Arrival and the First Jab

The gravel crunched under the tires as Derek's old Honda rolled to a stop in front of the sprawling ranch house. Megan pressed her palm against the passenger window, taking in the property with wide eyes. The main house was a two-story colonial with peeling white paint and a wraparound porch that sagged in places. Beyond it, a massive workshop stood with its doors thrown open, revealing the dark shapes of power tools and lumber stacks. Construction debris littered the yard. A half-finished deck jutted out from the back like a broken tooth.

She turned to Derek, trying to keep her voice light. "It's bigger than I thought."

He gave her a nervous smile, that boyish shrug that usually melted her heart. But today it just felt thin. "Yeah. Dad's been working on it for years. He says a real man builds his own home from the ground up."

"You are a real man, Derek."

"Tell him that." He killed the engine and the sudden silence felt heavy like a weight pressing down on them both.

The front door swung open before they could unbuckle. And there he was. Mark. He filled the doorway like a dark god carved from oak and iron. He wore a stained tank top that clung to every ridge of his chest, loose jeans that hung low on his hips, and a smirk that didn't reach his piercing blue eyes. He was easily six foot five, maybe two fifty, all of it hard earned muscle. A thick beard covered the lower half of his face. His arms were crossed, making the veins pop along his forearms.

"Well well well. Look what the cat dragged in." His voice was gravel and rust. "My boy Derek and his pretty little girlfriend."

Megan's stomach did a flip. She forced a smile and climbed out of the car, smoothing her sundress. The afternoon heat hit her like a wall, but it wasn't just the sun making her skin prickle. Mark's eyes were on her, tracing her curves as she stood, taking in every inch of her body.

Derek walked around the car, his posture already shrinking. "Hey Dad. Thanks for letting us stay."

Mark clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble. "Course I did. Someone's gotta teach this boy how to handle a hammer. And a woman."

The joke landed like a punch. Megan's cheeks flushed. She stepped forward and extended her hand. "I'm Megan. It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Mark."

He took her hand. But he didn't shake it. He held it, his callused palm rough against her soft skin, his thumb tracing a slow circle on her wrist. His eyes dropped to her chest, then back up. "Mr. Mark. I like that. Polite. Sweet." He let go, but his gaze stayed locked on her. "Bet you're a handful too."

Derek cleared his throat. "We should grab our bags."

"Sure. I'll show you to your room." Mark turned and walked inside, his boots heavy on the wood floor.

Megan followed, her heart thudding. She could feel the weight of his stare even from behind, could feel it crawling over her bare legs, her ass, the curve of her waist. She reminded herself this was just for the summer. Just an internship. Just a chance to get closer to Derek's family.

But as she stepped into the dim cool of the house, she knew something else was brewing.

The interior was rough and unfinished in parts, polished in others. A testament to years of labor. Mark led them up the creaking stairs to a narrow hallway with three doors. He opened the last one. "This is y'all's room. Hope you don't mind the thin walls. I sleep right next door."

Megan's breath caught. She stepped into the room. It was small but clean, with a double bed, a wooden dresser, and a window overlooking the backyard. The sheets were worn but smelled of lavender. She set her bag down.

Derek followed, his shoulders hunched. "Thanks Dad."

Mark leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed again. He was looking at Megan, openly now, no pretense. "Megan. You need anything, you come find me. I'm always around. Always happy to help a pretty girl." He winked at her, slow and deliberate and heavy. "You need anything at all."

Derek nodded, not meeting his father's eyes. Mark's gaze never left Megan. She swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, feeling something else stir lower in her belly that she refused to name.

"Rest up from your trip. Dinner's at six sharp." Mark pushed off the doorframe, his massive frame filling the exit for a moment longer than necessary. "Derek. Don't be late."

Then he was gone, his boots heavy on the stairs, leaving them alone in the small room with the lavender sheets and the thin walls and the suffocating weight of everything unspoken.

Megan sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped more than she expected. She could hear Mark moving around downstairs, could hear the low rumble of his voice on a phone call, could feel the vibration of his presence through the old floorboards.

"He's intense," she said quietly.

Derek was already unpacking, shoving clothes into the dresser without folding them. "He's just old school. You know. Traditional."

"He was looking at me."

"He looks at everyone." Derek's voice was tight. Defensive. "That's just how he is."

Megan wanted to push further but something in Derek's posture told her to let it go. She unpacked her own bag slowly, hanging her dresses in the small closet, arranging her toiletries on the dresser. She caught her reflection in the mirror above it. Her sundress was wrinkled from the drive. Her hair was messy. Her cheeks were still flushed.

She changed into fresh clothes for dinner. A fitted top that hugged her waist. Jeans that sat low on her hips. She told herself she was dressing for Derek. Only for Derek.

But when she caught Mark watching her from the kitchen doorway as they came downstairs, his eyes dropping to the sliver of skin between her shirt and her waistband, she felt a jolt of something electric shoot through her that had nothing to do with her boyfriend.

Mark smiled. It wasn't a kind smile. "There she is. Thought you'd clean up nice. Wasn't sure."

"Thank you, Mr. Mark."

"Just Mark is fine when we're eating together. Mr. Mark makes me feel like a teacher." He pulled out a chair for her at the heavy wooden table. Not Derek's chair. His own, at the head. "Sit."

She sat. The chair was warm from where he'd been resting against it. She could smell him. Sawdust and sweat and something musky underneath that made her head swim.

Dinner was steak and potatoes, thick slabs of meat cooked rare. Mark ate with his hands, tearing into the flesh, juice running down his thick fingers. He watched Megan the whole time. Watched her cut her food into small pieces. Watched her take dainty bites. Watched her lips close around her fork.

"So," he said between bites, "Derek tells me you're here for some internship."

"Yes sir. At the county planning office. It's just for the summer."

"Good. Keep you busy during the day." He sucked grease from his thumb. "Derek's gonna be working with me on the house. Long days. Early mornings. I keep him busy."

Megan glanced at Derek. He was staring at his plate, barely eating. "I know. He told me."

"Means you'll have a lot of free time on your hands." Mark leaned back in his chair, spreading his arms wide, making himself even bigger. "Like I said. You need anything. Anything at all. You come find me."

The way he said "anything" made Megan's thighs press together under the table. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

After dinner, Derek helped clean up while Megan excused herself to use the bathroom. The hallway was narrow and dim. The bathroom door was old, with a gap at the bottom that let light spill across the floorboards. She could hear Mark downstairs, talking to Derek in low tones she couldn't quite make out.

When she came out, Mark was at the top of the stairs. Waiting. Blocking the way down.

"Bathroom work okay?" he asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Good." He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd her, but enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. "You sleep well tonight, Megan. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

She nodded. Her throat was dry. Her nipples had hardened under her shirt and she prayed he couldn't see.

He could see. His eyes dropped for just a moment, a flicker of recognition, of hunger. Then he stepped aside. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mark."

She hurried past him, feeling his gaze on her back, on her ass, on every inch of her until she reached the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Derek was already in bed, reading his phone. He looked up. "Everything okay?"

"Fine." She climbed in beside him, her heart racing. "Just tired."

He kissed her forehead. "Yeah. Big day tomorrow."

She lay in the dark, listening to Derek's breathing slow into sleep, listening to the house settle and creak around them. Through the thin wall, she could hear Mark moving in his room. Could hear the creak of his bed. Could hear him breathing.

She pressed her thighs together and tried not to think about the way he'd looked at her. The way his thumb had traced that circle on her wrist. The way he'd said "anything" like a promise and a threat.

It was going to be a long summer.