the call.
I laughed to myself at the absurdity that just happened, but with my post-orgasmic bliss, I didn’t care. I shivered and returned to the bathroom to grab a towel and shut off the shower. I began to dry myself as I switched on the radio, hoping for relaxing music to help me sleep.
The radio announced that there was an inmate loose from Ashwood prison, that there was a riot, and some escaped.
I only realized there was no pre-recorded message on the phone announcing an inmate calling me from Ashwood prison. Enzo broke out.
It was him standing outside my window. It was Enzo who called me on that phone.
Fuck.
Call me Enzo like you used to.
My heart sank as I ran to my window, looking frantically for the man I just spoke to, but he was gone.
But now I knew who he was.
He was the Enzo, my Enzo. The man I saw during my internship was my pen pal whose letters Mark kept from me.
I looked at my small pile of things and realized I still had that shoebox. I didn’t remember how I got it, but it didn’t matter. I ripped the top off as I picked up the letters one by one and read them.
My heart dropped. Enzo was finally opening up to me and being vulnerable in his letters, a first step toward redemption. But his letters changed when he thought I stopped responding; his letters got increasingly frantic and worried. He didn’t know why I’d stopped writing him and didn’t know what to think.
Dear Amara, he would typically start the letters out.
Then it changed to Dearest Amara, Elusive Amara, and just Amara when he was worried.
When I got to his last letter, it broke my heart.
Dear Amara,
Maybe you heard, but I broke out a few days ago. I went to your place, and I see now why you stopped writing back to me. You have a husband at home now and are happy with your life. I’m sorry if I ever came between that. I’ll let you go now. Be happy.
Yours always,
Enzo