Chapter 5
Lucy
O h it was good to be dry again. When the pipe had exploded, and water had drenched me, I’d let out this crazy squeal. I’d been afraid that the neighbors might hear me. What I’d not been expecting was to have Marcus WIilkins burst in and save me from the crazy laundry gadget.
And now, I was with him, on his way to his place. And all I could think about was that moment he’d caught me, saved me from falling full-on into the water.
He was so dang strong. It had been like falling into a tree. You know, a soft, warm, muscly tree.
As I stepped into Marcus's home, a wave of warmth and coziness washed over me. Soft lamplight illuminated the wooden furniture, casting a gentle glow. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, soothing my nerves. My eyes were drawn to the crackling fireplace where dancing shadows flickered on the walls.
I set my bag down, noticing an antique clock, its parts laid out across a table. Its exposed gears were a work of art. I’d never seen the inside of a clock like this, and without thinking, I ran my finger over some of the wood, admiring the stunning craftsmanship.
"Are you fixing this?" I asked, glancing over at Marcus.
A modest smile played at his lips. "I’m actually building it. From scratch. I carved the wood, machined the springs.”
“No way! It’s beautiful!”
“I’m a beginner. It’s just a hobby. Helps me unwind. No pun intended."
I smiled.
My heart raced being alone with him, acutely aware of his tall, broad-shouldered presence nearby. I was beyond grateful for Marcus taking me in, but also filled with nervous butterflies standing here in his space. Everything about his home radiated safety and comfort—qualities I desperately craved right now. Qualities I sensed in him.
I searched for something else to say, wanting to break the silence stretching between us but savoring the chance to simply drink in the details of his home. The lived-in feel spoke of a man who valued peace and simplicity. Blankets were draped invitingly across an overstuffed couch. Bookshelves lined one wall, spines well-worn from frequent perusing.
Here was a man who knew who he was, and nothing holding him back from being himself.
It felt like a haven. Like somewhere I could finally let my guard down and just be. With each passing moment, the outside world and all its troubles slipped further away. Here, enveloped by the crackling fire and sandalwood, I already began to heal.
I turned back to Marcus, giving him my full attention. "So what got you interested in clock making?”
He shrugged, a hint of melancholy shadowing his chiseled features. "Picked it up a while back. Keeps me busy, you know?" His voice was low and rich, sending shivers down my spine.
Marcus hesitated, jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. His ocean eyes dropped to the hardwood floor. The seconds stretched.
"After my divorce," he said finally, voice rough with restrained emotion. "I needed something to focus on. Keep my hands and mind occupied, I guess."
My heart ached for him. I recognized that look, that need to lose yourself in work to numb the pain. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, taking a step closer. Wanting to comfort him somehow.
His eyes met mine again, stormy blue connecting with deep green. "Don't be. It was for the best, in the end. We just . . . weren't right for each other."
“Tough to discover that after you’re married!” Instantly I felt like I’d said something stupid. “Sorry. I wasn’t teasing you.”
“No, of course. You’re right. I wish I’d known before we tied the knot. Sadly, it was, uh, complicated. She wasn’t the person I thought she was. Maybe it was my fault, too. She loved me, tried to be someone she wasn’t.”
“Not your fault. No-one’s fault.”
My belly fluttered under the intensity of his stare. I wondered what had driven him and his ex apart. What he truly wanted in a partner.
“Thank you.”
"No, thank you, Marcus." I said, my voice barely a whisper. "For everything. You saved me today. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be on the floor. Either drowning or swimming by now!"
He nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips before he cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "You must be exhausted."
I blinked, dazed. A querulous glance at a fully-assembled clock on the wall confirmed my suspicions. "Oh, shoot. It is late. I didn't realize how much time had passed."
"No problem at all. It's my pleasure, really."
We exchanged shy smiles, the air crackling with unspoken words and tension thick enough to choke on. Desire and something else, deeper, more potent, swirled in my stomach.
"You should rest up." He cleared his throat, eyes darting away. "I can draw you a bath if you'd like? Help you unwind?"
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of him, in the intimate space of the bathroom, his strong hands on the taps, filling the tub with steaming water. His body so close to mine. . . .
"That sounds lovely." My voice came out a bit breathless. "If that's alright with you?"
He met my gaze, and I swore I saw the same want, the same warring desires in his eyes. "It's more than alright. I’ll cook while you’re in the bath, we can eat together, then bed," he said, his voice hoarse. "Follow me."
With shaky legs, I trailed him up the grand staircase, every step closer to the unknown, closer to what may or may not be.
Marcus led me down the hallway, his footsteps solid and reassuring on the hardwood floor. I followed close behind, fingertips trailing along the wainscoting. He stopped at a closed door, turning the glass knob to reveal the guest room.
"Here we are," he said softly, gesturing for me to enter. “This will be your room tonight. Pop your bags in here. I’ll show you to the bathroom after.”
