Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Frank Smith owned a payday loan business on the outskirts of Stirling. It was located in a strip mall on the freeway that led southeast to Massachusetts, in between a shady-looking massage parlor and a vacant shop. Marlon parked in front of the building and cut the engine.
“Ready?” he asked Elton.
“Could you have chosen a more frigid day?” Elton grumbled. “It’s not quite cold enough out there for me.”
A gust of wind shook the company van for emphasis.
Marlon huffed and shoved a beanie on his head. He zipped up his jacket and stepped outside, grabbing the file he’d created for the job before heading toward the business’s doors.
A car sat idling next to the entrance, and he spied a dark-haired man in a leather jacket warming his hands next to the car’s heater vents. He had a distinctly protruding forehead. The man glanced over, glowering, and Marlon looked away.
“I bet this place attracts the classy crowd,” Elton said, scowling at the car, then at the massage parlor, then at Smith's business. “It’s so swanky it makes me want to put my tux on.”
“You don’t own a tux, Elton.” Marlon opened the door and stepped inside.
A man stood behind a pane of thick glass. His eyes scanned Marlon and Elton, then moved to the logo on their chests. He pressed a button next to the back door and spoke into it.
A moment later, a middle-aged man came out. His hair was thinning, combed back in thick streaks over the crown of his head. He had remarkably hairy forearms and a big paunch hanging over his belt buckle. He looked like a retired bruiser. Marlon disliked him on sight. “You from Elite Security?”
“We are. I’m Marlon St. James.” He stuck out his hand. “I have a couple of questions to go through with you, then we can get the system installed and get out of your hair.” However much of it there was.
“Frankie,” the man said, giving Marlon’s hand a strong pump. “Follow me.”
They passed through the door and into the back room. Wire shelves lined the concrete walls until the room opened onto a larger office space lit with fluorescent lighting, which only made the place look dingier. Marlon’s skin crawled.
“Our old system is nearly ten years old,” Frankie explained as he pointed to the cameras in the corners of the room.
“You mentioned you want a like-for-like replacement?” Marlon asked.
“Yeah.” Frankie sat down in his desk chair and let it roll back slightly. “We have a blind spot in the back hallway, so I want to add a camera there, but other than that, the setup is pretty good.”
“I have a couple of recommendations that might improve your coverage,” Marlon said, pulling out his paperwork. He launched into his pitch, but the prickling on the back of his neck never went away.
One day, hopefully, Elite Security would be profitable enough that they could refuse to work with certain clients. But Smith hadn’t done anything outright shady, other than housing his business in a dingy strip mall. Marlon shook off his discomfort and focused on the job at hand.
Installing and maintaining security systems was the most profitable arm of their business. It didn’t require expensive labor costs and it didn’t demand overtime. There were occasionally maintenance callouts to attend, but the risks were far, far lower than the bodyguard or security guard jobs they took on. Plus, a town like Stirling and the surrounding area just didn’t have much demand for personal security. The tech side of the business brought in too much money to be picky right now.
Frankie Smith's fit-out was a good job to take. Logically, Marlon knew it. But he couldn’t shake the prickling at the base of his skull as he got to work.
When he got home that evening, he pulled into the driveway and let out a long breath. Camilla’s car was in the drive. He didn’t know why that filled him with intense relief, but it did. The thought of walking into a warm house filled with the scent of Camilla’s cooking—and the scent of her —made him shed all the discomfort of the day within moments.
He’d always thought that coming home to an empty house was what he preferred. He thought leaving business behind was a relief because it meant he wouldn’t have to take care of anyone until he was at work again, but now he was starting to think he’d had it wrong. Coming home to a warm, bright home knowing a beautiful woman would greet him with a smile was even better.
And when he walked through the door and smelled the odor of fresh paint on the walls of the living room, his dick got hard. He closed his eyes for a beat, trying to push away the images that had branded themselves in his mind over the weekend.
Camilla, her top off, bra shoved down to her waist, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. The feel of her skin beneath his palms. The way she looked on the stepladder when she stretched to reach the top corner of the walls, her curves so enticing they made him itch to touch her.
He shook his head. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want that, and Marlon agreed with her. Everything she’d told him about her past made him feel like an asshole for ever touching her.
