Chapter 3
Zach
“Zach…
dinner is ready,” I hear Moira’s voice call out through
the closed door to my bedroom.
I don’t answer
right away, instead continuing to stare at the ceiling above me. Part
of me doesn’t want to join her because that will mean more
painful attempts at conversation with this woman that I’m
attracted to, yet despise.
“Zach? Did you
hear me?” she asks.
“I’ll be
there in a minute,” I tell her curtly, and then I hear her
footsteps moving away from my door.
We had arrived at
her home here in Evanston. It’s a small, white house with black
shutters and cheerful flowers dotted in pots all over the front
porch. It sort of reminds me of my parents’ little house back
in Georgia, and distinct memories of my mom working in her garden in
the backyard assaulted me when the taxicab pulled up.
After Moira paid the
driver, I followed her in carrying my backpack, a purchase she had
made for me to carry my meager belongings out of the Amazon. In
addition to my parents’ stuff, I had nothing but the new
clothes Moira had purchased for me and a small, beaded necklace that
Oehla, one of the small Caraican girls, had given me before I left.
My bow and quiver, as well as my machete, were all left behind, Moira
telling me that they were not allowed on the plane back to the
States. I was so angry at that I cursed at her in Portuguese for what
felt like forever, and she just placidly watched me until I ran out
of steam. She apologized softly and said that she would make sure
they were kept safe until I could return.
Sly woman…
talking about my return, when I know she has no desire to see me do
that. But I’ll play along with her little game… for now.
I roll off the bed,
the damp towel I wrapped around my waist after a shower still hanging
on me loosely. It was the first thing I did after Moira had showed me
around, telling me to make myself at home and treat this house as my
own.
I just grunted at
her and decided to take a shower, using the opportunity to release my
tension by stroking myself to a satisfying conclusion, all while
imagining what I’d like to do to Moira’s body if I had a
chance. I found it disconcerting that I didn’t think of Tukaba
once, instead imagining that flame hair pouring down Moira’s
back while I took her from behind. My release was hard, but I was
silent as my seed erupted against the tile wall of the shower.
Looking back at the
clothing I pulled out of the backpack, an idea suddenly strikes me.
Moira said to treat this house as if it were my own. While she has
made it very clear that while in public, I have to be fully dressed
at all times, I know without a doubt that if I were back home in the
Caraican village, I would be completely naked.
With a smile, I
untuck the towel from around my waist and let it drop to the floor
before I walk out of my bedroom.
Moira is in the
kitchen, her back turned to me while she cooks something on the
stove. I can remember my mother standing at the stove in our house,
pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven, and I can almost smell the
scent of chocolate and vanilla, items that I had long forgotten
about. My mouth actually waters and, for a brief, insane moment, I
consider asking Moira if she can make cookies for me.
But then I tamp that
urge down, because I don’t want to ask her for anything.
I walk over to the
kitchen table and when I slide one of the chairs out, Moira startles
slightly and then turns her head over her shoulder with a smile on
her face.
“I hope you’re
hungry. I made—”
Moira’s words
seem to dry within her mouth, and her eyes flare wide with surprise
as she sees me standing there naked. Her mouth hangs slightly open,
and her eyes drag slowly down my body. When her gaze reaches my
shaft, it gives a little jump under her perusal and starts to
thicken, which surprises me since I had tamed that beast not but half
an hour ago.
“What are you
doing?” she asks, her voice hoarse as her gaze returns to mine.
“I’m
ready to eat dinner, just as you asked,” I tell her without
giving anything away on my face.
“But…
you can’t… you need to go put some clothes on, Zach,”
she says, her eyes darting quickly down one more time to look at me.
“I refuse,”
is all I say as I take a seat on the kitchen chair. I stretch my legs
out in front of me and rest my hands across my stomach.
Moira swallows hard.
“But… it’s not proper to be naked.”
Shrugging my
shoulders, I give her a mocking stare. “You told me to treat
this home as my own. In my own home, I would be naked. Thus I am
naked here in this place you tell me to call my home.”
She opens her mouth
to say something, but then snaps it shut. Moira closes her eyes
briefly and takes a deep breath. When she opens them back up, she has
that same pleasant smile that I’ve seen several times over the
last few days when I refuse to do something she has asked.
“Okay…
that’s fine for now. We can talk about it later.”