I stepped inside, breath catching at the inviting space. Lace curtains filtered the moonlight, casting a dreamy glow. A handmade quilt in soothing blues draped the plush bed, plump pillows propped against the headboard. Everything looked so comfortable. Lovingly crafted.
"It's perfect," I breathed, turning to face him. "Really, I can't impo—"
He held up a hand, stopping my protest. "You're not imposing. I want you here, Lucy. Please, make yourself at home. For as long as you need."
Emotion clogged my throat. When was the last time someone had shown me such kindness? I swallowed hard. "Thank you, Marcus. Truly."
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Bathroom's through there," he said, pointing to an adjoining door. "I'll put out some fresh towels. Take all the time you need to relax."
Gratitude swelled in my chest, warming me from within. "I don't know what to say. You're too kind."
"You deserve kindness," he murmured, gaze intense. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."
With that, he slipped out, pulling the door shut behind him. I released a shuddering breath, hands trembling slightly as I set my bag on the bed.
In the bathroom, I turned the faucet, watching steam rise as the tub filled. The scent of lavender enveloped me. Marcus must have added bath salts. My heart squeezed at the thoughtful gesture.
I shed my clothes and sank into the fragrant water, muscles instantly relaxing. Bubbles glided along my skin, soothing and cleansing. Washing the day away.
Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift. To Marcus. Strong, steady, compassionate Marcus. The way he'd rescued me. The gentle care in his eyes. I felt so safe with him. Protected. Cherished.
"He's different," I mused, running a washcloth along my arm. "There's just something about him that feels . . . right."
Like he could be the Daddy I'd always longed for but never found. Patient and nurturing. Firm yet tender. Everything I needed.
I though of his eyes. The tenderness in his voice. I felt warmth at my core, and without thinking, my fingers started to trace patterns on my skin, imagining it was Marcus touching me.
I let out a soft moan, surrendering to the sensation.
As I slipped lower into the water, my fingers found their way between my legs. I gasped as I touched myself, imagining it was Marcus' fingers exploring my most intimate places instead of my own hand wrapped around my thighs beneath the water line.
I remembered how he'd looked earlier - his intense gaze focused on mine as we discussed renovations for my house - how I felt seen by him in ways no one else ever had before; understood down to my very soul. This stranger had become someone special - he was breaking down walls I hadn't even realized were there until now.
I couldn't stop the cascade of desire that flooded my thoughts, consuming me in a fiery haze of need. The images of Marcus, his strong hands, his piercing gaze swirled in my mind as I gave in to my body's demands. Each stroke, each touch was an echo of his hypothetical caress, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.
The warm water lapped gently around me, amplifying the intensity of my sensations. My breath quickened, matching the rhythm of my movements that grew more urgent with each passing second. A soft gasp escaped my lips, muffled by the steam-filled room as I arched into my own touch.
I imagined him spanking me, binding me, slipping his cock into me after making me his plaything.
As the images of Marcus filled my mind, my breath became irregular and shallow, each thought pushing me closer to the edge. My blood pounded in my ears, drowning out the gentle murmur of the running water. I could feel the heat building between my legs, a fiery intensity that demanded release.
I bit my lip, trying to hold back a moan as my body betrayed me. I closed my eyes, imagining his hands on me, his voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear as he took me to heights I'd never experienced before.
With a final surge of desire, I gave in to the pleasure coursing through me. A low cry escaped my lips as my body convulsed, waves of ecstasy washing over me like a tidal wave. As the waves subsided, I sank deeper into the warm water, my heart pounding in my chest.
Sighing, I dunked under the water, trying to bring my heart-rate under control. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. In a stranger’s bathtub! Hopefully, he wouldn’t be a stranger for much longer.
***
As I stepped out of the bath, I wrapped myself in the plush robe Marcus had left for me. The soft fabric embraced my skin, making me feel cozy and protected. I couldn't remember the last time someone had taken such care to ensure my comfort.
I padded to the room Marcus had prepared for me, hearing the reassuring sound of him cooking downstairs. Whatever he was making smelled amazing.
In the room, my eyes fell on my open bag, and I caught sight of a familiar face peeking out—Mr. Whiskers, my trusted stuffed bunny. A surge of affection washed over me, followed by a twinge of embarrassment.
Marcus hadn’t seemed freaked out by him, but maybe, secretly, he thought I was a loser. I picked up Mr. Whiskers, holding him close to my chest. His worn fur and stitched smile were a reminder of simpler times, of the innocence and security I longed to recapture.
"Maybe I should leave you here," I whispered, running my fingers over his floppy ears. But the thought of facing the night alone, without his comforting presence, made my heart ache.
Glancing at the door, I made a decision. Marcus had shown me nothing but kindness and understanding so far. If anyone could accept this part of me, it would be him. With a deep breath, I tucked Mr. Whiskers under my arm and stepped out of the guest room and down the stairs.
