9. Leaking
Leaking
The faint scent of lavender in the kitchen mixed with the metallic smell of rust creeping out from beneath the stainless-steel sink. It was the weekend. A plastic bucket stood in the middle of a dirty puddle. Water dripped relentlessly from the leaking pipe, beating out its steady rhythm.
Plip. Plip.
Beside it, the rusty toolbox sat open. Karl knelt on the hard floor. He tightened the brass fitting with the heavy adjustable wrench.
Clack. Clack.
The metal gave a faint screech. He drew a raspy breath through his yellow teeth, wiped the black grime from the pipe with the back of his hand, then carelessly dragged it across his cheek.
A series of dry sounds came through the half-open door of the study. Typing on a keyboard. Fast and perfectly even.
Karl cleared his throat. Deliberately loud enough to carry into the study.
“This connection is pretty old, Mr. Keller. I need to do it properly or it’ll start dripping again right away.”
Markus’s voice came back from the other room, flat and completely unsuspecting, mixed with the clatter of the keyboard.
“Yeah, no problem. Take your time.”
Then the keys continued clicking away undisturbed.
Nadja stood close to the sink. Her white T-shirt was completely soaked and clung to her body like a second skin.
The thin athletic shorts hung heavy and damp around her hips.
A few drops of water gathered on the bare skin of her thighs and slowly ran downward.
Her arms were folded defensively across her chest.
Beneath the sink, Karl kept his head lowered, but his gaze slid greedily sideways and fixed on her damp, bare thighs.
Nadja blinked and looked down at him in warning.
“What are you gawking at?” She forced the words angrily through her teeth, keeping her voice as low as possible.
Karl slowly raised his head. A streak of black grime ran across the deep wrinkles beside his eye. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Nothing, Mrs. Keller. Just watching where the water’s running.”
“You’re fixing the pipe. Not my legs.”
He gave a short, throaty chuckle, lowered his head again, and kept wrenching at the fitting with deliberate provocation.
“The connection really is very loose. If it stays like this, water’s going to keep leaking for a long time.”
Cold dampness soaked through the white fabric, clinging mercilessly to Nadja’s breasts and stomach.
The wet T-shirt hung heavy and unpleasantly cold against her skin, making every movement miserable.
Damp strands of hair stuck to her neck. The kitchen floor was still covered in water.
The half-cooked pot sat forgotten on the switched-off stove, and the smell of the interrupted meal mingled with the damp mustiness rising from the old, rusted pipes.
Nadja’s gaze shifted toward the study door, where Markus had simply disappeared again ten minutes earlier after shutting off the water.
He had only shut off the water. Then he had told her to call Karl.
As though that settled everything. As though the flooded kitchen, the transparent wet shirt clinging to her body, the ruined meal, and the bitter humiliation of having to ask that disgusting old neighbor for help were no longer his problem.
A hard, heavy knot stayed lodged in Nadja’s chest. Not clear enough to become an outright accusation. But not small enough to simply swallow either.
It just sat there—thick and hot beneath the cold fabric plastered to her skin.
At that exact moment, a rough old hand settled on the outside of her thigh, directly beneath the damp hem of her shorts.
Skin touched skin. Nadja froze instantly.
Karl’s hand reeked of rusty metal, old machine oil, and cold cigarette smoke. At first it merely rested there, almost innocently, as though he had accidentally reached for support. But then his skinny, rough fingers closed and dug possessively into the soft flesh on the outside of her thigh.
Nadja stared down at the hand in disbelief.
“What are you doing?” Her throat tightened. She lowered her head.
Karl didn’t remove his hand. His gaze moved away from her thigh and bored shamelessly into the opening between her legs. He whispered in a low, lustful voice:
“This pipe down here isn’t the only thing leaking, Mrs. Keller… I bet your pussy’s dripping too.”
Nadja’s face flushed bright red. The veins beneath her skin pulsed with rage and shame. She forced herself with everything she had not to scream at the disgusting old man.
“Are you completely insane? Markus is right next door!”
The corner of Karl’s mouth only lifted farther into a greasy grin.
“Won’t take long. I’m a professional.”
Nadja shot a panicked glance toward the half-open door. Karl’s smoke-stinking hand remained firmly planted on her bare thigh.
The typing next door suddenly stopped.
The air in the kitchen instantly set like concrete.
Nadja’s chest stopped moving. She held her breath in terror, her ash-gray eyes fixed on the narrow strip of light spilling from the study.
One second. Two endless seconds.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The keyboard started again. Just as unsuspecting and steady as before.
Karl leaned forward, impossibly close. He lowered his head all the way and pressed his damp mouth to the top of Nadja’s wet foot. His hot, rough tongue dragged a long, filthy trail over her skin—from the top of her foot to her ankle, then provocatively slow up her calf.
Nadja went completely rigid.
Karl looked up at her submissively from the floor, panting hotly as he kept licking upward. Every filthy sentence came in broken fragments between those low, animal movements.
