Call Me Fire

CHAPTER 11

THE NIGHT BROUGHT DARKNESS TO KLAIRE CITY.

As the wind blew carrying dust up the city's paved floor, the clicking switches followed, turning the lights off in the shop one by one.

The world outside was still covered with people, busy and 'not so,' passing by the shop's glass window. Some of them were walking their way home, while others were rushing to catch the eight' o'clock Metro.

It was finally closing time. Another Friday evening that ends with short goodbyes.

"How do I look?"

"Like you belong between my legs." Tonya pursed her lips while pressing on the last switch. One more look at the guy, and she turned to the glass door. "Yep. Like you were born to be there. Going on a date, Kristoff?"

"You betcha." The guy finger-combed his hair, pushing back some stray. If Kristoff were to magically meet a fairy godmother and turn into something, he would be a dildo at that time. He was enticing, exciting, and utterly pleasurable to female eyes as he fixed the cuff of his formal suit. It was strange how he transformed into that between the short period of six-thirty and seven. "Sorry, I can't give you a ride home today. You gonna be, okay? You wanna ride with Lizzie?"

That prompted Tonya to turn to the girl who was putting on her chapstick while shuffling behind them. "Nope. Got no cars today, guys. My boyfriend had flat tires-"

"I'll take the Metro." Tonya cut her workmate off with a stiff smile. Then, pushing the door open, she gave the dim shop one last scan, lingering her gaze on the farthest chair next to the window.

Her fingers clutched her bag tighter as she squeezed her legs. Inside her purse were her wet panties, and inside her head was the man who loved sitting on that chair.

'Fire...'

"You're making that up, Lizzie. I saw your car. Can't you see that Tonya looks sick-"

"I'll take the Metro." Tonya's words barely made it out of her mouth when her lips dried. What the hell was wrong with her? Was she flushing again just because she thought of Fire? Well, to be honest, she could feel her skin heating up. That was so teenager, right? And there was no way that she should be experiencing this in her mid-twenties. Unless puberty thought of going back at her for some unfinished business-a boob-job, perhaps? "I can manage, Kristoff."

"Doesn't look like it." Kristoff gave her a worried look, starting from the bandages wrapping her arms to her bright red face. "I don't think you've recovered enough from that library accident yet. What's wrong, Tonya?"

'I got an aching crack under my skirt and wet knickers inside my bag,' was her mind's automatic reply, but then, Tonya said another thing while waving her hand dismissively. "I'm okay. No worries."

"Are you sure?" The guy looked at her like she was a specimen on a petri dish, knotting his eyebrows curiously while walking behind her. Nonetheless, he smiled when Tonya nodded her head as she stepped out of the door completely. "Alright. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Tonya chirped and bolted away. The truth was, she wasn't okay.

Walking around with 'no panties' felt freaking cold on the ass and didn't feel okay.

.

.

TWENTY BEFORE EIGHT, AND TONYA REACHED THE METRO TRAIN STATION. It was only a few corners from the coffee shop, but then it felt like she had marathoned a mile.

The fact that she had dodged nearly a dozen people, getting paranoid if they noticed that she had an eensy-weensy secret under her skirt, was stressful. Add that to her eight-hour shift walking around on her high heels, and she sure felt beaten to a pulp.

Exhaustion was exhaustion, after all, and Tonya was exhausted.

The past few days have been blurry for her. She recognized that the weeks had passed since the arson but then she couldn't figure out what happened with the missing dates.

Could calendars lie? She hoped not.

Sure, there wasn't anyone in the world who could simply erase days and nights from someone's memory, right? Or was there? Moreover, she kept having weird dreams too.

The heat was there.

Always there.

It was as tempting and delicious as it had always been.

Just like now.

'No fucking way.' Tonya silently cursed when her knees buckled on that last step of that stair. Heat shot through her senses as soon as her now-pronounced-invisible-boyfriend caught her so unguarded, she almost slammed her face on the floor.

'Oh, nuh-uh. Not here. It's too crowded.'

She caught a breath when the invisible hand squeezed her on her sex so well; she saw stars loom over the crowd of passengers before her.

'Bad boy! Bad...Oh gosh! That's so good-'

"Are you alright?"

Then there was that familiar voice that echoed behind her. Smooth like a mocha-latte, yet so manly, it made a breakthrough on her How-To-Make-Me-Cum-List.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to dismiss the number of people, men and women, children, and adults, all lining up to the train podium nearby.

Her palms were suddenly sweating as the heat glided back and forth between her folds. The tension in her center was so lovely that she had to remind herself that the public washroom in that subway was two blocks away.

When the heat found her clit, she bit her lips and pretended that nothing was happening. When it crawled up to her ass under her loose skirt, she invested enough effort not to roll her eyes, she could buy a house with the investment.

She acted as casually as she could when she parted her legs, hoping to gain better balance. Then, with the fakest sweet smile, she turned to the man who approached her, pretending that his presence didn't just roast her pussy.

As always, he was strong-looking, illegally handsome, and dominating in his leather jacket. One hand in his pocket, while the other held the same paper cup he took out of the coffee shop before their closing time.

'Goodness. Of all the possible people,' she sighed.

"You don't look okay."

"I'm fine." Tonya threw out a lie, disregarding how a sinful sweat slowly rolled down her neck. She swallowed before addressing the beautiful man who never failed to make her feel butterflies. "Look who's here."

"You look flushed-"

"Fancy meeting you," she cut him off, tip-toeing in shock, when the naughty heat gave her a lustful pinch on her butt.

"Are you going for the eight o'clock train too, Spitfire?" She couldn't be more thankful that her words were coming out smoothly, when in reality, all that was left on her were broken thoughts of how not to orgasm in that crowded subway.

'God, kill me now...' she prayed.