Anna
The neighborhood that we pull into is the kind of place where you would expect to find society’s most wealthy, well-respected citizens. It’s not the place I would expect a drug dealer to live.
Each house is at least three stories high, with an immaculately trimmed lawn and a four-car garage. We drive by several homes that have guest houses in the backyard, and no fewer than five of them have three separate patios.
I’m in awe at the scenery immaculate green grass and trees with perfect red apples hanging off the branches despite the frost. I’m sure movies are filmed here or something because it seems too good to be true.
After rolling down a few blocks, we pull up to a house that rivals every mansion I’ve ever seen, even in magazines that I’d read in the doctor’s office when I was a kid. It’s the kind of house I would imagine that Hollywood’s wealthiest stars would live in a perfectly impractical, ultra- modern, futuristic house with different quadrants and rooms that look like they could come apart and be self-sustaining.
Before Luka parks the car inside of a connected garage, I’m briefly under the impression that he’s fucking with me because he knows I’m poor and assumes I would be easy to impress.
This, though, would impress anyone. There are four equally lavish cars lined up next to us inside of the attached garage, and the floors are completely spotless, which is something I would never expect in an area like Seattle where there’s constant rain and mud that could be tracked inside.
Getting out of the bright-green sports car is a bit of a feat, but I manage to find my footing without resorting to crawling on all fours. As I stand up, I notice that it’s pleasantly heated inside the garage.
“It’s warm in here,” I say, more to myself than anyone present. It feels stupid to acknowledge, but I’ve never been inside of a garage where I felt comfortable taking my coat off. The interior is even nicer than any apartment or home I’ve lived in before, and we’re not even inside of the actual house yet.
Luka casually walks over to the door on the far side of the room and unlocks it, revealing a foyer with a skylight and vaulted ceilings. Along the walls is an impressive collection of eclectic and violent artwork which contrasts the sleek white walls.
“You actually live here?” I ask without thinking.
“No, the owners gave me a key so I can come here when I feel sad,” Luka says, laughing. “Yes, this is my house. As are all the cars. As is the guest house in the back where your sister will be staying. I own it all, sweetie.”
Rachel’s eyes light up. “Holy shit, an entire guest house? You’re going to just let me live there?” she asks.
He nods with a smile like a parent at a birthday party, proud for choosing the perfect gift.
Rachel nearly faints from excitement. I can’t imagine how jarring this change of pace is for her, moving from the trashiest house on our street into an actual mansion with a guest house and a fucking heated garage floor. She’ll even get a soft introduction on what it’s like to live by herself. She’s lucky that way.
“Here, we can go get Rachel settled first, then you and I can talk,” Luka says to me as I unload my things from the back of the car.
Rachel is nearly vibrating from anticipation. She probably feels like she’s dreaming, and I love that for her. She deserves it after all she’s been through. Seeing her happy like this almost makes me forget who Luka is, and how he was able to afford such a lovely house in the first place.
Luka leads us through the living room to a side door that gives access to the backyard, otherwise fenced in and completely blocked from the view of the street. If Luka is even a half-decent person, I can at least say I’d feel safe here on a day-to-day basis, given how private everything is. Ironically, I’d be willing to believe that the cops have a five-minute response time in a place like this. It’s a safe bet that nobody will be tossing bricks through our windows here.
My heart nearly stops when we step outside to see the guest house. It’s just like the outside of the main house, complete with its own little patio, adorable string lights, and a gigantic window that takes over the entire front wall of the living room.
“Holy shit,” Rachel mutters from beside me. Holy shit is right.
When we step inside, it feels like we’re being shown a perfectly staged, meticulously styled starter home for some ditsy rich teenager who just turned eighteen and wants to experience life on her own.
The kitchen is entirely white with subtle grey accents, the kind of decor that only a single man with no kids would sign off on. There are hanging teardrop lights above the island that cast a warmth over the otherwise clinically uniform color scheme.
As we step further into the house to explore all of its pristinely maintained corners, I start to wonder if anybody has even stayed in here since Luka had it built and furnished. Surely, he had it built to live in, but it appears as though nobody has ever set foot in here after it was constructed.