“Just for a second…” he whispered as his tongue slid over her calf. “I’ll lick your ass, Mrs. Keller.” He kissed the sensitive inside of her knee and dragged his wet mouth higher. “Markus said I should help you.”
Nadja ground her jaw tightly shut.
Karl crept a little closer, in a humiliatingly obedient, doglike way. One hand stayed flat on the floor, the other still rested on her thigh, as though he feared she might kick him out of the apartment at any moment.
But his mouth didn’t stop.
He licked greedily up the inside of her thigh—slowly, obscenely filthy—and let his hot breath wash over the soft skin directly beneath the hem of her shorts.
Nadja clamped her fingers around the edge of the stainless-steel sink so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her knees weakened slightly.
The heavy, wet ache between her ass cheeks, deep in the hidden cleft beneath the fabric, was impossible to deny. Every damn time his hot breath touched her thigh, her lower body twitched involuntarily.
Her pussy clenched in a humiliating, wet, completely disobedient response—as though the naked contempt on her face had absolutely nothing to do with what was becoming unbearably hot between her legs.
Water kept falling steadily into the plastic bucket on the floor.
Plip. Plip.
Nadja lowered her eyes and drove her icy stare into Karl’s face.
“Take your hand off me right now.”
Her voice came out extremely quiet, almost completely swallowed by the oblivious clattering from the next room.
Karl stopped.
He slowly backed away and tucked his shoulders under the sink again, like a mangy dog retreating into its dark hole.
Then he raised his head and looked up at her from the shadows. Without blinking. Silent.
Nadja looked toward the study. The clicking of the keyboard continued in its perfect, ignorant rhythm.
She filled her lungs deeply with air. The wet sleeve of her T-shirt stretched tight.
Nadja slowly turned her back to Karl.
Her left hand settled flat against the ice-cold stainless-steel edge of the sink. One shoulder angled slightly toward the hallway, her gaze fixed on the study door.
Under the sink, Karl sat perfectly still.
Nadja lowered her right hand and hooked her water-damp fingers into the waistband of her shorts.
Her hand paused there for one heavy heartbeat, as though she could hear the rush of her own blood in her ears.
She didn’t really understand why she was doing it.
Maybe it was pure anger at Markus. Because of that half-open study door. Because of his casual, unsuspecting remark. Because of the flooded kitchen and the wet, cold fabric stuck to her skin while he had simply turned away and left her to deal with the entire mess.
Or maybe it wasn’t only because of Markus.
Maybe it was because her body simply hungered to be taken in a far filthier, more abysmal way than she would ever admit to herself with a clear mind.
Then, with sudden resolve, she dragged her hand downward and pulled the damp athletic shorts and whisper-thin panties down to her thighs.
The wet fabric slid without resistance over her soft hips and caught tightly between her bare legs.
Nadja’s ass was exposed directly in front of Karl’s face. Full. Firm and round. Damp and white beneath the kitchen’s cold fluorescent light.
A few final drops of water still rested on her skin, rolling agonizingly slowly over the soft curve of her hip before disappearing into the dark shadow between her ass cheeks.
Below that, directly between her parted legs, her wet flesh showed in the cramped space beneath the sink.
Karl froze.
For days, he hadn’t been allowed to touch her. Endless days when he hadn’t been able to lick her, smell her, bury his face in that clean and yet so sinful female scent. Days long enough to leave his throat completely dry whenever he merely remembered the taste of Nadja’s pussy on his tongue.
She turned her head slightly over her shoulder. Her ash-gray eyes locked onto Karl’s greedy stare with iron control.
Karl nodded silently.
His lips opened, but it took a moment before any sound came from his dry throat. His mouth moved, producing only a hoarse whisper—just loud enough for the two of them to hear.
“Beautiful.”
Karl knelt on the damp floor. Around him sat the bucket of water, the scratched toolbox, the adjustable wrench, and the rag smeared with old oil.
He pushed his upper body forward, so agonizingly slowly that he almost seemed to tremble, and placed both rough, dirty palms on Nadja’s bare ass.
Her flesh was unbelievably soft and hot beneath his fingers.
Karl’s thumbs gently stroked over her ass cheeks, following those full feminine curves like a starving man finally being served a feast again.
Then he applied slow, insistent pressure and spread her cheeks wide apart.
Nadja’s cleft opened helplessly in front of his eyes.
Her tight little asshole lay completely exposed between the damp white skin. Directly below it, her wet pussy opened too, dark in the shadows, so impossibly close that his panting breath immediately brushed her lips.
Karl lowered his head even farther. His nose almost touched her damp skin.
He drew in a deep, trembling breath—rough, filthy, and so disgustingly greedy that Nadja could hear it with perfect clarity.
“You smell so fucking good…” Karl whispered hoarsely, completely intoxicated. “My God, Mrs. Keller… your ass smells so good.”
Nadja’s polished fingernails scratched hard and convulsively across the cold metal surface of the sink.
Her eyes were wide open, fixed on the narrow strip of light at the door.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Markus’s hands continued typing steadily and blindly on the plastic keys.
Beneath the sink, another drop fell into the plastic bucket.
Plip. Plip.