A View from Above Pt. 01-05

Saving Linnea

Rescuing a young woman leads to an instant, deep romantic bond.

Part 1: Lars's Solitary Life

LARS

I'm a bad person, or at least that's what most people would tell you, if they knew.

You see, I travel to Thailand and frequent bars a couple of times a year, staying for a month, where i hop bars and find me a temporary girlfriend, sometimes for an evening and sometimes for the whole stay. We all crave connection, in one way or another... Not that I don't want a real girlfriend or even a wife, but past experiences of the girls I have hooked up with has left me with a sour taste. You are supposed to bring in lots of money, but still be available when she feels neglected because you work long hours.

My life had fallen into a predictable, if solitary, rhythm. After studying computer science at a renowned technical university, I'd secured a good job in building automation. It was stable, if unexciting. Then, without warning, it ended. We lost a key customer, and suddenly, I was laid off, though with a substantial severance package. The abrupt halt to my routine left a void. Days stretched out, filled only with the desultory search for a new position. I needed something to occupy my mind, a flicker of hope, even a trivial one. That's why, on a whim, I started buying lottery tickets. I didn't expect much, just a small distraction, something to anticipate.

Then it happened. I won. Not billions, but enough to live comfortably for several years. The first impulse was to tell no one; the thought of instant "friends" was more burdensome than appealing.

With unexpected freedom and a sudden influx of cash, my usual diversions felt insufficient. It was during a walk through our small city that I overheard someone talking about the "high rise on the hill", a run down high rise with a spectacular view over the city and the ocean. It's located in a posh neighborhood, but the owner had neglected it over the years and the apartment was rented out at a low rent. There was drugs and alcohol sold and consumed every day. A real sore spot in the posh neighborhood. It had not been kept very well, looking worse for wear.

It turned out be for sale and I thought to my self that might be a good investment if I could buy it for a reasonable price. I got in contact with the real estate agency and made some inquiries. Being the only one showing any interest I got the VIP treatment, especially when they understood that the finance was already in place.

My idea was to completely renovate the building. That meant terminating the tenants, ripping out everything inside so that only the carcass of the building remained. This was easier said than done. When I first took over, I had a few incredibly challenging residents, people who thought 'paying the rent' was optional, or who used their apartments for activities that were less than legal. It was a lot of trouble to clear them out, in fact. So much trouble that it led to me having to contact the police far more often than I'd ever anticipated. So often, in fact, that I ended up on a first-name basis with the local chief of police.

After that ordeal, I started building it up again with better insulation, new amenities, and of course, given my background, automations to control temperature and air quality for each apartment individually. I also included smart-tinting windows that could be adjusted automatically or manually, everything controlled by a touch control panel in each apartment.

The building itself is six floors, with four apartments on each floor, two one-bedroom and two two-bedroom units. I, however, wanted the top floor for myself as one gigantic apartment. There's also a seventh floor, covering half the building's footprint, containing the elevator machinery, the ventilation units, and the control systems for the building. On top, I put solar panels to minimize the electric bill for the entire apartment complex.

When finished I expected to rent the remaining apartments at a price of 1200 USD in average, giving my new company an income of 24000 USD every month.

The advantage of starting a company is that in my country is that the tax for an employee costs the employer is approximately 80 percent of the gross salary and for the employee is 34 percent, but if the shareholders gets dividend the tax is a flat 30 percent.

I contacted the municipality permitting office, to find out if there would be any problems to get permits to do this. To say that I got a very welcoming reception is an understatement. Politicians tend to favor the rich and mighty I think (not me, but the posh neighborhood)?

I gave a real low bid for the building and as the only bidder I got a really good deal, well in budget so I could complete the project without having to get a loan.

After finalizing the deal, getting all necessary permits, contracting a building entrepreneur, I was suddenly looking at a full year of inactivity, as I have been to enough building sites to know that it's best to allow the professionals do what they do best without unnecessary distractions.

To occupy myself, I decided to go to China to learn Wing Chun, as I'd always been interested in self-defense. I was lucky enough to get into one of the schools that teaches foreigners, for a price. My visa, however, only allowed me to stay in the country for a limited time. To renew it, I'd have to leave China periodically. I took these necessary trips as opportunities to travel around the world, checking out all the famous sights. But more importantly, I used these excursions to immerse myself in other cultures and study their languages, particularly in Southeast Asia. This allowed me to continue my global education while ensuring I could always return to my Wing Chun training.

When the apartment complex finally was finished, I moved in to my apartment and put the remaining apartments on the market. Knowing that the rent is comparably low for a luxury apartments, it was easy to get tenants for all the apartments.

I'm 34 years old, single and suspicious of any female that suddenly gets interested in me, convinced it's only ever about the money or the lifestyle. I've learned that lesson the hard way, watched attraction bloom the moment financial comfort became apparent, and fade just as quickly when it didn't meet expectations. It leaves a bitter taste. So I take my trips to Thailand every now and then, and keep to myself the rest of the time.

Part 2: Then suddenly everything changed.

On my way home from the latest trip to Thailand I was driving home in the middle of the night from the airport. After staying in an airport or in a plane for last 20 hours, I prefer to drive the old winding roads, to keep me from falling asleep on the highway. The old roads are twisting and turning, an abundance of wildlife, demanding complete concentration every minute of the drive. Really keeping me on the toes.

Coming around a bend about 5 miles from home, I saw it, and my foot instinctively eased off the accelerator. This particular stretch of road offered little more than the vast expanse of the countryside, with houses almost unheard of and only a few scattered farms visible in the darkness. To see anyone, let alone a lone girl, walking towards the city in the rain was entirely unexpected. Luckily, she was wearing a white t-shirt, which allowed me to spot her at a safe distance.

Sometimes you only glance at somebody, and instinctually know something is not right. I slowed down and had a better look, she turned against me and I noticed that her t-shirt had the front ripped. I immediately pulled over, turned on the hazard lights, rolled down the window, and asked her "Is everything OK?, do you need help?".

"When her gaze finally met mine, her eyes were wide and red-rimmed, glistening with fresh tears. Her small frame was trembling visibly, not just from the cold, but from something deeper.

'Where are you going?' I asked, keeping my voice level. 'To the city?'

She didn't answer immediately, her gaze flickering to the dark road, then back to my face. Her lips parted, then pressed together. Finally, a whispered, 'Yes. To the city.'

'It's a long walk, especially out here, in this weather,' I said, trying for a tone that was reassuring, not demanding. 'You can come with me, if you want. It's not safe to be walking alone on this road at night.'

I could see her hesitation, the fear battling with the cold. 'Look,' I said, trying to soften my voice. 'I can show you my driver's license. You can take a picture of it, send it to a friend. That way, if I turn out to be a bad person, the police would know exactly who to look for.' I managed a small, wry smile, hoping it conveyed sincerity more than amusement."

After a moment, a flicker of something, perhaps desperation, perhaps a fragile trust, crossed her face, and she opened the door, climbing into the passenger seat. She slid into the seat, and in the faint glow of the dash, I saw the extent of her soaked and torn clothing. The t-shirt was ripped, yes, but her bra seemed broken too, offering an glimpse of her exposed skin. Her jeans were stretched taut, clinging to a body that looked far too fragile for the harsh night. Her physical slightness, almost bordering on malnourished, only amplified the profound vulnerability in her eyes.

Without a word, I stretched to the back seat, fumbling for my jacket. I turned back, extending it towards her. "Here," I said, "you might want to put this on. It'll give you some warmth and... cover up a bit."

She hesitated for only a moment, her eyes wide as she took in the oversized jacket. She nodded slowly, then, with a fragile grace, she shrugged into it, the fabric instantly swamping her. The warmth seemed to thaw some of the rigidity from her posture.

"Still grappling with the surreal reality of a soaking-wet girl in my passenger seat, I cleared my throat. 'I usually take a detour to a McDonald's on my way home,' I said, forcing a casual tone. 'Just for a cup of coffee. Is that... okay?' The silence stretched, and I felt a familiar tension. Her presence was unsettlingly unfamiliar, but the lingering image of her trembling held me fixed.

After a pause that felt too long, a small voice answered, 'Yes. That's fine.' Her voice was still fragile, but the directness was new.

