"Smith! This looks like a squat! Don't tell me you live here?!"
"Don't judge a book by its cover, Officer. This is the safest place in the neighbourhood. Maybe it's the safest place in the whole of the Marshes!"
"Are you sure no one's inside?" I didn't dare to walk in without mechanically reaching for my gun.
"I'm sure of it. This building has an alarm system. You see that megaphone up there? There is another one at the back of the house. Whenever someone tries to break in, a loud siren goes off. The doors and the windows on the first floor are equipped with a motion sensor. Only someone with an electric key can enter this place," he stooped down to dig up a brick at the bottom of the façade. He withdrew the stone and pulled out a small, oddly shaped, purple object from the cavity.
"Here's the aforementioned key," he informed me, "thank God I thought about hiding the double outside the house. The other is in my wallet in your office."
Smith opened the door and let me in first. We walked into a dark corridor. The unventilated place smelled of old carpets and mildew. I heard Smith switch on the light. A faint luminescence coming from a pair of vintage wall sconces on both sides of the aisle illuminated the spooky hall. In the dusk I distinguished a staircase and two doors.
"I live on the second floor. These two rooms I use as storage space and besides, I've boarded up the windows, there is not that much to see there," he explained as we ascended two flights of stairs.
There was no light on the stairway, I had to orient myself on the directions Smith gave me so I wouldn't trip walking up the steps. On reaching the second level, the Anglo-Saxon opened the heavy curtains in the hall to let the daylight in. The natural light revealed a spacious atrium; the floor completely covered with old carpets. Two hidden arches led to the left and right wings of the house. I followed Smith as he disappeared in one of the obscure openings.
"Make yourself comfortable, Officer. It'll soon warm up here. Do you want some tea?"
Smith pushed the button on a remote control to open the halfway let down roller shutters and set the temperature on the thermostat. I looked around the room and realised that walls of several spaces were taken down to combine them into one large chamber. An emerald-green three-seater sofa and two chesterfield armchairs of the same colour stood around an oval, wooden coffee table in the centre of the room. To the far right was a fully equipped kitchen with a marble island and next to it a four-person oak dining table with brown microfiber chairs on black metal legs. There was also a stand with a Denver retro record player and a vinyl holder with classical music albums.
Smith poured hot water in a pot with black loose-leaf tea. As the tea was steeping, he refilled the electric kettle and let the water boil. I sat in the chesterfield chair, waiting for Smith to join me. I was supposed to feel comfortable, but I couldn't get rid of the feeling of our pursuers raiding Smith's headquarters anytime soon.
"Something bothers you, Officer?" Smith noticed I was nervous as he gave me my cup of tea and took a seat on the opposite side of me.
"Has anyone ever tried to break into your house?" I asked.
"Yes, one time but the siren was so loud it scared them away and since then no one ever tried it again," Smith chuckled.
"How come no one knows of this place?"
"I bought it through my company. I founded a false, small business that sells office supplies. Monthly, I ensure proper accounting to keep the tax inspection off my back."
"But you had to sign the papers with your name?" I remarked.
"Yes. But I have many names. I remember I signed that contract with some typical Gaul name. That's why they'll never know that this place belongs to me," he smiled as he sipped from his tea.
"I knew John Smith wasn't your real name," I mumbled.
"It might just be my real one, Officer. You can call me John … or Johnny," he looked at me suggestively, knowing that I would understand his innuendo. Smith reminded me of that night when I called him Johnny in bed. It made me feel uncomfortable. For the first time I panicked being in his presence, on his territory.
"I'm out of here," I whispered, briskly jumping up from the armchair.
"Wait, Officer!" Smith caught me by the arm and stopped me from leaving, "Please, stay with me! Where will you go?"
"Anywhere just to be far away from your harassment!" I screamed. Being in his company was too much to deal with. Knowing him was not only dangerous but also burdensome. Smith created tension whenever he saw the opportunity. It bothered me that I liked how he looked at me. As a grown woman and a police officer I was supposed to know better than to fall for a pair of pretty eyes.
"Please, stay," he begged me as he barricaded the archway with his broad shoulders, "I really like you and that's why I act like an idiot," Smith gently took me by the hand and led me back to the sofa.
"Yazarova. Is that a Scythian name?" asked Smith as he was making me another cup of tea.
"Yes. I was born in Tsargrad, in Scythia," I replied shortly without getting into further details. Gauls loved to interrogate foreigners about their trials and tribulations living as an immigrant in the West. I was in no mood for that type of conversation with Smith.
