Page 5 of Something So Strong

Stumbling backwards, I sway like a drunk towards Romeo’s room, only to be met with Alma and the shit-eating grin plastered across her face.

“What are you so happy about?” I ask, rather more rudely than intended—earning me a stern look in response. “Shit, I’m sorry. Please don’t think I’m as rude as that dickhead,” I apologize, gesturing to Saxon’s door with my thumb. “Forgive me?” I ask, pushing my lips to the side and quirking a single brow.

A straight-lipped smile and a pity-filled head shake follow my inquiry.

Alma’s tall with curves just where I like them, yet it’s clear they were earned through hard work at the gym, not through the luck of genetics. The woman is a bona fide bombshell, but—call me crazy—she doesn’t do it for me. I like natural, not that she’s fake, but an ass like hers just wouldn’t shake like I’d want it to. I need thighs I can sink my fingers and teeth into that ripple and have those dimples that girls hate so much.

Gathering her long dark hair over one shoulder, Alma rubs a hand up and down my bicep as words roll off her tongue like rich, dark chocolate. “You seem like the innocent one to me, Mr. Jesse. Don’t concern yourself. I can see I won’t have to worry about you. You will give me no trouble and be a perfect boy, yes? Now come. I’ll show you to your room.”

As she walks towards the lift, I follow behind her—hauling my suitcase—like a puppy who’s just been promised a treat.

“Sorry you can’t be on the same floor as your boyfriends,” she gloats, happy with her little joke. “But there were not three spare rooms together, so I decided to house you across from your shift partner.”

I want to respond, but at this point, I’m just going through the motions. I mean, I think my feet are moving because I’m following behind her into the crusty old lift that smells like piss and needs desperately to be replaced. But for all I know, this could be a fever dream and I’m lying outside in the snow.

Another ding has me moving again, but this time the wheels of my suitcase catch on the gap between the lift and the floor, making it flip sideways. Slowly, I blink my eyes, my mind resigning me to the fact that my body no longer houses enough energy to rectify the situation.

To the end of the hallway I trudge, dragging the bag behind me to find, upon my arrival, that Alma has already unlocked my door, turned on all the lights, and returned outside my door to wait.

Now, believe it or not, I’m usually a perfect gentleman even when not trying to dip my wick, but now is not the time for valiance. Besides, in the short amount of time I’ve known Alma I’m certain treating her as my superior and not a woman to pander to will earn more of her respect in the long run, so I barge through the door.

The room is a far cry from my first home away from home. Namely, the dorms at Lancaster College & Prep, my safe space for almost ten years. They were all mahogany floor to ceiling with copper sconces, oil paintings, and hand-woven rugs. The mattress was Tempur-Pedic, and the sheets were Egyptian cotton, where this is exposed brickwork, carpet tiles, and old hotel furniture. Not antique old like at Lancaster, shitty old like we really should throw this out, but it’ll be good enough for the help. But I guess it’s what you get when you don’t pay rent, and I get a private en suite so I shouldn’t complain.

Taking further pity on me, Alma pries the handle of my suitcase from within my frozen grip and wheels it to the end of the double bed. “You really should get some rest, Jesse. You have your induction tomorrow morning at nine-thirty. The kitchen is open from six.”

Nine-thirty!?

“But it’s a Saturday,” I groan out.

Alma’s shoulders tense and her jaw moves side to side like she’s rolling her tongue around inside her mouth so as not to say the words she actually wants to.

“Yes,” she eventually sighs, allowing her shoulders to drop, “but there is no rest for the wicked. You must be prepared for Monday.”

A lamenting exhale has me looking towards the doorway and I’m thankful Alma takes the hint. Stepping towards it, she reaches out a final time to grip my shoulder and offers up a genuine smile as her parting gift. She really is beautiful. Her teeth are bright and straight and the way her cheeks crease around her mouth is quite riveting, but, as her body leaves the space in front of me, any remaining traces of femininity are blown away by an explosion of masculine energy and faded indigo.

Cocky as hell and leaning against the door frame with one arm up and his face looking more tired than I feel, is the very same scruffy-haired, dark-eyed bastard that so unapologetically tried to claim Mavis right in front of me. The one who just minutes before had leaped into the forefront of my drowsy mind.

Wearing only sweatpants, and I mean only.

The tilt of his hips leaves nothing to the imagination. And it only clocks that I’m staring when he shifts and the fucking monster barely concealed behind light-gray fleece moves, and I almost swallow my tongue. But I still can’t look away. It’s like his body is a magnet and my eyes are made of iron.

What had previously only been hinted at as they crept out from the edges of his hoodie, are now on full display. From neck to hip bones, his entire upper body is covered in tattoos. All grayscale and random but perfectly complementary, yet with enough space between each for my gaze to land on the muscular definitions on his pale skin.

His hand raises to scratch at the short hair along his jaw, forcing my focus to the ink on his fingers. Skeletal. Like an x-ray, but all the bones are broken. Snapped. I think some might even be missing.

“Make sure you get enough sleep before orientation.” His half-lidded stare bores straight through me. “Alma isn’t known for being too forgiving when it comes to that kind of thing. She does have her charms though, much like I’m sure you do, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy?

“Yeah-ah-thanks. Kai, was it? Maybe you should get some rest too. Looks like you need it,” I say hurriedly and move to close the door, but I catch his gaze again and I swear he’s smoldering at me.

“These are just my natural, rugged good looks. Besides, I’ve got tomorrow off.”

“Well, good luck with that. You’ll probably be having a better day than me by the sounds of it.” Oh god, please let this be over.

“I think I’ll have a better time on Monday when I get to show you the ropes.” His voice is deep and assertive, and I gulp as I grip the door—half hiding behind it. But his stare doesn’t waver, it only grows in intensity and pierces through the wood and straight into my chest.

I know I have to move, so I back up slowly—my eyes never leaving him until the door is closed. Leaning against the back of it, I pant deeply—my hand tracing over my half-hardened cock.

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