As the golden arches materialized in the distance, I felt a pang of something akin to concern. Or was it just responsibility? 'We're almost there,' I said, glancing at her. Her small frame, even wrapped in my jacket, seemed impossibly thin. 'Would you like something? Food, a drink? My treat, of course.'

Another hesitation, then a small nod. 'Food... and a drink. That would probably be a good idea,' she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Inside, or drive-thru?' I asked, pulling into the lot.

Her gaze dropped to her ruined clothes, then she looked up at me, a flicker of something new in her eyes, a spark. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips, followed by a soft chuckle. 'Drive-thru,' she murmured, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. 'Unless you want to get into trouble explaining my outfit to the police.' "

She attacked the food with a raw hunger that startled me. Each bite was a gulp, every sip of the drink immediate, as if her body was screaming for sustenance. It was clear she hadn't just been cold and scared; she'd been starving.

The car glided into the familiar arteries of the city, the streetlights carving paths through the rain. I glanced at her, my hand already resting on the gear stick. "So," I began, trying for a casual tone, "where can I take you?"

She turned her head, her gaze drifting over the passing buildings, then dropping to her lap. A long, painful pause stretched between us. It wasn't the silence of thought, but of emptiness. No address. No destination. The quiet was heavy, loaded with her unspoken despair.

"I'm Lars, by the way," I offered, trying to break the heavy silence, to give her something concrete to focus on. "What's your name?"

"Linnea," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

She has nowhere to go. The stark reality hit me, stripping away my carefully maintained distance. The girl wasn't just in trouble; she was utterly adrift.

Part 3: Linnea's First Night

A different kind of resolve hardened in my chest. This wasn't about being charitable; it was about preventing a disaster I could now clearly see. The old team leader instinct, dormant since I'd quit the corporate world, resurfaced -- the need to take charge, to find a solution. "Linnea," I said, using her name with a new weight, my voice deeper, leaving no room for questions.

"You're coming with me. To my place." Her head snapped up, fear stark in her eyes. I met her gaze, making sure she understood the gravity, and the sincerity. "I know what you're thinking. And I swear to you, you will be absolutely safe. No one will bother you. I will not touch you in any way that makes you uncomfortable, or without your explicit consent. My only goal is to make sure you're safe tonight."

Linnea's eyes were fixed on mine, the battle between fear and exhaustion starkly visible. She hesitated, her small hands twisting the fabric of my jacket. But where else was there to go? The street? The cold? The thought seemed to flicker across her face, followed by a profound, weary resignation. She gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod, a movement so slight I almost missed it.

A breath I hadn't realized I was holding slipped out. The sharp edges of my controlled demeanor, the 'leader's' edge I'd taken on, immediately softened. The crisis had passed, and with her silent acceptance, the need for that intensity vanished. I felt a quiet, almost unfamiliar warmth spread through me. It wasn't the thrill of a successful negotiation, but something far more gentle. My hand, which had been gripping the wheel with a subconscious firmness, relaxed. I glanced at her, her head now leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips, one of pure, unexpected relief. I simply drove, allowing the car's warmth and the steady rhythm to offer her a moment of peace.

The car turned onto the quiet street, then smoothly descended into the underground parking of the high-rise. Approaching the primary garage door, I rolled down my window, the cool air momentarily touching my face before I slid a key into the external lock. A low hydraulic whisper filled the air as the heavy door began its ascent.

I drove into the main basement parking, the sounds of our tires echoing faintly. Ahead, a second, more exclusive garage door hummed to life, rising just for us. "My private garage," I stated, the words coming out clipped, efficient, as I steered into the secluded bay. "Keeps things... private."

The engine died, plunging the space into a deeper quiet. Linnea climbed out, my jacket still swamping her, and I noticed her gaze sweeping over the sterile, clean concrete walls. I led her to a discreet elevator, blending into the wall like a phantom. A key, a soft click, and the doors silently opened. Inside, the polished interior felt almost clinical. Another key into the console, and the elevator began its smooth, swift ascent, the only sensation the gentle pressure in our ears. It stopped, not with a jolt, but a seamless transition, and a hidden door slid open, ushering us directly into the quiet expanse of my apartment.

For a moment, Linnea simply stood, blinking. The space that unfolded before them was vast, easily larger than any apartment she had ever seen or imagined. It was a living room, but on a scale she couldn't comprehend, stretching out with minimalist elegance, muted tones, and panoramic windows that promised a breathtaking view, even in the darkness. As her first foot crossed the threshold from the elevator, a soft, inviting glow bloomed, slowly expanding from recessed ceiling lights. There was no switch, no obvious button; the room simply illuminated itself, as if sensing their presence. Linnea's breath hitched, a small, involuntary gasp escaping her lips as her eyes widened, trying to take in the sheer scale and silent intelligence of the space.

Her gaze swept past sleek, low-slung furniture and futuristic art, eventually landing on an unexpected sight at the far end of the immense room. There, against one wall, was a meticulously crafted replica of a traditional Wing Chun dojo. Not enclosed, but clearly defined by a section of polished dark wood flooring, it featured a gleaming wooden dummy (a muk yan jong) standing solitary and stoic, its arms outstretched. Beside it, on a low rack, rested various practice weapons, long poles and butterfly swords, arranged with almost ceremonial precision. It was a stark, disciplined counterpoint to the soft luxury of the living space, and a silent testament to another, hidden facet of Lars's life. The contrast to her own life, to the cramped, chaotic, and dangerous rooms she knew, was a chasm she could barely begin to fathom. She was no longer just in a dry place; she was in another world entirely.

Linnea was still standing, her gaze sweeping the vast living space, but a shiver ran through her frame, pulling her back to the immediate reality of her soaked clothes and the lingering cold. I noticed it instantly, the subtle tremor that even the apartment's warmth couldn't banish.

"You're still freezing," I stated, the decision already made. "There's a bathroom just through there." I gestured towards a discreet doorway. "You could get into the bathtub, heat up. The lock on the door is fully functional, I assure you."

This time, there was no hesitation, no flicker of fear or doubt in her eyes. It was pure, unadulterated need. "Yes, please," she whispered, her voice barely audible but brimming with relief.

I turned and went into my bedroom, emerging a moment later with a large, fluffy towel and a likewise big, impossibly soft bathrobe. I extended them to her. "Here," I said, a gentler tone now in my voice, "just fill the bathtub with as warm water as you can stand. Don't be afraid to drain some out and refill with as much warm water as you feel like." I paused, a small, soft laugh escaping me, a sound I rarely heard myself make. "There's shampoo and soap in the cupboard. Sadly, no female variants, but it'll probably get the job done." My gaze met hers, and her lips curved upwards in the ghost of a smile, a tiny flicker of amusement in her tired eyes.

"And," I added, my voice light but firm, "if you stay too long, I might knock on the door, just making sure you haven't fallen asleep... or drowned."

She met my gaze, and for the first time, a faint, genuine smile touched her eyes, reflecting the soft amusement in mine. A quiet chuckle, almost a sigh, escaped her. "Wouldn't want that," she murmured, a hint of dry wit in her own voice, before gratefully clutching the towel and robe and heading for the bathroom.

While Linnea was immersed in the quiet sanctuary of the bath, I found myself in the kitchen area, my mind, ever the problem-solver, already whirring. I methodically checked cupboards and the fridge, searching for anything that could even remotely resemble a morning meal. Of course, the results were predictable: an empty, pristine landscape. No real surprise, considering I'd been away for over a month and my typical breakfast consisted of instant coffee and the occasional protein bar.

So, it was clear: we'd have to go out. That simple conclusion immediately spawned another, more complex problem: her clothes. The shredded t-shirt and clinging jeans weren't exactly suitable for a public appearance, let alone her dignity. I'd have to find something for her to wear.

I walked into my expansive wardrobe, a minimalist collection of tailored suits and high-tech casual wear, and began sifting through possibilities. My gaze fell on a plain white dress shirt -- it wouldn't be too large, I reasoned, and paired with the waistcoat from one of my suits, it would at least offer her some modesty. I held them up, a strange sense of satisfaction blooming in my chest at the thought of her wearing them.

