Page 4 of Beneath His Touch

LETTY

“Run, Letty, run,” I repeated the mantra in my head over and over again, except I didn’t run. I stood, glued to the scene like a Peeping Tom who looks over the fence at a neighbor’s house. The only difference is I heard my name multiple times. Maybe that doesn’t excuse my behavior, but still, I’m going to attempt to justify my actions with my ever-curious mind and overactive imagination.

The steam billowing from the shower did nothing to hide the riveting performance he knowingly or unknowingly gave had me panting, clenching my thighs, and feeling things I only relish in the comfort of my bedroom.

I thought I made it undetected, that went up in flames, not that I shouldn’t have expected it. Standing outside his open bedroom door is one thing, walking through and parking my body at the bathroom, peeking around the corner and seeing every single thing, is completely different.

Matthew Carlisle in clothes is what women’s dreams are made of. Naked and in the shower? Well, words are hard to come by, which is probably why I watched the entirety of his performance. The steam from the shower did nothing to conceal each movement of his powerful muscles. His palm was attempting to grasp the tile while the other slowly glided up and down along his thick length. The man’s hands are big, and it’s obvious that the sayingbig hands, big feetmeans a big cock is accurate for Matthew. The palms of his hands, along with his fingers, are double the size of mine, as he fisted at what I could see is more than magnificent in length and girth. I’ve also realized that, given the opportunity for it to be my hand wrapped around his dick, well, I’ll more than likely need both. I can’t even fathom attempting to use my mouth on him. Then there’s the fact that while my core clenched, grasping to feel something, anything, it would be more than a tight fit. The only thing I’ve used on myself is my fingers, and pain would definitely overrule any amount of pleasure until I’ve adjusted to him.

Oh, what am I even thinking? For all I know, he’s only using my image for material to get off. I shake my head at the notion. I’ve got enough to worry about, including getting caught by Matthew. On one hand, I could have sworn he did that on purpose, luring me into his sanctuary, but on the other hand, maybe I’m fooling myself.

All I know is the same three questions keep replaying in my head over and over again as I take the elevator down to the parking garage.

What did I just do?

What did I just see?

What am I going to do now?

“Well, you’ve been caught no matter what, Letty.” I try to keep my hands busy, but the need to press the button to somehow make the journey faster is hovering at the surface. Will that help matters? Absolutely not. Instead, I pull my hair out of the ponytail it’s semi-secured in, only to flip my head over and grab the tangled mess to put it back in place without all the loose tendrils pissing me off.

How could I be so stupid? I’m in sneakers. Of course, they’re going to make noise on the high-end, ultra-luxurious marble floors. How will I face Matthew Carlisle ever again? He’s practically my boss, and if this gets back to Ophelia, I’ll for sure get the pink slip. And it won’t be just from this home, either. It’ll be for the other three I clean as well. The money I make is too lucrative to lose a gig that, while it is technically hard on your body, at least comes with a meal Monday through Friday, plus you’re working by yourself. Unlike when you’re working at Twisted Oak, the bar and steakhouse in town. A few customers can get a little grabby, and while it doesn’t happen often, when it does, you’re jarred to your core.

Finally, the doors open and I’m saved. Though, it doesn’t stop my body from shivering, my face from feeling flushed, or my core from aching. I fear this is going to replay in my mind over and over again. The steam billowing, the motion in which he moved, and while Matthew didn’t make eye contact, I did see the subtle tilt of his head.

My phone rings right as I make it to my car. How I wasable to double-time it back to the kitchen, grab my things, including the container of food, and sprint out of the apartment still has me astonished. Lucky for me, everything was done before I became a creeper.

I wait to answer the call until I’m in my car. No longer am I able to be the carefree girl I once used to be. She’s gone, and in her place is a person who watches her surroundings, keeps her keys in her hand, with at least two of them threaded between my fingers just in case. I also carry Mace on my keychain and stay off my phone while walking around. It’s sad that my life has come to this, but staying alive and not having something taken away that I’m not willing to give is precious to me. I’ve even let go of any and all social media. The last time I posted was when my mom passed away. A post for the funeral, and that was it. I didn’t even reply to the comments, instead choosing to comment on the thread, thanking everyone for their condolences and calling it good.