Every home I ever lived in was so old and worn in that it still looked dirty even after an entire day of scrubbing madly. There’s something about old apartments and houses that just feels perpetually dirty, like you’re viewing firsthand the soul of a place that’s been neglected and uncared for.
The bedroom is minimalistically styled, just like the rest of the house, but the natural light that pours in from the windows makes it feel more chic and timeless than sterile. I always wondered how people could choose so much monochrome to decorate their homes, but it turns out that having enough money makes anything look good. Luka clearly has tons of it, and I haven’t even seen the space that he lives in. Everything I’ve seen here is practically an afterthought to him.
“Okay, you can get settled in here, and I’m going to show Anna the rest of the main house,” Luka says as Rachel hesitantly sets down her backpack.
I’m sure she feels just as unworthy as I would in her position after spending so much time in the grimiest foster homes that society has to offer.
“Um, okay,” she replies, looking through the closet space and awkwardly placing her little bag on one of the hangers along the door.
Luka motions for me to follow him back out, and I exit through the front door behind him. “This is really amazing. Are you sure you want a teenager that you just met to live in here by herself?” I ask, feeling a pit forming in my stomach at the thought of Luka getting upset with Rachel for some kind of stupid infraction on an unspoken house rule.
“It doesn’t bother me in the least. Even if she had the place bulldozed, I could have another one built in its place in a few months. And that one would be better. So it’s really no loss for me either way,” he replies, and I’m uncertain whether or not he’s joking.
The only people I’ve ever met who had such beautiful homes were grotesquely rich executives who would come through the bar I used to work at closer to the city center. They were always at least twice Luka’s age with half his hospitality or charisma.
I always wondered what it must be like for people like that to return home to their gigantic mansions, alone and so drunk that they’ve lost their sense of object permanence. I figured that was the price for being so rich. It didn’t seem like a fair tradeoff to me, and that was when I was living in an apartment that was infested with roaches.
“Okay, so my bedroom is where you’ll be staying. It’s right down the hall from the kitchen to the right,” he states, not even looking at me as he leads me through the house.
“Oh, I don’t want to put you out like that. I’ll sleep on the couch if you need me to,” I reply, wincing internally at the thought of sleeping on the stiff leather couch in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“That isn’t what I said, and you’re not putting me out. You’ll be sleeping next to me,” he says sternly.
My face flushes. “Um, I don’t know about that. We just met,” I stammer, watching his face remain humorless and impatient as I attempt to spit out my response.
“Really, it’s fine,” he replies, and a slight smile forms on his face as his eyes narrow a bit.
His gaze is predatory in a sense, but not in a way that puts me on edge. In fact, to my uncomfortable surprise, his change in demeanor elicits a response from me that floods my body with warmth from the waist down. “Um, okay,” I whisper.
There’s no use in fighting with him. The fact that we have a safe, beautiful, clean place to stay should be enough of a reason for me to shut up and do what he says.
He leads me down to the bedroom, and the low lighting and heavy, dark wooden furniture seems to reflect more of Luka’s personality than he may have intended. He has impressive taste for a man; most men his age are still learning the appropriate intervals for washing their sheets. He’s managed for however long without a woman in his life, and I’m intimidated by his independence.
I’ve been the one in charge of caring for everyone for my entire life, especially since my parents died and left me to fend for myself with my little sister on my back. What would it be like to be constantly in the presence of someone who doesn’t need me?
The thought races, and I feel small.
“Pick whatever side of the bed you want. I don’t have a preference,” he says, breaking me from my runaway train of thought.
“Oh, let’s just see where we end up when we sleep,” I deflect, feeling the hot stone of anticipation and anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach.
Instead of replying with another overconfident, snarky response, he leans me up against the bed and presses his hips into mine. I gasp, but the feeling of his erect cock pulsing against me makes me melt against the wooden bedframe, surrendering to his aggressive advance without even thinking.
His eyes are like a storm, glaring down at me with punishing intensity. He lifts a finger to my jawline, tracing the tip against my chin and tilting my head to meet his intoxicating gaze. “Yes, let’s find out what side of the bed you end up on,” he growls, lifting my chin further and kissing me deep on the lips.
