Chapter Three: Cleaning Storage Units

The afternoon sun, weak and watery, cast long shadows across the cracked concrete floor of the storage facility. Novalee, humming along to a jaunty tune on her battered headphones, strolled down the aisles. Her pen scratched against her clipboard with rhythmic strokes as she conducted her routine security walkthrough. The only other sounds were the droning hum of fluorescent lights and the muted scuff of her boots against the floor.

The mundanity of her task was a stark contrast to the storm Dante brought with him when he arrived, unannounced. The air itself seemed to thicken as the SUVs had rolled through the gate that morning. Even with his henchmen bustling around, loading and unloading unmarked boxes, Dante's presence was like a physical weight pressing down on her.

Her first glimpse of him came when he strode through an aisle to oversee the operation. Novalee stole a sidelong glance, her eyes tracking the man who had disrupted her life in ways she couldn’t fully articulate. Dante was tall and lean, his tailored suit cutting a sharp silhouette against the industrial grittiness of the facility. His slicked-back blond hair revealed a face that was strikingly handsome yet chillingly cruel.

It was his eyes that unsettled her most—pale and unearthly, they seemed to glow with an intensity that pinned her in place. They weren't blind, though at first glance they appeared almost white. Up close, she had noticed the faintest suggestion of blue, like icy rivers running beneath a frozen surface. She wondered, not for the first time, if he saw into her very soul.

Throughout the week, his presence became a ghostly constant. From the tinted windows of his SUVs to the heavy gaze she could feel but never quite catch, he was always there. The sound of her music no longer drowned out her unease; instead, it seemed to amplify it, the beats hollow against the oppressive atmosphere.

That was a week ago. The day of their first real conversation, he broke the routine. His voice, smooth and low, reached her as she cleaned out an empty storage unit.

"You're Novalee, aren't you?"

Startled, she almost dropped her broom. His words cut through the air like a blade, sharp and deliberate. She turned slowly, heart pounding, to face him.

He stood leaning casually against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket. His other hand held an extinguished cigarette, the faint scent of cherry still lingering in the air. It was a silent taunt. He didn't have it lit in the building but he still kept it with him like he meant to light it right then and there.

Novalee nodded, throat too tight to trust her voice.

His smile was thin, dangerous. "I've been looking for you."

A prickle of fear climbed her spine. How did he know her name? There were logical explanations, of course. The business card, perhaps. Or maybe Hera had mentioned her while chatting idly, her maintenance stories laced with harmless gossip. Yet the way Dante said her name felt far too intimate, like a secret only he held.

“Just cleaning this unit and I will be back in the office if you want to wait by the front door for me.” She responded in a calm tone that did not reflect the unnerving feeling she was masking.

He stepped forward, closing the space between them. Novalee's breath hitched as his cologne—a rich, smoky blend that both repelled and intrigued her—invaded her senses with that damn cherry aroma.

"You're not very good at hiding," he murmured, his pale eyes scanning her face like a predator assessing his prey.

His voice sent a shiver skittering across her skin. Dante was a paradox—elegant yet unnervingly primal, calculated yet brimming with an undercurrent of unrestrained hunger.

“Mr. Santoro,” she began.

“Please call me Dante.”

“Mr. Santoro,” She repeated with a challenging glare he just smirked at. “I am working, not hiding. I will meet you at the office.”

The tension mounted as he circled her, his movements fluid and measured. She stiffened, clutching her broom handle like a lifeline. He said nothing more, and yet the threat in his silence was deafening.

Then, suddenly, they weren't alone.

"Nova!" Mr. Henderson's gruff voice echoed down the aisle, breaking the spell.

Novalee turned quickly, relief washing over her. Henderson, their handyman, shuffled toward them, his wiry frame weighed down by a toolbox. He was oblivious to the tension, his focus solely on the broken light in a unit.

Dante straightened but didn't step back. His expression barely shifted, though his eyes flicked toward Henderson with a flicker of annoyance.

"Mr. Henderson," Novalee greeted him, her voice steady despite her pounding heart. "How can I help you?"

As the old man launched into a detailed explanation of the problem, she used the distraction to slip away from Dante's orbit. Every step toward Henderson felt like a reprieve.

“I’ll take care of it in the office,” she promised after jotting down notes about the order of light bulbs they were low on. "Thanks for letting me know."

She didn’t wait for further conversation. Bolting down the aisle and through the main corridor, Novalee headed for the office. Behind her, she felt Dante’s gaze lingering, heavy and watchful.

Inside the office, she shut the door firmly and leaned against it, taking several deep breaths. The room felt like a sanctuary, its humdrum clutter a welcome reprieve from the suffocating intensity outside.

Novalee grabbed her bag and made the decision then and there. She wasn’t finishing the day. After logging out and leaving a note for Hera about her early departure, she slipped out the back and to an exit door for the little employee parking lot and her car.

As she drove away, the tension began to drain, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. Yet, as the sight of the storage facility, black SUVs loomed in the parking lot one last time before she turned down a side street, Novalee couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t truly escaped Dante. Not yet.