The only thing I use the Internet for is recipes, maps when necessary, and making phone calls. I hardly even text anymore, which is saying something because nobody answers their phone when they keep it on silent. My roommates are honestly the only ones who send me messages, usually reminders for rent or letting me know if they’re bringing someone over. There are the rare occurrences where both of them won’t be home, and I’ll have the place to myself. That’s the one time I’ll take longer in the shower, sometimes take a bath, or enjoy sitting on the back patio with a girl-type dinner. Usually cheese, grapes, salami, andpopcorn. Sometimes, I’ll even have a glass of wine, which, yeah, sure, I’m not technically twenty-one yet. That doesn’t stop clients or my boss from gifting me one every now and then.

I unlock my door while looking over one shoulder, then the other, and the moment I open the door, I slide inside then immediately reengage the locks. It’s not until I’ve started the engine, put the air conditioning on blast, and place my head on the rest behind me that I check the phone notifications. While I put my seatbelt on, I locate my phone in the designated pocket to easily find it just in case.

“Oh shit.” My stomach drops to my knees when I see it’s Ophelia’s call I missed. Usually, she’d send me a text message as a follow-up when I don’t answer. Instead, she left a dreaded voicemail. No one listens to them, and they stay in your inbox forever. This is it, the moment I’m going to lose a job that has given me the ability to put a roof over my head, stay in hiding, and slowly build up a stash of cash.

I don’t bother playing the message. My mind is already sliding over the deep end with all theoh fucks, especially after seeing Matthew fist his cock while saying my name. Surely, he didn’t finish his shower that fast after I left, only to call Ophelia and complain. My finger presses on her contact, and I bring the phone to my ear. The ringing on the other end of the line has my nerves on edge. I’d bite my nails, except when you clean houses for a living, the last thing you want to do is taste a chemical. It’s bad enough that some of them linger in your senses long after you’re gone. The longer it takes her to answer, the worse my anxiety becomes.

“Heya, Letty, you didn’t have to call me back.” Ophelia picks up the phone after what seems like a lifetime later. I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s a lightness to her tone, and when she finishes her statement with a soft laugh, I know I’m in the clear.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t listen to the voicemail yet. I’m about to head home for the day and didn’t want to miss you at the office.” Technically, it’s not a lie since she called from the line at the building she keeps. It’s where we go every day, have a small meeting/venting session, grab the supplies we need, and either load up in a company vehicle or use ours for a daily stipend. I do the latter, simply because I love my car, it’s a comfort of sorts, and, more importantly, the last gift my mother gave me. The miles are still ridiculously low considering the traveling I did from West Virginia, so I decided to take the daily allowance and use that for not only gas but the wear and tear. Which, honestly, I’d need to take care of no matter what job I had.

“No worries, honey. I was just calling to tell you that whatever you’re doing at Matthew Carlisle’s house, please keep it up. We just had three referrals, which means you get a six-hundred-dollar bonus.” My jaw drops. That’s six months of the new rent increase.

“What? No way. That’s incredible.” I should question the how or when this all took place, but I won’t. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“It is. I’m going to add one of them to your rotation. Now, the downside to this.” With good news, there’s always bad that comes along with it.

“Uh-oh.” I make some mental calculations in my head. Maybe I’ll have to work Saturday, which would throw a kinkin working at Twisted Oak, except that would be more on my tired body. Fridays make for a longer day, going from one gig to the next and not getting home till close to one o’clock in the morning. I crash hard the minute my head hits the pillow. Once I wake up, I’ll have a few hours to myself, and even then, I'll go about doing cleaning of my own. I’d have to push that to Sundays. Shit, this is going to be a headache.

“Well, since it’s a referral bonus, it’s taxed, too much for my taste, and I hate that it’s set up this way. Sadly, it’s out of my hands. Anyway, it’ll come on your next paycheck. I wanted to give you a heads-up in case you notice it’s not the exact amount you expected.” Ophelia goes above and beyond for anyone. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, and while the news she gave me was great in the beginning and not so great in the end, it’ll still help me out.

“No problem at all. I appreciate you giving me a warning. I probably would have thought something was wrong. I’ve never received a bonus before, but maybe I can get a few more again,” I tell her, finally relaxing now that my stomach is no longer revolting. I’m still hot even though the air conditioner is blowing, my tank top still clinging to my skin, sweat-soaked from the day and the hottest show of my lifetime.

“I have no doubt you will. Now, I’ll let you go. I know tonight is your last night off before the heavy days start.” Ophelia’s cleaning company is not small by any means. There are close to fifteen employees, yet she takes the time to listen, work around our schedules, and will even dive in if one of us gets behind or someone can’t come in because of an emergency.

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You’re welcome. See you then.” We end the call, I put my device in the cupholder, and go about finishing getting ready to put my car inReverseto head home, where I know I’ll be reliving the moment from earlier on repeat while I get myself off.