A flick of his tongue between my lips sends a flash of white light through me, and I wrap my arms around his neck as he opens my legs and presses his cock against my aching pussy.
What am I doing?!
I wrap my legs around him as he grips my hair and my shirt, pulling me close and jerking my head back. His mouth finds my neck, tracking light bites and slight bruises along the soft flesh and sending shockwaves up and down my legs.
I give in completely, enthralled by the danger and uncertainty of it all, intoxicated by the smell of his skin and the warmth of his body against mine.
“Let’s see what you’ve got for me.” His hands slide down my body to the zipper of my jeans, and he slips his hand into my panties. “That’s right, nice and wet already,” he teases, laying me back onto the bed as he begins to finger me.
He starts out slowly and methodically, taking his time finding the most sensitive pieces of me and preparing himself to abuse them to their greatest potential until I’m a blushing, breathless mess. His fingers press against my g-spot, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit with just enough pressure to edge me closer and closer to orgasm.
I’ve always been too nervous to cum with new partners. Usually, it takes at least three or four tries before someone is really able to get me off without my assistance. But Luka knows exactly what he’s doing, and his experience is showing itself as I climb to the cliff of ecstasy.
“That’s right, sweetie. Cum nice and hard for me,” he purrs, his lips twisted into a devious grin as I raise my hips. “Show me how much you like being a slut for me.”
Despite his degrading words, or perhaps because of them, an orgasm rolls over me in waves so intense that I nearly blackout from pleasure. Luka feeds off my body language as I writhe against his hand, greedily trying to prolong the experience as long as I can.
Before I’ve completely come down from my euphoria, he undoes his own jeans and pulls out his cock, jerking it slowly for a moment before he climbs on top of me and presses the tip inside of me. It stretches me slightly, but I’m so wet that the size of him doesn’t hurt as he slides in further, inch by inch, until he’s deep inside.
I’ve never taken a cock this big before, and I can feel him throbbing against my vagina as he begins to thrust slowly.
“I don’t know if you can take all this,” he teases. “Maybe I should stop.” I grab at his shirt, yanking him further into me. “Don’t you dare.”
He chuckles and wraps his hand around my throat, just tight enough to complement the sensation of his cock deep in my guts as he moves.
I’m nearly paralyzed with arousal as he takes control, starting slowly and building up the pace until I’m begging for more. He lifts my legs and places them on his shoulders as he pounds my pussy faster and deeper until I can feel another orgasm building up.
He squeezes my throat slightly as he sees my eyes roll to the back of my head, and his hand around my neck is the only thing stopping me from moaning out loud as I cum all over his cock, grabbing his shoulders and back and digging my nails in through his shirt.
“God damn, you feel so fucking good,” he moans as he fucks me harder. He removes his hand from my throat and grabs my hips, fucking me mercilessly until he cums deep inside of me, pressing his cock as far inside as he can as it pulses against my inner walls.
He collapses on top of me, breathing hard, raspy breaths. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, and there’s something strangely intimate about feeling the most vulnerable part of him overreacting to the way my body feels.
As soon as he regains his composure, he nearly jumps off me, pulls his pants back up, and walks over to the master bathroom, casually handing me a handful of tissues to clean myself up with.
“Um, thanks,” I say, reaching out and taking the tissues and stifling my horror at the idea of cleaning myself in front of a practical stranger.
I guess it can’t be that bad.
I mean, I did have sex with him.
“You should go pick up Rachel’s homework for the week,” he says, changing topics so hard that it nearly gives me whiplash. “Let her get adjusted to the new place without having to run off to school every day. You can tell them that she’s sick.”
“Yeah, that isn’t a bad idea,” I reply with trepidation, trying and failing to gauge an appropriate tone of voice for such a jarring change in atmosphere.
“Right. Okay, I have to go make a couple of calls. I’ll have a town car pick you up to bring you to Rachel’s school, and I’ll check in when I’m done,” he replies, and with that, he leaves the bedroom, closing the door on his way out.