And that's when it hit me. That small, self-congratulatory thought fractured, and a cold wave of realization washed over me. What in the hell am I doing? I was making plans. Detailed, future-oriented plans, for a girl I literally knew nothing about, a girl who might very well be gone by morning, slipping away as silently as she had appeared on the road. The absurdity of it should have amused me, or perhaps, in my typical fashion, led to a cynical dismissal. But it didn't.

Instead, another, far more startling realization began to solidify. I didn't want her to leave. I wanted her to stay. To say I was surprised by my own thoughts was not an exaggeration; it was a profound understatement. It was as if a foreign program had suddenly started running in the carefully controlled operating system of my mind.

I felt... responsible. A deep, undeniable responsibility for her wellbeing. Perhaps it stemmed from my year in China, where the culture held that ancient proverb: "If you save a life, you are responsible for that life." I could rationalize it that way, apply a logical framework to this burgeoning instinct. But even as I tried, I knew it was more. There was a connection to this girl, something entirely new, something I had never felt before. And frankly, it scared the hell out of me.

When Linnea finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped snugly in the fluffy bathrobe, the towel a pristine white turban around her hair, I had managed to wrestle my own thoughts back into something resembling order. I always wondered how girls did that -- wrap a towel so perfectly around their hair, without it falling off. Every single time I'd tried, it had ended in a pathetic, soggy heap in the sink. Her execution, even in her exhausted state, was flawless.

She looked infinitely better, the warmth bringing a faint, healthy flush to her cheeks. The robe swamped her, but it was firmly wrapped, hiding everything but her face and the tips of her toes peeking out from the hem.

"So," I began, perhaps a little too quickly, trying for a nonchalant air that probably didn't quite land. "Do you want to watch some Netflix? Or something else? I have every streaming service you can think of. I could use a cup of coffee. Would you like some too? Sadly, I only have instant coffee on the menu today..."

She looked at me, and then, a genuine smile spread across her face, not the weary, fragile one from before, but one full of a playful glint. "You are supposed to breathe between sentences, you know," she said, her voice soft but clear, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

I felt a flush creep up my neck, surprised to find myself blushing like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. My practiced composure had apparently taken a leave of absence. "I'd love to have a cup of coffee and watch some Netflix," she added, her smile softening, making the heat in my cheeks intensify.

"Ahh, good," I managed, a slightly forced grin spreading across my face. "That gives me another opportunity to show off." I cleared my throat, trying to regain some dignity. Then, looking towards the air, I commanded, "Computer: turn on the TV and open the Netflix app." The massive screen across the living room flickered to life, the familiar Netflix logo appearing, and then the browse menu.

Okay, so I'm a Star Trek fan, just shoot me! I thought, a wave of self-consciousness washing over me. "You just have to say, 'Computer: page down', 'page up', 'scroll left or 'scroll right to scroll through the movies," I explained, trying to sound sophisticated. "And when you find something you'd like to watch, you say 'Computer: play' and the name of the movie."

"Your coffee is coming up shortly," I said, a little too loudly, and practically rushed into the kitchen, a foolish grin probably plastered to my face, still feeling that blush burn.

We watched the movie in silence, but truthfully, I watched her more through the corner of my eyes than the actual film. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, a quiet peace now settled there, a stark contrast to the fear and exhaustion I'd first seen.

When the credits finally rolled, the sudden silence of the vast apartment felt immense. "Okay," I said, breaking the quiet. "Maybe it's time to get some sleep?"

She nodded, a small, tired movement. "Yes, please."

My turn to hesitate. This was the moment. "There's just one small problem," I confessed, the words feeling clumsy on my tongue. "I... only have one bed."

I quickly followed up, rushing to fill the silence. "My bed is the largest I could get my hands on, probably could sleep three people without getting cramped for space." I gestured to the sleek, dark leather couch. "You have a choice. Sleep here on the couch, or take the chance of sleeping in the bed with me. But since it's a real leather couch, it might be a bit uncomfortable." I tried to sound casual, but my heart was doing a strange flutter. "It's your choice. I have bed linens, so you'll have that at least."

She looked from the couch to me, her expression unreadable for a short while, then a small, determined smile touched her lips. "I have decided that you are trustworthy," she said, her voice quiet but firm, "and I opt for the bed."

My jaw must have dropped. A stunned silence descended, broken only by the soft hum of the apartment's systems. My brain, usually so quick to analyze and react, simply sputtered. After a moment that felt like an eternity, I finally found my voice. "I... I promise to keep my distance," I stammered, feeling that familiar blush creep up my neck. "But if I should happen to turn around during my sleep and get too close, you just push gently on me and tell me to give you space."

Part 4: Shared Intimacy and Personal Revelations

When I woke the next morning, the first thing I registered was warmth. A soft, perfect warmth that enveloped me, accompanied by the gentle weight of another body. And then, the smell of something sweet and clean, utterly foreign to my usual solitary mornings. I opened my eyes to the sight of a tangle of damp, soft hair resting on my bicep, a slender form nestled against my side. I had a beautiful girl sleeping in my arms, her head on my arm, my other arm holding her tight.

As I was slowly waking up, my subconscious started to scream at me. "Red alert! Red alert! System breach! Unauthorized contact!" But my semi-conscious brain, still drugged by sleep and the unexpected comfort, just wouldn't listen. "What's the problem?" it purred back, contentedly. "There is no better way to wake up than with a beautiful girl in your arms."

The subconscious kept on alerting, a relentless siren blaring in the background, and suddenly, the conscious part of my brain caught up with reality. Red alert! I promised not to invade her personal space! I promised not to touch her! The memory of my own solemn vow from last night slammed into me like a physical blow.

Near to panic, my body tensed. I started to carefully, painstakingly, withdraw from the embrace, every muscle screaming at the slow motion. I hardly dared to breathe, terrified of waking her. And then, just as I was about to free myself, she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, "No, please, stay."

I nearly had a heart attack. My entire system froze. I couldn't move away, I hardly dared to breathe. My eyes were fixed on her, wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief. Then, she shifted, snuggling deeper into my embrace, and said softly, "I haven't slept this good for years. I feel perfectly safe and cared for like I have never experienced, so mister, don't you move away!"

When I fully grasped the situation, the overwhelming relief and a profound rush of emotion had me blinking away the tears that unexpectedly pricked at my eyes. My arms, no longer hesitant, tightened around her, hugging her harder, pulling her closer still. The world, for a few precious seconds, felt incredibly, perfectly right.

Then, a more practical thought surfaced through the haze of emotion. I noticed we were sharing one of the duvets. I might have turned around during sleep, but crawling under her duvet? Nah, no way! My analytical brain, even in this tender moment, couldn't quite reconcile that.

"How come we are sharing a duvet?" I whispered, my voice a little rough.

I could almost feel her blush, a warmth spreading beneath her skin against my arm. She nuzzled closer. "I might have crawled under yours," she mumbled, her voice muffled against my chest.

I chuckled, a soft, deep sound that surprised even myself. "You might have crawled under my duvet, or you consciously crawled under my duvet?" I teased gently.

She sighed, a small, exasperated sound, and then lifted her head, looking at me with sleepy, unrepentant eyes. "Okay," she admitted, a shy smile gracing her lips. "I did want to feel what it was like." Her gaze searched mine, a flicker of uncertainty. "Do you mind?" she asked.

The question caught me off guard with its vulnerability. My smile widened, genuine and heartfelt. "Of course not!" I said, my voice rich with sincerity. "Feel free to crawl under my duvet at any time."

After a while, the comfortable weight of Linnea in my arms began to feel less like a dream and more like a physical need. But soon, another kind of need, far more insistent, broke through the pleasant haze. My bladder, ever the practical reminder, was screaming for attention, and my stomach joined in with a low growl.

"Don't you think it's time to get out of bed?" I asked gently, my voice still thick with sleep and contentment. "Mind you, I would love to stay like this for the remainder of the day, but nature calls, and I'm starting to get a little hungry."

With a small sigh, a sound of profound reluctance, she agreed and slowly, gracefully, began to disentangle herself from my embrace. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose, the voluminous bathrobe, which had been so securely wrapped, shifted. It opened, just for a moment, showing a little more skin than might be considered proper.

I did not avert my eyes. Instead, I looked at her with an unashamed appreciation, seeing the delicate curve of her hip, the slight indentation of her ribs. "It looks like you could use a few more pounds on that amazing body of yours," I found myself saying, the words coming out genuine, devoid of any cynicism.