Marcus looked up, his blue eyes softening as they met mine. "Hey, there. Feeling better after your bath?"
I nodded, hugging Mr. Whiskers a little tighter. "Much better, thank you. I . . . I hope you don't mind . . ." I trailed off, gesturing to the stuffed bunny.
A gentle smile crossed his face, and he set down the dish towel he'd been holding. "Not at all. Everyone needs a little comfort sometimes. I hope you'll both be joining me for dinner?"
I couldn't help but giggle, feeling a warmth bloom in my chest. "We wouldn't miss it for the world."
As Marcus turned back to the stove, stirring a pot of what smelled like homemade soup, I settled into a chair at the kitchen table. Mr. Whiskers rested on my lap, a silent reminder of the child within me—the part of myself I'd kept hidden for so long.
But here, in the comfort of Marcus's home, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I'd found someone who could embrace all of me—the woman I was, and the little girl I longed to be.
As we ate, our conversation flowed like the river outside, meandering from one topic to the next. I found myself opening up to him in ways I hadn't with anyone else, my fears and insecurities spilling out like the creamy mushroom sauce onto my plate.
Marcus listened intently, his eyes never straying from mine, his strong hands cradling his own bowl. "You're strong, you know that, right?" he said softly, his words like a balm to my soul. "You've been through so much, and yet you're still here, fighting."
"I . . . I've never really thought of it that way," I admitted, my eyes shining with unshed tears.
He reached across the table, his fingertips grazing mine. "You should. You're a fighter.”
“I’ve been so scared. First Mom, now Dad. It’s too much.”
“You know, bravery isn’t about not feeling scared. It’s about feeling the fear and keeping going."
His words, coupled with the heat of his touch, sent shivers down my spine. In that moment, I knew there was more between us than just a shared meal. Slowly, tentatively, I laced my fingers through his, our gazes locked.
The tension between us was palpable, the air charged with a current I'd never felt before. I leaned in , my breath catching in anticipation. His gaze flicked down to my lips, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.
In one swift movement, Marcus pulled his hand away, his chair scraping the floor. "I . . . I think we should . . . um . . . finish dinner," he stammered, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.
“Yeah, uh, that sounds good.”
We were careful not to touch each other again. I never quite recovered though. I felt on edge the whole time.
As the evening wore on, a comfortable silence settled between us. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of the antique clock filled the room with a soothing rhythm. I stifled a yawn, my eyelids growing heavy.
Marcus glanced over, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Sounds like someone's ready for bed," he teased gently.
I felt my cheeks flush, but I couldn't deny the weariness seeping into my bones. "It's been a long day," I admitted with a sheepish grin.
He hesitated for a moment, as if considering something. Then, he spoke again, his voice soft. "Would you like me to read you a bedtime story? I have a collection of classics."
My heart skipped a beat. Surprise mingled with delight as I took in his words. It was an unexpected offer, but one that resonated deep within me. "I'd like that very much," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackling flames.
We settled into the living room, the space transformed by the warm glow of the fire. I curled up on the plush couch, Mr. Whiskers nestled in my arms. Marcus sat nearby, a worn copy of "The Secret Garden" in his hands.
As he began to read, his rich, soothing voice filled the room. The worries of the day melted away, replaced by a sense of peace and comfort I hadn't known in years. With each turn of the page, I found myself drawn deeper into the story, the outside world fading away.
There was something about the way Marcus read—the gentle cadence of his words, the care he took with each phrase—that made me feel seen. Understood. Cherished.
Marcus closed the book softly as the final words of the story hung in the air. I blinked drowsily, the edges of sleep tugging at my consciousness.
"Time for bed, little one," he murmured, his voice gentle as he stood and extended a hand to help me up.
My fingers curled around his, a perfect fit. The stairs creaked beneath our feet as he guided me to the guest room, his presence solid and reassuring at my side.
"Here we are." He pushed open the door for me. "I'll be just down the hall if you need anything."
Our eyes met, and my breath caught at the tenderness I found in his gaze. "Thank you," I whispered, the words heavy with unspoken emotion.
"Goodnight, Lucy." His smile held a promise of safety, of warmth. Of home.
The door closed with a quiet click, and I crawled beneath the covers, Mr. Whiskers tucked securely under my chin. As I lay there in the darkness, listening to the muffled sounds of Marcus moving about the house, a profound sense of peace washed over me.
This felt different, in the best possible way. The connection between us, the unspoken understanding . . . it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. For the first time, I dared to hope that I'd found the missing piece I'd been searching for.
My heart swelled with a longing so deep it ached. Could this be the start of something real? Something lasting?
As I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of the handmade quilts and the lingering scent of Marcus's cologne, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I was exactly where I was meant to be.