Plus, he didn’t want to complicate his life either. Keeping things platonic was the best strategy; otherwise, both their lives would get too messy for comfort.
He liked being on his own. This was a temporary situation, and he was just helping her out. Temporarily. Just the way he wanted it.
Maybe if he kept repeating it to himself, he’d start to believe it.
“Hi,” Camilla said from the top of the stairs. She wore jeans and a thick, cable-knit cream sweater. It had a big turtleneck that reached all the way up to her jaw, and the sleeves pooled near her wrists before being gathered at the cuffs. Her body was as covered as she possibly could be without wearing a full balaclava, and it only made Marlon want to undress her all the more. She was like a gift wrapped up just for him.
“How was your day?” he asked.
Camilla huffed as she descended the stairs. She was a tall woman, so even when she stood on the ground floor in front of him, the top of her head reached higher than his chin. When she shook her head, the scent of her shampoo teased him. “My day was a disaster.”
“What happened?”
Camilla’s jeans fit her perfectly, a fact that Marlon noticed when she walked to the kitchen in front of him. He averted his eyes, mentally slapping himself. They were platonic roommates. He’d just have to pretend he hadn’t seen her bare breasts two days ago, and that they hadn’t opened up to each other about things in their pasts that didn’t typically get brought out into the light of day.
“One of the ovens had a fault and stopped working this morning,” she told him. “I had to get a technician to come fix it, and they charged me an arm and a leg for the call-out fee. They got it working, but I only had about half as much inventory as usual to sell today, and I had to delay one of the wedding cake tastings I had scheduled for tomorrow. It’s going to cost me a fortune that I absolutely cannot afford right now.”
They’d reached the kitchen, and Camilla opened the fridge to look inside. Her features were drawn, and Marlon had the sense that she didn’t want to meet his gaze. Before he could stop himself, he reached over and put his arm around her waist. She startled but didn’t push him away when he pulled her nearer.
He wrapped both arms around her and held her close.
When was the last time Marlon had hugged anyone, just because? He couldn’t remember. Wrapping his arms around Camilla felt like coming home. His hands sank into the soft wool of her sweater, and her hair tickled his nose as he ducked his head toward her. After a beat, she let out a sigh and melted into him.
His heart gave a lurch, and he squeezed her tighter. Her fingers curled into the back of his shirt as her breath washed over his throat, and Marlon felt something in his heart click into place.
This was better than coming home to an empty house, even if an empty house was simpler. Her body was soft and warm, and she held him like his hug would solve all her problems.
And, Marlon realized with a start, the discomfort he’d experienced today started to ease as well. The memory of that shady strip mall and the greasy loan shark who worked there faded in the background as he held Camilla close. Yes, he wanted to take care of her, but he was getting comfort in return.
Camilla let out a sigh and pulled away slightly, her hand sliding up to rest on his chest. He still held her in the circle of his arms, tilting his chin down to meet her gaze.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I think I needed that.”
“Me too.”
He wasn’t quite ready to let her go. His hand slid down to her hip while the other moved up to band across her upper back. She slid her own hand up to tease at the collar of his shirt, the tips of her fingers brushing the side of his neck.
Yesterday, Camilla had told him she didn’t want to get involved. But now she clung to him like she couldn’t bear to let him go.
Looking back on it later, Marlon would wonder who it was that moved first. Did he close the scant few inches between their lips to kiss her, or did she put pressure on his neck to pull him down? How did he end up pulling her tight to his body? How did she end up wrapping both arms around his neck?
Kissing Camilla was like pouring fire into his gut and feeling it spread to his extremities. She let out sweet little moans that stoked the blaze to new heights, the demanding press of her hand on his neck telling him she didn’t want the kiss to end.
Between one heartbeat and the next, he had her on top of the kitchen table and was notched between her spread legs. The heat of her body surrounded him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, his nape. She pulled at his hair to stop him from backing away, her legs hooking around his knees to pull him close.
“We’re breaking the rules,” he grated, holding her jaw with his hand so he could kiss a line along the other side.
She gasped, arching in his arms. “Screw the rules.”