She glanced down at herself, almost as if surprised by her own exposed state, then looked back at me. "Yeah, maybe you are right," she murmured, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. But she made no move to cover herself.

I got up, making no fuss about her lack of immediate modesty. It felt... natural, a comfortable acceptance that bypassed my usual guardedness. "I must really get to the bathroom," I reiterated, my voice a little rougher now. "And then I badly need to take a shower." I fetched a clean towel from a nearby shelf and made my way towards the bathroom. Living alone for so long, the thought of bringing clothes with me simply slipped my mind.

"Computer," I said out loud, my voice echoing slightly in the vast space, "Start shower one, medium warm."

My bathroom is just as lavishly appointed as the rest of my apartment. The shower compartment alone boasts double heads and enough space for at least three people without getting crowded. Why I chose this layout, I sincerely didn't know; it certainly wasn't for entertaining.

Getting into the bathroom, I sat down and began reliving my bladder. As I sat there, I heard Linnea's voice from the living room, clear and surprisingly commanding. "Computer: turn on the TV and open the Netflix app." A happy squeal, unmistakably hers, followed as the screen lit up.

Linnea

"Why am I doing this? she wondered, standing outside the bathroom door, her heart pounding. There was something about Lars that felt different, safe, yet electrifying. She couldn't quite explain it, but she trusted him completely, even though they hadn't known each other long. It wasn't just his kindness or the way he always seemed to put her first. It was the way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world. She felt drawn to him in a way she hadn't felt before, and the attraction was undeniable.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped off her bathrobe, her cheeks flushing at the boldness of her decision. This is crazy, she thought, but the pull was too strong to resist. She wanted to be close to him, to feel the warmth of the water and the connection she knew was there. Without overthinking it, she pushed the door open, stepping into the bathroom with a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement. This was her moment, and she wasn't going to let it slip away."

Lars

Out of habit, I didn't even think about locking the bathroom door. It was always just me, after all. As I was stepping into the wide shower booth, the door opened with a soft click, and Linnea entered the bathroom.

She looked at me. And I looked at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks flushing a deeper red, but her gaze remained steady. "But I really got to go." With that, she simply hung her bathrobe on one of the decorative knobs by the door, completely unselfconscious in her need.

I, for my part, just pretended nothing happened. I stepped fully into the cascading water, allowing the medium-warm spray to wash over me, trying to ignore the sudden, startling intimacy of the moment.

I heard the toilet flushing, then the soft click of the lid, but nothing else. The sound of water running, the subtle steam beginning to gather in the air. Knowing there was a naked girl in my bathroom felt surreal, a stark contrast to my usual solitary routines. Yet, strangely, it wasn't entirely unfamiliar. I was no stranger to sharing bathrooms with the other sex, having frequented many naturist resorts over the years where communal facilities were the norm. This felt different, though, imbued with a vulnerability that went beyond mere nakedness.

The big surprise, however, came just as the initial warmth of the water began to truly soak into my skin. She stepped into the shower boot beside me, the spray immediately hitting her.

"Do you mind if I take a shower too?" she asked, her voice calm amidst the rushing water, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Naturally, my answer was immediate, almost reflexive. "No, I don't mind at all. Be my guest," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, my internal monologue suddenly a frantic scramble. Of course, I looked. How could I not? Her body, still pale and a little too slender under the warm glow of the shower lights, was beautifully sculpted, almost ethereal. A few pounds more and that body would be perfect, I thought, a completely unbidden, appreciative assessment.

The next and even bigger surprise hit me when, after a moment of simply letting the water cascade over her, she turned slightly, her back facing me, and in a soft voice that almost got lost in the spray, asked, "Can you wash my back?"

It was a glorious feeling washing her back, the warm, soapy water slick against my palms. I had to restrain myself from roaming her body, from letting my hands linger, but I had made a promise. A promise to not touch her unless given explicit permission to do so, a promise to keep her safe. And I always keep my promises.

But all good things must come to an end, and soon, too soon for my taste, I finished up and got out of the shower boot, starting to dry myself. A short time later, Linnea stepped out as well, shaking her head to clear the water from her hair. "Oops," she said, looking down at herself with a slight frown. "I seem to have forgotten to bring a towel."

I looked up from drying my chest, a wry grin spreading across my face. "And I seem to have forgotten to bring clean clothes," I confessed. We looked at each other, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting us, and started to laugh out loud, a genuine, unburdened sound that filled the steamy bathroom. "I'll dry myself real quick and get you a fresh towel," I offered, still chuckling. "I'll be right back."

I hurried into my bedroom, snatching a fresh, fluffy towel from the linen cupboard. When I returned, Linnea was already using the towel I'd left behind, rubbing it through her hair, which was still damp from the shower. I stopped inside the door, unable to resist admiring her body as she stood there, facing me, completely unselfconscious. "Here's a fresh towel for you," I said, extending it. Then, a thought that had been lingering in my mind slipped out. "But you are really not a shy person, are you?" I asked, a hint of curiosity in my voice.

She looked at me for a brief moment, her eyes searching mine, before she took the towel and began to dry herself with slow, deliberate movements. "That's not accurate," she said softly, her gaze steady. "I'm usually quite shy. Terribly so, in fact. But there's something about you, something about being here, that I don't understand. When I'm here, my shyness has just... disappeared. Why is that?"

I had to give an honest answer, feeling a pang of something akin to wonder. "I don't know either," I admitted, meeting her gaze. "But I feel secure in your presence also. It's... unexpected."

She finished drying herself, and then, with that baffling grace, she did the magic trick again, wrapping the towel around her head without it falling off.

We both seemed to have completely forgotten about clothing as we departed the bathroom, enveloped in nothing but soft towels and the lingering warmth of the shower, making our way to the living room. When I sat down on the sleek, black leather couch, it occurred to me that bare skin and real leather furniture was probably not a good combination for comfort, or for the furniture itself. I immediately got up again, fetching two more fresh towels from the linen cupboard.

She looked at me with a questioning raised eyebrow as I returned. "To sit on," I explained, gesturing to the couch.

Once we were both comfortably (and modestly) seated, draped in white terry cloth, I looked at her, a more practical wave of thought washing over me. "I know there are at least two things we must do today," I began, my voice settling into a more business-like tone. "First, we must buy some fresh food, so we have something decent to eat. And secondly, we need to buy you some clothes." I paused, considering. "Is there anything else you can think of that we need?"

Then it hit me, like a sharp, cold jab to the gut. The comfortable domesticity of the moment, the easy planning of the day, suddenly felt fragile. What if she doesn't want to stay? What if she will go somewhere else?

The thought had been nagging at me, a sharp, unwelcome whisper. I knew I had to ask, even if the answer stung. It was a risk, a leap of faith, because the idea of her leaving already felt like a physical ache. "Assuming you want to stay?" I finally managed, the question hanging heavy between us. "Or do you feel like you need to go somewhere else?"

She looked at me, her clear eyes holding mine, and then, her answer hit me like a wave. "I do want to stay," she said, her voice soft but certain. "I can't explain why, but I don't ever want to leave."

Her words slammed into me, a dizzying cocktail of euphoria, happiness, joy, and a sudden, sharp fear. Fear that this was only a dream, a fragile illusion born of the night's strangeness. Fear that it was just a momentary loss of our minds, a shared delusion that would shatter with the harsh light of day.

Driven by an impulse I couldn't resist, I moved next to her on the oversized couch. My hand reached out, gently lifting her chin towards me until her gaze locked with mine. My voice, rough with emotion, was barely a whisper. "May I kiss you?"

She didn't speak. She just nodded, her eyes fluttering closed in silent consent. I leaned in, my lips tentatively finding hers. It took some time before she responded in earnest, a gentle, hesitant press that gradually deepened. But when she did, when her lips softened and parted, responding with a shy eagerness, I could feel her very soul pouring into the kiss, a raw, pure connection unlike anything I had ever known.

When we finally parted, breathless, she opened her eyes slowly, looking at me with a bewildered wonder. "I have never kissed a man before," she confessed, her voice barely a breath. "Was it okay?"

I almost burst out in laughter, a genuine, bubbling joy threatening to escape, but I managed to swallow it down. "It was a good kiss," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "Maybe if we practice, it will get even better."