"I love Tsargrad. I want to visit that city someday. Maybe even stay there," he said dreamily.
"Why? To rob the national gallery?" I asked sarcastically.
"You have so little faith in me, Officer! I just think it's a beautiful city. And I can tell you'd also like to be in Tsargrad instead of the Marshes right now," I took the cup of tea and watched him sit across from me, on the other side of the coffee table.
"In the future I'll return to Tsargrad," I declared, avoiding his gaze, "You said you liked me. Why?"
"You mean, why did I say that? Or why do I like you?" Smith sounded confused.
"Why do you like me? Is it just because I happen to be a female cop you took advantage of?"
"Well, there are the obvious reasons. For instance, I find you extremely attractive. I couldn't believe my eyes when I first saw you sitting behind that desk. Beautiful women like you don't work in places like that."
"Oh, yeah? Where are they supposed to work then?" I asked in a defiant tone.
"I don't know, somewhere creative and elegant but certainly not in a police station in a by God forgotten village."
"What exactly do you like about me?" I knew I shouldn't have asked that, but it was too late. The unthoughtful words, pronounced in a whisper, reached his ears, delivering an unspoken message that instantly alerted Smith. He moved to the edge of his seat, to shorten the distance between us.
"Everything. I like your pale skin, especially when I make you blush. I like your eyes; they can't hide the truth. One instantly knows what you think just by looking into them. How dark and resentful they are when you're mad. How bright and loving when you're concerned or happy. I like your small hands," here Smith slid off his seat and moved on to the sofa, closer to me. Using the opportunity of me being mesmerised by his soft voice, he took my hand in his and continued, "my hands are huge compared to yours! It sounds silly but each time you touched me I felt a shock going through my body, simply by picturing your little fingers on my chest. I like your lips. I think they're very kissable," he leaned forward, acting as if he wanted to share something secret with me.
"We've done quite a few things, but we haven't kissed yet. I think we should," he muttered. My body was in a state of stupor as I couldn't get my eyes off his full, sensual lips getting closer to mine. Kissing him crossed my mind every time I looked at him, but I always subdued those intrusive thoughts. And there I was, unable to pose any resistance to something as harmless as a kiss.
His tongue slid softly against my lower lip and slithered inside my mouth. He impatiently pushed his tongue deeper, searching for mine. Gradually, I was shaking off the spell he put on me and tried to disengage from our intimate interaction. Smith placed his hand in the back of my neck and pulled me in, making up and down movements with his head as our tongues were caught in an intense entanglement. For a split second I played with the idea of just giving in to him and to stop fighting against something I enjoyed. Nevertheless, I managed to push him off and dashed to the kitchen island to create a barrier between us.
"Smith! We can't do this!" I panted, catching my breath.
Smith didn't run after me. He slowly stood up from the sofa and walked towards the kitchen, meanwhile keeping eye contact with me, which was even worse. His outward calmness and measured steps were a sign of him having everything under control. Smith was confident that I couldn't escape from him or his kisses.
"And I just love your voice!" he desperately sighed out, "The frequency of your voice resonates with something inside my brain. It makes me wild! Your moans were otherworldly that night in the barn. I haven't felt like that before. I wanted to hear those sweet noises again when we stayed in the hotel, but you controlled yourself surprisingly well. Although, I did my utmost to arouse you, given what was acceptable in those circumstances," he had neared the table but didn't try to get any closer to me.
"Acceptable?! You were sucking on a public servant's tits, Smith!" I yelled in disbelief of the man's boldness. Right at that moment, Smith placed his hand on the tabletop and took a giant leap over that piece of furniture, landing right in front of me. I shrieked from surprise and staggered back. He came at me and pinned me to the wall.
"That's right, I forgot to mention how much I love your beautiful titties," he grinded his hips against mine as he studied my reaction to everything he said.
"You … like my breasts?" I wasn't used to receiving any compliments on that part of my body. That was why Smith surprised me when he voiced his admiration for my bosom.
"Are you crazy?! Of course, I do! They have a nice round shape, like little apples, fitting perfectly into my hands," Smith gently squeezed my breasts through the fabric of my uniform.
"Besides, a mouthful is more than enough," he grunted into my ear and bit my earlobe. I whimpered and seized him by the collar of his shirt, in an attempt to pull him off me. My groan must have been the last trigger for Smith to reach his limit. He put one hand on my back and with the other grasped for my legs.
"Smith put me down! Where are you taking me?" I protested as the Anglo-Saxon carried me out of the room.