A dark chuckle fell from Marlon’s lips. “You in this sweater makes me hard.” He grabbed a handful of the knit for emphasis.
“You have weird sexual preferences.”
He laughed again, bringing his mouth to hers. When she reached between them to cup his cock over his jeans, he groaned against her lips. She nipped at his lip, then let out a shuddering sigh and rested her forehead on his shoulder. Her hand stroked his fabric-covered length until he thought he’d spill in his underwear.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she panted, but her hand kept rubbing.
“I know.” Marlon’s hand slipped beneath her sweater to feel the skin of her lower back.
“We’re breaking our own rules.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” He lifted her sweater and pulled it off. Her hair was a staticky, frizzy mess that only made him want her more.
Her hand hadn’t stopped its torture. She shaped the length of his cock, squeezing and caressing like she couldn’t help herself. “I want you so much. Forget what I said yesterday. I was delusional. This is better.”
He exhaled, curving his arms around Camilla so he could bring her close. His lips closed over her earlobe before tracing a line down her neck. She arched back in his arms, and he kissed down her collarbone. Her skin tasted like magic.
Needing some way to wrangle control back, Marlon pulled away and slid his hands to Camilla’s hips. Her eyes were at half-mast, her lips glazed from their kiss. She looked mussed and utterly delicious.
“We said no sex,” he said through clenched teeth, using all his willpower to stop himself from coming from her touch. “But we don’t have to have sex to make each other feel good.”
Her fingers slid up to his belt buckle. Her chest moved up and down with every breath. Her fingers rested on his belt buckle, the weight of them heavier than it ought to be. “We each had a rough day. Maybe we just need release,” Camilla agreed, then darted her tongue out to lick her lips. “It doesn’t need to mean anything. Doesn’t need to be anything more.”
“We just need to let off some steam.”
She nodded, slightly dazed. “We can make each other feel good this one time.”
It wouldn’t be one time. If Marlon got to see Camilla’s face when he made her come, he wouldn’t be able to resist coaxing it out of her again. But he dipped his chin and tugged her to the very edge of the table. Her toes just brushed the floor as she spread her knees.
Pressing his hand between her thighs, Marlon groaned at the heat he felt there. He squeezed her pussy like he owned it, then hooked a hand behind her neck and dragged her to meet his lips.
Their kiss turned savage. Camilla gasped into his mouth as he squeezed between her legs once more, pressing the heel of his hand where she needed it most. Her whimper was a gift and a reward all wrapped into one. He wished he could taste her as she used his hand to ease the ache between her legs.
Camilla’s touch was clumsy as she pawed at his crotch, and it turned Marlon on to know she was mindless for him. She rubbed his cock with the heel of her hand as he did the same to her, layers of clothing between them.
“Been listening to you work yourself over with your vibrator every day for over a week,” he said, then sank his teeth into her bottom lip.
“You can hear that?” She gasped as Marlon increased the pressure between her legs.
“I jerk off to it every time,” Marlon admitted. He clamped a hand on her hip and helped her grind herself against his other hand. “Wish it was me using it on you, making you squirm.”
Camilla let out a cry, her body shuddering as her fingernails dug into his arms. Marlon watched her orgasm, his own body throbbing in response. She arched her back as a flush spread over her chest and neck. She was so beautiful he could hardly stand it.
He let her ride his hand through her orgasm until she whimpered and pushed it away, and then it was the work of a moment to unfasten his belt and reach his hand inside his pants. Planting a hand next to her body and curling his face into her neck, Marlon breathed in her scent as he jerked himself. It took two swift strokes for him to make a mess of his underwear.
Rational thought returned in fits and starts. Camilla’s arms had draped themselves across his back, her head resting against his shoulder. Marlon pressed a kiss to her neck and straightened, watching her.
She blinked, bit her bottom lip, then began to smile. “I do feel better, actually.”
Marlon’s laugh burst out of him. Unable to resist the temptation, he kissed the tip of her nose before slipping out of the kitchen to go clean himself up. By the time he came back, Camilla had her sweater back on and her singed, frilly apron wrapped around her waist. He still needed to get her a new one. The kitchen smelled like home-cooked dinner, and Marlon wondered how he’d ever survived life without her.