She didn’t know when he would next appear, but the chilling certainty settled over her: it was only a matter of time.

Novalee stepped through the door, letting it swing shut behind her with a soft click. The familiar scent of home—James’ coffee from the evening, the lingering traces of his shampoo from the shower, and the faint vanilla of her favorite candles—wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

She kicked off her boots with more force than necessary, sending them tumbling into the corner of the entryway, and dropped her bag onto the chair by the door.

“Hey, love?” James’ voice carried from the living room, laced with surprise. She heard the rapid clicking of a mechanical keyboard. “That you? You’re home early.”

Rounding the corner, she spotted him at his desk, headphones on, only one covering his ear so he could hear her and a grin on his face. His monitor displayed a chaotic battlefield of digital combat, his online friends chattering in the background. James glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression softening.

“What’s up? Everything okay?” he asked, directing his character into a safe house and pulling off his headphones to set them over one of his three monitors. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, a few strands falling across his forehead in that effortlessly boyish way he often had. He turned fully to face her, his brows furrowing in concern.

Novalee hesitated, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “I... I left early,” she admitted.

“Obviously.” His tone shifted, and he sat up straighter in his chair. “That’s not like you. What happened?”

She sighed, lowering herself onto the armrest of their couch. “James, there’s this guy—a tenant, Dante at the storage facility.” She glanced at her hands, reluctant to meet his eyes. “He’s... unsettling.”

“How so?” he asked, his voice even but his jaw tightening.

Novalee rubbed her temples. “It started a couple of days ago. He just... showed up. First, it was small stuff—watching me, little interruptions. I figured he was just one of those odd customers. You know, the harmless but quirky type.” She huffed a bitter laugh. “But today... he cornered me.”

James stood up abruptly, his brows knit in a fierce line. “Cornered you? What the hell did he do?”

“He didn’t touch me,” she quickly added, seeing the storm brewing in his expression. She didn’t want to tell him about the first day he came in and touched her cheek. It would send James over the edge.  “But it was—” She broke off, struggling to find the words. “James, he’s... predatory. He looks at me like... like I’m not a person. And he’s always there. Watching. He came right up to me and started talking, and his tone...”

Her voice caught, and she shook her head. “I couldn’t stay. After Mr. Henderson came by, I took the first chance I got to leave.”

James crossed the room, sitting down beside her and taking her hands gently in his own. His touch was steady, grounding.

“Love,” he said softly with that purr of his British accent, his dark eyes searching hers, “this guy—does he know where we live? Anything about us?”

Novalee shook her head. “No. Not that I know of. But he feels... dangerous, James. It’s like he’s playing with me, testing boundaries.”

James’ grip on her hands tightened ever so slightly. “And no one else at the facility can deal with him? What about that coworker of yours?”

“Hera doesn’t take stuff like this seriously.” She laughed bitterly. “If I told her, she’d probably think I was imagining things then go and flirt with the guy.”

James leaned back, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not imagining it,” he said firmly. “And maybe her throwing herself at him would take it off you. However, this guy sounds like bad news. And I don’t like the thought of him harassing you while you’re at work. Do you want me to talk to your boss? Or I can show up myself and make sure he knows not to mess with you.”

The fierceness in his voice, the unwavering protective streak, tugged at something deep inside Novalee. Yet he was waiting for her permission. Letting her handle it yet ready to step in. A soft, shaky smile crept across her lips.

James was no athletic, sculpted, streetfighter like Dante looked to be. He could hold his own in a fight, however. He was strong from lifting heavy boxes. He wasn’t a thin nerd yet screamed he was a gamer or had a complete dad-bod when they did not have children. Not fat, round gut, no six pack at 5’11 at 200 pounds. Brown hair, short on the sides and longer to the front that had a curl. Sharp jaw and nose with a beard and goatee.

He was her match. She was in the same boat. 5 '7, 230 with curves and rolls with large breasts and ass. They ate well. Had takeout and the only exercise was walking around at work. Rounder face with a small nose and bright round eyes. A match and happy. 

“No,” she said gently. “But thank you. I don’t want to make things worse just yet. I’ll report it if he keeps pushing. Just... hearing you say that makes me feel better.”

James frowned but nodded. “Alright. But you tell me the second this guy pulls anything, okay?”

“I will,” she promised.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Novalee melted into his embrace, resting her head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed the lingering anxiety gripping her.

“God,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his shirt. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’ll never have to find out.”

They stayed like that for a moment before James leaned back slightly. “How about this: we forget about Dante or whatever his name is for the night. I’ll even skip making dinner. Let’s order takeout, veg out on the couch, and marathon something ridiculous before I go to work or I can take the night off?”

“That sounds perfect, but no to taking the night off. I don’t want this interrupting our lives too much. Plus we have that dinner with my parents this Friday.” she murmured, her voice soft but genuine.

Forty minutes later, they were sprawled on the couch with cartons of steaming food. Novalee had her legs trapped over James, his hands rubbing over her thighs as they picked a trashy reality show on auto-play.