Turning away to stir
whatever is in the pot on the stove… which I admit smells very
good… she then mutters, “Just don’t answer the
door if someone knocks on it.”
I snicker to myself
because I’ve made her uncomfortable. This is no less than she
deserves because from the moment I first laid eyes on this woman,
she’s stolen every bit of comfort from me. If I can repay the
favor, I’ll take every opportunity I can.
Moira busies herself
at the stove, stirring whatever is in the pot. Then she takes two
plates out of the cabinet and starts to ladle food on each one.
Picking the plates up, she turns to me and says, “It’s
not much, just Hamburger Helper, but I don’t have anything
stocked up. We’ll have to go to the grocery store tomorrow.”
She sets the plate
down in front of me. I inhale deeply as I look at the pile of
unrecognizable food. Moira grabs two forks out of a drawer and sets
one down beside my plate, which I ignore.
I don’t wait
for her to sit at the table to eat, but immediately stick my fingers
into the pile of steaming sustenance and try to pick up the squirmy
mess. It slips out of my grasp and falls back to the plate.
When I look up at
Moira, she primly takes her fork and scoops up some food, then puts
it delicately in her mouth. After she chews and swallows, she says,
“It’s a lot easier with the fork.”
I grunt at her in
reply, merely picking up the plate and bringing it to my mouth. With
my fingers, I start pushing the stuff into my open mouth, relishing
in her look of stunned disbelief.
Putting the plate
back down, I chew the mouthful, which is absolutely delicious, and
give her a superior smile before I swallow.
“What is in
this Hamburger Helper?” I ask.
“Some pasta
noodles and sauce… ground beef. Did you ever have this as a
kid?”
Shaking my head, I
pick the plate up and push some more into my mouth. “Not that I
remember,” I say with a full mouth. She actually grimaces at
me, and that makes me happy.
We eat in silence,
and I make quick work of my meal. When my plate is empty, I realize
I’m still hungry. “I’ll have some more.”
She raises an
eyebrow at me, and I see a spark of something I haven’t seen
yet. Smiling at me, she says, “There’s plenty more on the
stove. Help yourself.”
My eyes cut to the
stove, and then back to Moira. Serve myself? Is she serious?
“Zach…
I didn’t mind serving you the first portion because I was
already up and getting my own plate, but you need to learn to serve
yourself.”
I stare at her a
moment, wondering how I can argue against her. My upbringing demands
the woman serve me, but this I know is the way of things in my
village because the men provide the food. Here… Moira not only
provided the food, but she prepared it as well.
With a curt nod, I
stand from the table, but not before licking my fingers clean, which
rewards me with another grimace from her. I take my plate to the
stove and scoop up some more of the cheese-and-beef concoction.
“Would you
like some more?” I offer, and I am immediately shocked I would
do such a thing. Thankfully, she says a quiet “no” so I
help myself to the remainder.
More silence as I
finish eating and Moira watches me. After I have scooped the last bit
in my mouth and swallowed it, I actually get up from the table and
wash my hands in the sink. While I am enjoying being a heathen at her
table by refusing to use utensils and a napkin, I always washed my
hands with water after a meal, so it seems natural for me to do so
now.
I start to walk out
of the kitchen when I’m done, but Moira’s voice stops me.
“We need to talk, Zach.”
Ignoring her, I
continue toward my bedroom, but her voice halts me. “Please…
just five minutes.”
There’s
something about her tone… it’s tired sounding…
laced with frustration. While there is a part of me that relishes it,
a small part doesn’t feel all that great because deep down, I
know it was not her idea to bring me here. Her involvement is merely
to help me, and I get that on some basic level. I decide to give her
a tiny bit of something, so I turn around to look at her.
She stares me in the
eye, not between my legs, so I know she’s serious. “We
need to talk about the time you’ll be spending here. We need to
set some ground rules.”
Sighing, I walk back
to the chair I just vacated and sit down, spreading my legs wide,
laughing on the inside as she struggles to maintain eye contact with
me. I know if I were to reach down and stroke myself, she’d
never be able to keep her gaze on my face, but I don’t do that.
I’d rather just get this over with so I stare at her, waiting
to see what bit of grief she’ll give me now.
“Zach…
I know you don’t want to be here,” she says softly.
“At last…
we agree on something.”
“But you are
here. You promised Paraila and, while I fully expect that you will
return to your home one day, the truth of the matter is we will be
spending a lot of time together. You should take advantage of this