The thought of practicing kissing for the whole day was incredibly appealing, almost dangerously so. If we didn't get going soon, that's exactly what would happen. "Okay," I said, forcing myself to a more practical tone. "I think we need to get going and shop for necessities, before this gets completely out of hand." I looked at her, my eyes twinkling. "Did you think of something else we need to buy?"

"No, not at the moment," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "But I don't have any clothes. What shall I wear?"

"I have some ideas," I said, already rising. "Let me get some stuff, and you can try it on."

I went to the laundry room, where I had put her jeans and t-shirt in the washer/dryer last night, and retrieved them. Then, I popped into my bedroom, fetching the white shirt and the waistcoat I'd picked out yesterday. Going back to the living room, I left the clothes on the arm of the couch for her. "Try this," I suggested, trying to sound casual. "It's probably not hot couture, but it might cover you up enough until we hit the stores, where you can change properly."

Watching her put her clothes on was just as alluring as watching her taking them off. The delicate movements, the way the fabric draped over her still-slight frame. It was a study in graceful, unselfconscious beauty.

When she finished, she swirled around, a hint of playful uncertainty in her eyes. "Is it okay?" she asked, her voice soft.

I grinned. "I think it is good enough to go shopping, yes," I confirmed. Then, unable to resist, I added, "But in my eyes, your beautiful beyond compare, no matter the clothing, or lack thereof."

Two minutes later, I was fully dressed, having opted for a simple pair of jeans and a casual shirt, and we were ready to depart.

Part 5: Past, Present, and Future

We got into the elevator, riding down to the car. We could have walked into the center of the city, but I anticipated we might have a lot to carry when going home, and I preferred the convenience. The drive took only a few minutes to the parking house closest to the main shopping area.

After paying for parking, we began our walk towards one of the shops specializing in women's clothing, the city's hum around us. We were just walking down the pavement, surrounded by casual shoppers, when a voice, loud and aggressive, cut through the urban murmur like a blade. "There you are, Linnea! Now you can't hide behind your mother's skirts!" The words sent a cold spike of dread through me. "Come now, I'm going to show what a real man feels like!"

Linnea stiffened instantly beside me, her small hand clutching my arm, her knuckles white. "Gunnar," she whispered, the name a raw, choked sound, the terror in her eyes obvious and immediate. "He's the guy that ripped my clothes."

In a blink of an eye, I went from a casually happy pedestrian to a cold-blooded killing machine. Every nerve in my body tightened, my mind clearing with a terrifying speed. The urge to kill him, to rip him apart with my bare hands, was overwhelming, primal. But I got a grip on my temper just before Gunnar reached us, a beastly sneer plastered on his face.

I pushed Linnea carefully, gently, up against the cold brick of the building next to the pavement, shielding her with my body. "Don't worry," I said, my voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. "I got this." Then I stepped in front of her, facing Gunnar head-on.

There were already many onlookers, their chatter dying as the scene unfolded, their phones undoubtedly coming out. I understood I would have to be careful, make him take the first move. This wasn't a back alley; this was a public street.

I calmly said, my voice cutting through the tense silence, "If you walk away now, nobody gets hurt."

He looked at me as if I were an alien just dropped out of the sky, his sneer deepening, muscles flexing beneath his shirt. "Get out of my way, little piss ant," he snarled, taking a threatening step forward. "The only one getting hurt here is you, unless you crawl back under the rock where you came from."

"Never going to happen," I replied, my gaze locked on his, unblinking.

He never answered. Just a growl, and then he started to swing, a wide, powerful haymaker aimed at my head. But as one with my training, I could see exactly what he was going to do. His action telegraphed long before he actually committed to the punch. I waited until he was fully committed, took a small step sideways, raising my left arm to direct his massive arm harmlessly to the side. Turning my body towards him in the same fluid motion, I punched a precise nerve point inside his forearm, just below the elbow.

I guess it was going to be a nasty bruise, but the objective of the maneuver was to momentarily paralyze the arm, to disable, not to destroy. We both stepped back, and I could see the rage in his eyes. Then confusion, as his arm didn't respond, hanging uselessly at his side. And then, finally, fear.

I stepped closer to him, invading his space, my voice dropping to a near-whisper that only he could hear. My fingers, almost as if by instinct, flicked out in a precise, hard finger punch to his sternum, directly over his solar plexus. The force was contained, delivered with absolute control. "Walk away now," I said, my voice devoid of emotion, "or leave later in an ambulance."

His eyes widened, and he took one last look at my impassive face, his own paling. He took the wise choice. He turned and started running, stumbling slightly as his useless arm swung wildly, disappearing into the crowd.

I turned instantly towards Linnea, my cold focus dissolving, replaced by a sudden wave of concern. "Are you okay?" I asked, watching her look back at me with eyes that were still wide with shock and a dawning awe.

The pavement was dead silent, the previous hubbub of the city replaced by a stunned quiet. After a long moment, the people around us slowly began to stir, a murmur spreading. "Good job!" someone called out. "He got what he deserved!" another chimed in, and then, tentatively, someone even started applauding. But I only had eyes for Linnea.

She started to speak, her voice trembling. "I have never seen..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "How... how did you do that?" Her eyes filled with a mixture of terror and overwhelming relief. "I was so scared." And then, with a choked sob, she threw herself at me, hugging me fiercely, burying her face against my chest.

My arms went around her instantly, holding her tight, pressing her close. I whispered into her hair, the words a fierce vow born of a protective instinct I didn't know I possessed. "Nobody will ever harm you again. This I promise."

Keeping my arm securely around her, I started to walk towards the clothes store again, leaving the lingering stares and murmurs behind. As we passed them, people who had witnessed the incident, nodded to me and smiled, some even giving a quiet thumbs-up. But my focus was solely on the precious, trembling weight in my arms.

We entered the clothes shop, the chime above the door announcing our arrival. I immediately stepped up to the counter, facing the clerk standing there, a woman with shrewd, observant eyes. "My protégé here," I began, my voice clear and deliberate, "had an unpleasant experience recently and is in need of a new, complete wardrobe. And it needs to be up to date."

The clerk's eyebrows arched slightly, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "To me, it looked like there was somebody else having an unpleasant experience," she countered, her gaze flickering briefly to Linnea before meeting mine. "We all saw what happened out there, but probably nobody saw anything should there be any enquiries, right?" she added, a conspiratorial smile spreading across her face.

"Well," I responded, a shared understanding passing between us, "the experience I'm talking about didn't happen today." Her smile softened, and she mumbled, "Good for him, then..." before turning to bark orders at the sales assistants, sending them scurrying around the store to "get this and fetch that" in a flurry of activity.

As the retail whirlwind began, Linnea looked at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Protégé?" she whispered, the question clear.

I leaned closer, pitching my voice low. "Well, if I had said 'girlfriend,' I might have gotten the 'dirty old man' experience," I explained, a wry grin on my face. "And besides, I might have been lying, right?"

She looked at me then, her gaze deep, eyes I felt I could drown in. The earlier playfulness in her expression faded, replaced by a surprising intensity. "No," she whispered, the single word soft but utterly certain. "No, I don't think you would be lying." And she smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that made my heart skip a couple of beats. I suddenly had to wipe something out of my eyes -- dust, perhaps? Or maybe the lingering moisture from the rain.

After an hour of mixing and matching, trying out for size, and more internal commentary from me about the sheer volume of clothes, we finally finished shopping. Linnea emerged from the changing room in a simple, elegant dark-wash denim outfit, the perfect fit transforming her from a vulnerable waif to a quietly confident young woman. Now, the new problem dawned on me: how on earth did you carry a whole new wardrobe, spread across at least a dozen overflowing plastic bags?

The clerk, who had clearly been observing the mounting piles, seemed to understand my predicament perfectly. She came over, her expression a mix of professionalism and amusement. "You've bought at least as much as we normally sell in a week, sir," she said. "If you give me your address and phone number, I'll get my husband to borrow the delivery van from work and deliver it later today."

"Ahh, yanking the leash, are we?" I said, smiling and giving her a conspiratorial wink.

