His Desires

Chapter 8: Lost Keys

Four months, 28 days and 18 minutes ago.

Here she is again. Punching that same red tattered boxing bag, her hands bound tightly in white tape. She doesn't wear the gloves tonight. She never does after an argument with her despicable excuse of a father.  How many times must I hear the sound of her sharp breaths when her knuckles can no longer endure the abuse? The aggravated moans of the rusty chain the bag swings back and forth on; will she ever stop fighting?

My Amalia. My love. Can you listen to yourself? You are exhausted. You are in pain. Yet you punch on, again and again, and again. My ears explode with every hit you inflict on that fucking bag, like you want it to hit you. As if the wretched thing will materialize arms and hands and will smack you in the face. Is that what it will take for you to stop? Mi Belle. Someone to fight you? So you can relish in the pain yourself and not feel so numb.

I know darling, I want to take you away from it. I want you. I want every broken piece so I can put you back together again. My beautiful Amalia, just keep holding on.

I take one last longing glance at my fiery haired beauty and slink into the hallway and out the back door of the building; Sunvale gym is only a 30-minute drive from my complex – 10 if I have my Lamborghini. But I don't want to cause attention to myself. I need to tread carefully around these parts. No one must become familiar to my face, my actions and especially not my car. 

The night is cool again- strange as the month is only January. Summer should be here, the sky cloudless and black as raven wings. Yet, the stars are no where to be seen, clouds enshroud the vast space above me. It looks like it's going to rain. Slowly, my sneakers crunch the gravel as I walk towards my Nissan Pulsar in the carpark. Placing the gym bag in the back seat, I walk around and open the driver's door. Placing the keys in the ignition, the car rumbles to life and I wait patiently. Sliding each finger out of my lifting gloves, I chuck both in the center console. Then I hear the crunch of gravel again. The noise resembles a soft symphony because I know who is walking to their car, which is parked exactly two car spaces to my right. It's her. Three times out of ten she will finish at 8.30pm or 10 sharp. Tonight it's late. In fifteen minutes her favorite tv show starts and she begins to rush in order to shower and have dinner before the opening credits play. Tonight, however, she speaks to me.

"E-excuse me. Uh, heh, it seems that I've lost my car keys. I was just wondering if you have seen any while you were walking out of the gym by any chance?

Fucking hell. The breathlessness in her voice is distracting, sending an electric shock straight to my dick. My hand involuntarily grips the car door, trying to mask the bulge beneath my gym shorts. I take the keys out of the ignition and turn around. In two long strides I can easily have her in my arms. Amalia, your testing my restraint right now. Your hair is wildly out of its band, your cheeks are flushed and the heavy rise and fall of your chest is alluring. Except the greenness of your eyes helps me concentrate to stop them from wandering below your collar bones. I'm afraid I will lose myself completely otherwise.

"I'm afraid not, miss. Are they around the locker area, perhaps?"

She pauses for a moment. Her eyes roam my face and travel down my body. I almost combust and lose myself at her indiscretion. Perhaps she's not so timid after all.

"I, um, yes – she pauses to clear her throat. "I mean, yes, I did. I checked under the benches too. I have so many key rings to make sure my keys were easy to find whenever I would lose them. Guess it doesn't work after all." 

Even in the dark, I can still see the blush of crimson on her pale skin. I don't think she was meant to convey that much information. My dick is growing harder, with every second I stand and watch her obvious attraction towards me. Oh Amalia, if only you knew how much I want to strip you bare and take you in the back seat of my car. Fuck, even on the hood. Shit, I need to stop thinking.