The anxiety hadn’t vanished entirely—it still lurked in the back of her mind like a shadow—but here, cocooned in James’ warmth and love, it felt manageable. As he laughed at something on the screen and nudged her playfully, Novalee remembered why she loved him so fiercely.

James wasn’t just her husband. He was her safe haven.

The flickering glow of their living room TV bathed the space in a soft, amber light. The remnants of their takeout dinner lay forgotten on the coffee table, and the silly reality show they'd been watching faded into the background as James shifted his attention entirely to Novalee.

She pulled back to smile at him, her head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her into a rare moment of peace after a turbulent day. His fingers traced light, soothing patterns along her arm, each touch a silent reassurance.

“You seem a little more yourself,” James murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest.

“Because of you,” Novalee replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She tilted her head to look up at him, her hazel eyes catching the soft glow of the room. “You always know how to make me feel safe.”

James smiled, his green eyes warm and tender. He brushed a stray lock of honey hair from her face, his fingertips grazing her cheek. “It’s easy when it’s you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see that look in your eyes.”

Novalee’s lips quirked up into a faint, shy smile. There was something in his gaze tonight, something deeper, smoldering beneath his easy demeanor. It sent a warmth blooming in her chest, spilling outward in waves.

She reached up, her hand sliding to rest on his cheek, her thumb brushing against the stubble along his jawline. She had never seen James clean shaven, never wanted to, she loved his beard “James...” she murmured, her voice soft, uncertain.

“What is it, love?” he asked, his British accent thickening, leaning into her touch.

Her heart swelled at the way he looked at her, as though nothing else in the world mattered. She leaned in slowly, her lips brushing against his in a feather-light kiss that sent a tingle racing down her spine.

James responded immediately, deepening the kiss with a quiet groan that reverberated through her. His hand slipped to the small of her back, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them. The kiss was tender at first, exploratory and languid, before it grew more insistent, more consuming.

Novalee shifted in his lap, straddling him without breaking their connection. Her fingers tangled in his hair as his lips traveled from her mouth to the line of her jaw, then to her neck. She gasped softly, her eyes fluttering shut as his kisses trailed lower.

He paused, resting his forehead against hers. His breathing was uneven, his voice a husky murmur. “Are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to—”

She cut him off with another kiss, her arms winding around his neck. “I need this,” she whispered against his lips. “I need you.”

His hands traveled up her back, pulling her flush against him as he kissed her again, this time with a fervor that left no doubt about how much he adored her. One hand slipped under her shirt, his touch warm and reverent against her skin, while the other cradled the back of her head.

Novalee felt herself melting into him, her worries and fears slipping away like shadows chased by sunlight.

“Hold on,” James said suddenly, pulling back just enough to grab his phone from the couch. He shot her a sheepish grin as he dialed a number. “Calling off. Tonight, you’re my only priority.”

Her chest tightened, emotions threatening to spill over. “James, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her with a gentle smile. “This is what matters.”

After a brief conversation with his boss, James set the phone aside and turned his attention back to her, his eyes darker now, filled with an unspoken promise. He scooped her up effortlessly to standing, leading her toward their bedroom as she buried her face against his neck. They had been married for five years yet it was always like the first month they were together. Laughing softly at the romantic cliché of the moment. But there was nothing silly about the way her heart raced, or the love she felt swelling between them.

He pushed her down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he joined her. Their laughter faded into soft murmurs and stolen kisses as they undressed each other slowly, savoring every moment, every touch. There was no urgency—only the quiet understanding that this was their sanctuary, their love laid bare.

Novalee let herself be vulnerable, her walls crumbling in the safety of his arms. And when James whispered her name like a prayer, his touch worshipful, she knew that no matter what Dante or the rest of the world threw at her, this was where she belonged.

Naked, flesh to flesh, their bodies intertwined was familiar and yet always new. Like to college kids that knew what to do but just met the right one for the first time. Hands sliding over every curve and valley. Tongue training over the hollow of his ear as his teeth found the quickened pulse in her neck and nibbled. They opened up. James sought to her entrance as she hooked her legs around his thighs to pull him in. His two finger thick cock seven inches long, they fit like two pieces of a puzzle that belonged together. Tight and filled. Always feeling as though it was their first time but familiar in finding just the right places to tease or press. 

Protection was not a thing between husband and wife. They wanted a child together. Dreamed of the day they would find out there was a little bun in the oven. Didn’t force but didn’t prevent. Always just love and passion between the two and James took his time. He always liked finding a rhythm as he drove into her. Getting Novalee to her breaking point the backing off as she tipped over the edge. Sometimes he frustrated the hell out of her when he would get her just to the tip then back off before she fell. It always earned him a playful slap to the arm before he would drive into her harder than before to make Novalee reach her climax and it was always ten times stronger. They knew how each other worked. Their wants and needs. James truly was her heaven.

Hours later, they lay entwined beneath the covers, the room dim and peaceful. James pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice a sleepy murmur. “You’re everything to me, Novalee. You know that, right?”

She smiled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “And you’re everything to me. Always.”

In his arms, with his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, Novalee drifted into the kind of sleep only true love could provide.