She laughed, a hearty, knowing sound. "No, no need," she replied. "He's a firm believer in the old saying: 'Happy wife, happy wife.'" She glanced at Linnea with a meaningful look. "Don't you forget that, young lady," she added, still chuckling.

When we left the clothes store, Linnea still in her chosen outfit, I looked at her, a profound sense of satisfaction settling over me. "You look absolutely stunning, babe," I said, the endearment slipping out naturally now. "But still, you only have one outfit," I added, chuckling softly.

She looked at me, her eyes sparkling, a playful smile on her lips. "Babe," she mimicked, dragging out the word teasingly. "Now you are calling me babe? Besides, I wasn't planning to wear this outfit when we get back home." Her eyes twinkled, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

The trip to the food store was, in comparison, an anticlimax. Just two people, surprisingly comfortable in their shared silence, filling a shopping cart to the brim, and then some, with enough groceries to actually stock a kitchen.

On the way home, I stopped by an ATM, withdrawing a substantial amount of cash. Linnea looked at me questioningly, her brow furrowed. "The husband of the clerk is going to deliver your clothes," I explained, seeing her confusion. "Whether he wanted to or not, according to his wife. I thought the man needed some reward for his spare time." I shrugged, a small smile playing on my lips. It was a gesture of appreciation, a silent acknowledgement of the good deed.

When we got back to the high-rise, I veered off towards the outer parking lot instead of driving down into my private space. Linnea looked at me, a question in her eyes. "Why are you parking here?" she asked, a slight frown touching her brow.

"Well," I explained, gesturing towards the back of the car, which was now overflowing with shopping bags, "since we have a lot to carry up to the apartment, I was planning to use a trolley. There's not enough space in my private garage for the car and maneuvering the trolley safely to the elevator. And when your clothes arrive, there's even more that needs moving."

We spent a few minutes loading the trolley, the bags rustling as we stacked them high. Then, with a combined effort, we pushed the laden trolley into the elevator and rode it up to the apartment. After unloading the groceries in the entryway, I excused myself and went to one of the other rooms where I kept my safe. I opened it, the silent click of the tumblers a familiar sound, and picked up a set of spare keys.

When I presented her with the keys, she looked genuinely shocked, her eyes wide as she stared at the gleaming metal in my palm. But then, a radiant smile, one that lit up her entire face, slowly spread, telling me she was pleasantly surprised, perhaps even overwhelmed. "I guess it would be proper to say 'welcome home, babe'," I said, a big grin stretching across my face, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the apartment's heating.

The look in her eyes -- a mix of disbelief, profound relief, and pure affection -- and the almost desperate hug I received told me all I needed to know. She clung to me for a long moment, burying her face in my shoulder, and I held her just as tightly.

"I'll just pop down with the trolley," I said, gently pulling back, "I'll be back in a blink."

When I re-entered my apartment -- or should I say, our apartment -- I heard happy sounds drifting from the kitchen. A contented hum, the rattle of glass jars, the soft thud of bags being set down. Linnea was clearly in full nesting mode, already stocking up the kitchen, making it her own.

I ventured silently into the kitchen, a smile playing on my lips as I watched her. She stood with her back to me, meticulously arranging cans in a cupboard. I approached without a sound, reached out, and kissed her gently on the back of her neck. She jumped, startled, not having noticed my return. She whirled around, her eyes wide with surprise, and then, a slow smile spread across her face. Without a word, she reached up, pulled me closer, and kissed me hungrily, her lips soft and eager against mine. When she finally broke the kiss, she pointed dramatically towards the living room. "Out!" she commanded, a playful glint in her eyes. "Coffee will be served in a few moments."

I looked at her, feigning indignation. "Are you throwing me out of my own kitchen?"

She looked back at me, her gaze firm and utterly confident. "Yes!" she declared, her eyes sparkling. "And besides, it's our kitchen now, isn't it?"

"Of course it is our kitchen now," I conceded, a hearty laugh escaping me. "So, I'll just get out of your hair and leave you to do all the hard work." I turned, still chuckling, heading for the couch, already anticipating that coffee.

When Linnea was finally happy with the kitchen and its contents, a small triumph evident in her meticulous arrangement of jars and bags, she came into the living room and sat herself beside me on the plush towel. She was literally glowing, a soft, ethereal light about her, and a dreamy, happy smile curved her lips. The kitchen, once a sterile, impersonal space, now felt warm, lived-in, distinctly theirs.

I knew this was the moment. "Linnea," I began, my voice gentler than I usually employed, "we... we need to talk."

Her happy smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of alarm in her wide eyes. I immediately reached out, not quite touching her, but making a reassuring gesture. "No, no, it's nothing bad," I hastened to clarify. "Only that we need to get to know each other better. This... this relationship, us, it's gone so fast that we've completely bypassed the normal 'get to know each other' period, you know? The falling in love, the dating, going places together."

She still looked a little apprehensive, but her shoulders relaxed. "So," I continued, taking a breath, "I'm just going to start telling you about myself."

I looked at her, searching for the right words. "I've had girlfriends before you, of course. But there was always something... lacking. You see, I've never been looking for a partner that I can just live together with. I've always, always been searching for the partner I can't live without. I haven't found that yet, not truly, but I strongly believe you might just be that person." The words felt heavy, important, hanging in the air between us.

I shifted slightly, deciding to rip off the next band-aid. "Since I've been single the last few years, I've been able to do whatever I like, whenever I like. And one of the things I sometimes do is go to naturist resorts and nude beaches. All over the world, I might add." I saw a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but no judgment, which was a relief. "This has resulted in most days, I don't bother with clothes here at home, and just get dressed when I'm going outside. It's one of the reasons why I keep the apartment at a comfortably high temperature, actually."

I took another breath, preparing for the next revelation. "There's also another reason why I can pretty much do as I please, live this kind of... unconventional life. This whole building? It's mine." I let that sink in for a moment. "I don't work like normal people do, no 9 to 5 job. My 'work' is really just checking that the tenants are paying the rent and making sure all the bills and taxes for the building are paid."

"Since I have a background in computer science, most of these tasks are automated," I added, a hint of pride in my voice. "It leaves me a lot of free time. Time I've used to travel around the world, studying languages and self-defense, mostly in China and Southeast Asia. I can make myself understood in Mandarin, Thai, and Tagalog, and understand far more than I can speak."

I finished with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "So, I guess the most offensive habit I have is to forget to dress."

Linnea listened intently, her head tilted slightly, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips at his admission about the "offensive habit." Her eyes, however, held a deeper awe as he spoke of owning the building and his travels. When he finished, she took a moment, then leaned her head gently against his shoulder, a comfortable, affectionate gesture.

"You're quite something, Lars," she murmured, a soft laugh escaping her. "A mysterious, naked, multi-lingual landlord with a dojo in his living room." She lifted her head, looking at him, her smile unwavering. "And about that 'partner you can't live without' part... I don't know what to say. I've never had anyone say anything like that to me. It's... a little terrifying, but also... amazing." She reached up, touching his cheek. "And no, I don't mind the... no clothes thing. If anything, it makes me feel like you really trust me, to be so comfortable. But," she added, a spark of genuine curiosity lighting her eyes, "what's it like, really? Going to those places, I mean. The naturist resorts? Is it... just normal people without clothes? And knowing you own all this," she gestured around the apartment again, "it just means... it means there's really nowhere I'd rather be."

"What it's like to going to naturism resorts? Let me explain my point of view" I said, "naturism has nothing to do with sex. In fact, if you were to perform sexual acts publicly at a resort, you would most likely be thrown out immediately, probably even blacklisted from all naturist resorts worldwide."

I leaned forward a little, eager to convey the true spirit of it. "It's about equality. When you drop your clothes, it doesn't matter if you're fat or skinny, tall or short, rich or poor. You're all just the same. Just people who enjoy togetherness in an environment that doesn't judge your looks. People who enjoy laying in the sun, swimming in an ocean or a lake, without the constraints of clothing or societal expectations."

"It's a kind of freedom you can't find anywhere else," I finished, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "And the best part? No pesky tan lines."

Linnea listened intently as Lars explained, her eyes fixed on his. As he spoke about equality and a place without judgment, a soft, understanding smile blossomed on her face. The word "freedom" seemed to resonate deeply within her.

