I waited all day to hear anything from Arsen after our amazing weekend. I realize I should be more understanding given his profession. For all I know, he’s caught a case that needs all of his focus, but I can’t help feeling left behind.
I spent the majority of the day cleaning out all my teaching supplies from the year. I need to make a list of new things to keep the classroom fun and festive for the next. Plus, it kept my mind off Arsen.
I know I could have been the one to make contact with him, but on the chance that he did get a case, I don’t want him to feel obligated to answer me back or take my call.
Mom even called once to find out more about my mystery man. Lord, love the woman, but she drives me crazy. I eventually wound up tuning her out and making odd noises here and there, so she thought I was still listening. She means well.
After I told her about my budding feelings for Arsen, she asked if I was still coming home. I paused to think about it. Which is shocking in and of itself. I’ve never had to worry about anyone else and what they wanted. When I didn’t immediately answer, she told me to invite Arsen with me. That gave me pause. We aren’t ready for that step yet. I need to confess to him before either of us can make that type of commitment.
After spending over an hour in a dollar store shopping for pencil cases and cute prizes for the new school year, I came back home and reorganized my school bins. I like to try and buy as many supplies as I can for the students, so it’s one less worry for parents. I know many struggle to make sure their kids have new clothes, shoes, and outdoor gear. If I can buy the supplies my students will need for the year, I’m happy to do it.
I’ve been saving my money for as many years as I’ve been working, and thankfully, have a nice little nest egg put away for anything I like. Well, maybe not anything, but a good number of things. My students are the most prized possessions for me, and they deserve it.
As I climb into bed, I wonder if Arsen’s safe. I watched the news for anything about injured cops, and nothing came up. Gazing at the clock, I notice it’s after midnight, and I acknowledge that if I want to make my appointments in the morning, I have to go to sleep now.
If only my brain would work with me and calm down.
Loud banging wakes me from my sleep, and I look around wondering if it was a dream until I hear it again.
Coming from my front door.
Throwing the blanket aside, I grab my robe from the chair by my bedroom door and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It glares a red 3:08 a.m. Growling, this had better be the million-dollar man, or I may commit murder.
Approaching the door—this is one of those moments in the horror movies where the girl opens the door and gets stabbed to death—I hesitate. Leaning my ear against the wood panel in hopes of hearing someone, I wait. A pounding makes me scream and jump back.
“Marina!” is yelled loud enough to wake the dead.
Arsen.
Jesus Murphy. This man.
Unlocking the chain and deadbolt, I pull the
door open to see him looking like death warmed over. “Arsen? What’s wrong.” Something has to be wrong. He wouldn’t just be here at this ungodly hour without good reason and looking so unkempt.
“Bad day,” he groans.
Grabbing his hand, I pull him inside. Ever the protector, he locks the door behind him. Walking to the sofa, his body nearly collapses on the cushions, dragging me down with him.
Worried, I ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Grabbing me around the waist, he pulls me into his lap, so I’m straddling his thighs. His arms wrap around my back, and he buries his face in my chest. “No. I just need to hold you,” he murmurs.
Delving my fingers into his hair, I gently massage his scalp. His body is coiled with tension, and I know his head must be pounding. His deep groan of appreciation tells me I’m right.
I don’t know how long we sit like that for, but when his body gradually relaxes, I let mine, too. My robe has been long since discarded, so I’m sitting on him in nothing more than a thin camisole and panties. A little less than I would have liked, but he seems to need it if his roaming hands are any indication.
Not in a provocative way, more as a calming effect. A reminder to himself that I’m here, and I’m real. I don’t know what happened over the past 24 hours, but he’s a mess, and if I can take that away by letting his fingers graze my body and holding him, I will.
Laying my head on his shoulder, exhaustion takes us both under, and soon we’re asleep with me on top of him, his hands up the back of my shirt gripping the material in both fists.
Chapter Nine
Arsen
A kink in my neck wakes me far earlier than I want to. The sun has risen, a new day has begun, but I’m still lost in yesterday. Marina, letting me in, accepting my pain so readily last night, made it all bearable. She’s still in the same position we fell asleep in a couple hours ago, and as I lift her body to take her to bed, she moans, whispering, “Arsen,” and rubs her core against my aching dick.
Fuucckkk.