"No pesky tan lines," she repeated softly, a genuine laugh bubbling up, light and clear. "That actually sounds... really nice." She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's so different from anything I've ever known, Lars. No judgment, just... being yourselves. That's incredible." Her voice became a quiet murmur. "And that's how it feels here, with you. Like... like I can just be myself, and it's okay. More than okay. It's safe."

"Maybe you could tell me a little about yourself?" I asked.

"About myself?" she whispered, the question barely audible. She took a shaky breath. "I... I don't know what to say. My life is... it's not like yours, Lars. Not at all. It's... messy. And hard. I'm afraid if I tell you, if you really know everything, you'll... you'll see that I don't belong here. That I'm not... not what you think." Her voice cracked slightly, a deep-seated fear of rejection evident in her tone.

I reached out, taking her trembling hands in mine. "Linnea," I said, my voice firm but gentle. "Listen to me. Nothing you tell me about your past will ever make me judge you. How you've lived, what you've endured, it doesn't define who you are as a person. And whether or not you 'belong here' has nothing to do with any of that. You belong here because you're you. And because you've chosen to be here. That's all that matters to me. So please, tell me whatever you're comfortable sharing. No judgment, ever."

"I guess... I guess I've always felt a bit older than I am, if that makes sense," Linnea began, her voice soft, picking at a loose thread on the towel draped over the couch. She took a breath, letting it out slowly. "My childhood wasn't really... a childhood, I suppose. It was just... existing."

She paused, gathering her thoughts, her gaze drifting to a point beyond Lars, seeing ghosts of her past. "Our home was always... foggy. Not from smoke, not exactly, but from everything else. Drugs, alcohol. They were just... there. Like the air we breathed. My dad wasn't around, never was. And my mom... she had a lot of 'friends.' They'd come and go, always bringing their 'gifts,' if you know what I mean. That's how they got in. So, it was never quiet. Never stable."

Her voice dropped, tinged with a familiar sadness. "And because of that... the other kids, they knew. The adults, they'd whisper. I'd hear them warning their children, 'Don't play with Linnea. She'll be a bad influence, just like her mother.' It was always 'Linnea, the girl from that house.' So I mostly grew up alone, even at school. It's tough to learn when you're always feeling like an outsider, or when you don't know if you'll have electricity that night, or if someone's going to be passed out on the floor when you get home. I probably would have flunked out completely if it wasn't for my best friend, Emelie. Her place was my only sanctuary, my only chance to actually open a book and concentrate. She practically saved me."

Linnea sighed, a deep, weary sound. "I'm in my last year of high school now. My grades are... well, they're not great. It's not because I'm stupid, I don't think. Just... years of catching up. And honestly, the future? It's just a blank page. Everyone else has plans, dreams. I just... I don't see anything for myself. My biggest concern before... before you found me... was just surviving each day in my own house."

Her gaze hardened for a moment, then softened with a flicker of terror. "Lately, it got worse. One of my mom's 'friends' Gunnar... he started looking at me differently. Not just... like the others. It got... predatory. I had to barricade my bedroom door every night, with a flimsy lock and a chair wedged beneath the handle. Every single night. It was the only way I felt even a little safe."

"She looked at Lars then, her gaze unwavering, even as a shiver ran through her. "That night... it escalated. He got more aggressive, and my mother... she just snapped. She threw me out, screaming that I was trying to steal her man." Linnea's voice hardened for a moment, the memory sharp. "I just... I couldn't stay anymore. I had to run. I didn't know where I was going, or what I was doing. Just... away. And then, you found me." A small, grateful smile, fragile but real, appeared, illuminated by the apartment's soft glow. "You found me in the storm."

----

Lars's hand tightened almost imperceptibly around hers. He didn't interrupt, just listened, his expression shifting from empathy to a cold, hard resolve as she spoke of her mother's actions. When she finished, his eyes, usually so analytical, were filled with a deep, unwavering tenderness.

"Linnea," he said, his voice low and steady, a comforting rumble that vibrated through her. "You don't ever have to run again. Not from him, not from anything. You're safe now. Here. With me." He gently squeezed her hand. "And I promise you, no one will ever lay a hand on you like that again. Not while I'm breathing."

The tender moment, the unspoken promise of safety and belonging, hung in the air between us, fragile and beautiful. Then, abruptly, a sharp, insistent trill shattered the quiet. My phone.

We both jumped, startled, the sudden sound jarring. It felt like an unwelcome intruder, breaking the intimate space Linnea's story had created. I glanced at the caller ID -- an unknown number. Frowning slightly, I picked up.

"This is Lars, how can I help?" I said, my voice automatically shifting to a more formal, business-like tone. I listened for a few seconds, then a faint smile touched my lips. "Aha, yes, that must be it. Please, drive down to the garage port, I will meet you there. I'll be down in a minute." I hung up, the click echoing in the sudden silence.

Turning to Linnea, I saw her eyes, wide with curiosity, silently questioning. "It's your new clothes," I chuckled, remembering our earlier shopping spree. "We might have forgotten about those." I pushed myself up from the couch, running in to the bedroom pulling on shirt and trousers, grabbing my wallet and keys. "I'll go get them." I headed for the elevator, pausing at the door. "I'll be back soon, babe!"

When the garage port rumbled open, I saw the clerk's husband standing beside a delivery van, looking a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of boxes and bags inside. "You can drive over to the elevator over there," I said, pointing in the direction he needed to go. "I'll just go and get the trolley."

We efficiently finished loading all the plastic bags and boxes onto the trolley, stacking them high. Once everything was secure, I retrieved my wallet and picked out a few bills. "Here's a little something to express my gratitude," I said, handing them over.

He looked at the money, his eyes widening. "This is way too much!" he exclaimed, clearly surprised.

"Not in my eyes," I told him, meeting his gaze. "If you don't want to spend it on yourself, maybe you could buy something nice for your wife?" I suggested with a wink. "I think she'll be very pleased to know the two of you together have landed her a recurring customer for the foreseeable future." He chuckled, shaking his head. "When you leave, you just have to drive up to the port; it will open automatically. Thank you very much for your help this evening, it really was a great help, solving a major problem for me." I stretched out my hand, giving him a firm handshake.

Arriving back to my apartment, or rather, our apartment, I found Linnea standing and waiting impatiently at the elevator door, practically bouncing with excitement to unpack all her new clothes. I pushed the trolley over to the bedroom door and started carrying bags and boxes towards the opening of the walk-in closet, a veritable treasure trove for someone who had so little.

"I think you'll find ample room for all your clothes inside," I told her, gesturing to the expansive space. "Please feel free to rearrange anything as you see fit."

Excitedly, she started rummaging through the bags, pulling out clothes, her eyes alight as she began planning how every item should be hung. She was clearly in her element. "I'll just bring the trolley back down and park the car properly," I said, knowing she wouldn't even notice my absence. She just nodded, already lost in her new wardrobe, and it was obvious that she was solely focused on the delightful task at hand.

As I brought the trolley to the elevator, I could hear that happy humming again, a sweet melody drifting from the bedroom.

Arriving back at the apartment, I could still hear that happy humming sound drifting from the bedroom. It gave me such a joyous feeling, knowing that something as simple as organizing clothes could bring someone so much delight. And the thought that it was my doing, that I had facilitated this little moment of pure happiness, filled me with a deep sense of pride.

"Honey, I'm home!" I called out, a grin touching my lips.

"Okay!" came the slightly muffled reply from the bedroom. Somebody's really busy, I thought to myself, chuckling.

I headed to the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee. "Computer," I said, "turn on the TV, start the Netflix app, and choose a random movie."

Sitting on the couch, sipping my coffee, I wasn't really watching the movie playing on the TV. My mind was still on Linnea, and I could hear her continuing to rearrange the wardrobe, the soft rustle of fabric. I sat there, contemplating how my life could have changed so abruptly, so completely, in just a single day. As I pondered, I started to notice that the sounds from the bedroom had gradually silenced.

Linnea

"This feels so... freeing," Linnea thought as she carefully hung her new clothes in the walk-in closet. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of Lars and how his openness about his naturist lifestyle had sparked something in her. It was strange, but it also felt right. She wanted to please him, not out of obligation, but because she admired his confidence and the freedom he embodied.

Curiosity bubbled up inside her, what would it feel like to shed her clothes and embrace this new way of living, even just at home? The idea was both thrilling and a little nerve-wracking, but she trusted Lars completely. With him, she felt safe to explore this unfamiliar part of herself.

As she stood there, her heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "This is a big step," she thought, "but with Lars, it feels like I can do anything." Her fingers lingered on the hem of her top, hesitating for just a moment before she made her decision. Slowly, she slipped off her shirt, then her trousers, letting the fabric fall to the floor. The cool air kissed her skin, and she felt a surge of exhilaration.

"This is it," she thought, taking a deep breath. "This is me, choosing to trust him, to trust myself." She left her clothes in the closet, stepping out into the bedroom with a newfound sense of confidence. Walking toward the living room, she felt a sense of anticipation. This wasn't just about trying something new; it was about embracing a life with Lars, one where they could be completely themselves, without judgment or pretense. "This is my choice," she reminded herself, her confidence growing with each step. "And I'm ready."

Lars

Turning my head towards the bedroom, a sight I never expected greeted me.

Linnea stood just outside the bedroom door, wearing absolutely nothing.

I just looked, completely lost for words, my breath catching in my throat. I simply admired the vision of beauty before me, the soft light of the apartment playing on her skin.

She gave me a coy smile, a hint of playful triumph in her eyes. "I decided that I wanted to try out this naturist thing," she said, her voice soft and confident. "And besides, I told you I wasn't planning to wear my only outfit after we left the clothes store."

She walked gracefully towards me, her eyes never leaving mine, and started to give me a hug. My hands, seemingly on their own accord, found their way to caress her backside, pulling her closer. I kissed her, a gentle, reverent press of my lips to hers, then pulled back a little, looking deep into her eyes.

"Linnea," I began, my voice thick with emotion, "I made you a promise, that I would never touch you unless you gave me your explicit permission. But now... now I don't know if I can keep that promise."

She looked deep into my eyes, her gaze unwavering, filled with a raw honesty that mirrored my own. "You have my permission to touch me whenever you want to," she said, her voice barely a whisper, yet firm. "I want you to."

I kissed her again, this time with all the unspoken emotion that had been building inside me. When I finally pulled away, breathless, I looked at her, my heart overflowing. "I love you," I confessed, the words spilling out, pure and undeniable. "How that can be, I don't know. We only met yesterday. But so help me God, Linnea, I really do love you."

Linnea's eyes remained locked with mine, glistening with small, unshed tears. Her face was quite literally glowing with happiness. "I feel the same way," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion. "I have no idea how or why, but I'm certain that I love you too. And I have never been happier in my life."

She took a small step back, her gaze sweeping over me with a newfound boldness. "Hmm," she murmured, a playful glint in her eyes. "One of us is overdressed, don't you think?" Without waiting for an answer, her nimble fingers went to my pants, expertly unbuttoning them. She tugged, pulling my pants and briefs down in one fluid motion.

My cock sprang to attention, almost hitting her face. She looked at it, a curious, innocent wonder in her expression. Then, to my utter astonishment, she reached out, touched it gently, and out of nowhere, leaned down and kissed the very tip. "It feels nice," she said, looking up at me with wide, earnest eyes. "Both soft and hard at the same time. Not like one of these rubber things." Her cheeks immediately flushed a deep crimson. "Oops," she blurted out, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to blurt that last part out loud."

She straightened up, her gaze still full of a charming embarrassment, and then reached for my shirt, swiftly unbuttoning it and pulling it off me.

----

I stood there, just as bare as her, feeling the primal urge to throw her to the floor and ravish her. But not being a total caveman, I simply closed the short distance between us. I hugged her close, feeling the soft press of her skin against mine, and kissed her again, deeply, acutely aware of my cock, no longer under my control, pressing urgently against her stomach.

"Please, take me to the bedroom," she whispered, her voice husky, "I want to feel you, all of you. Be my first, make me yours and become mine." Love shone in her eyes, raw and luminous.

I picked her up, careful to be gentle, and carried her to the bedroom. I placed her softly on the bed. She lay still, her eyes wide, and I could see her inexperience, making her oblivious to what to do or what to expect.

I lay beside her, gently caressing her body. I began to kiss her, starting at her neck, kissing my way down her arms, then circling back up to her shoulders and down to her breasts. I made sure to avoid her nipples, kissing around them, teasing. Moving further down, I kissed her stomach, inhaling the scent of her arousal from her pussy.

She moaned, a soft, guttural sound, whispering, "So good, oh my God, so good."

I lifted one of her legs, kissing my way down the inside of her thigh, then moved to the other leg, kissing my way back up, continuing all the way back to her neck. Taking her into my embrace, I kissed her deeply on the mouth, a kiss that conveyed promises and desires.

I gently turned her onto her front and began kissing her neck, moving slowly down her back, tracing the curve of her spine. I kissed her ass cheeks, getting a little adventurous when I licked the crevice between them. When I did, she moaned even higher, pushing her hips upwards, clearly enjoying my experimental touch. I continued down her legs, one at a time, making sure to give her a light lick before moving back up the other leg.

When I came up to her backside again, I gently took hold of her nearest leg and carefully turned her to her back, resuming my journey of kisses to the front. Kissing the inside of her leg, I slowly moved towards the most precious part of her anatomy, her pussy. She instinctively spread her legs and bent her knees, subconsciously giving me better access.

I admired the beautiful sight before me: her pussy, completely hairless, a vision of perfection. When I kissed her labia and began to lick my way up to her clit, her hips arched against my face. I kissed, licked, and sucked on that sensitive button, and then she started jerking her hips up and down, uncontrollably. I had to withdraw my face for a moment, and staring at her pussy, I could see her juices flowing, slick and abundant. She wailed and muttered incoherently for a while until she finally slumped back down onto the bed, utterly spent.

After a few minutes, her eyes slowly opened. She looked at me, her expression a mix of shock and wonder. "What are you doing to me?" she whispered, her voice raspy. "I have never had an orgasm like that. I haven't even dreamt of having an orgasm like this."

The time it took her to calm down, her breathing slowly returning to normal, I remained on my knees, watching her juices gleam as they ran down between her ass cheeks. When her eyes fluttered open and met mine, I asked, my voice low, "I want to taste you. Lick up your juices. Would that disgust you?"

"Nothing you've done has disgusted me so far," she said, a playful challenge in her tone. "I want to see if I like it or not. Besides, your face is covered in my juices already."

I grabbed her legs, gently pushing them up to give myself unrestricted access. I started by licking the sides next to her labia, then the labia itself. She began to moan again, and I looked up at her face, finding her eyes closed, her fingers teasing her nipples, pulling them gently. I continued, licking my way down the ass cheeks on both sides of the crevice, and finally, the crevice itself. Accidentally, I pushed my tongue deeper into the crevice, my tongue flicking over her sensitive rosebud.

She stiffened instantly, and I looked up at her in alarm. "I didn't mean... It was an accident," I stammered, fearing I had gone too far.

She must have felt the alarm I felt. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave me a soft smile. "It wasn't bad," she whispered. "It was good. Please, try again, if you like."

So, tentatively, I began licking her backdoor again, watching her face to the best of my ability. She had closed her eyes, and I heard her muttering, "Oh God, I love it. I must be a very dirty person." Looking down, I noticed that she was just as wet as she had been before I started licking her.

Thinking that it was time for the main course, at least from my point of view, I moved myself closer and gently slapped her labia with my cock. Her eyes flung open.

"Are you ready for the next step, babe?" I asked, running my dick up and down the opening to her core. Jokingly, I moved the head of my dick down to the rosebud. "Or maybe we should start with dessert?"

She didn't get the joke. There was no reaction other than her saying, "Not now, babe. Next time. This time I want you inside me, filling me up." A sudden pang of worry hit me, about pregnancies and babies, and I hoped that she also thought of the possibility.

She must have sensed my worry, because she said, "Don't worry, you are not becoming a dad in nine months." Then, whispering, "If ever."

I rearranged my legs, lining up my cock with her opening, and started to push gently in, remembering that she said I was her first. But she wouldn't have any of this slow entry. She took a hold of my ass and yanked.

There was no resistance, just the glorious feeling of a tight embrace. Suddenly, I understood what she was talking about earlier, about "Not like one of these rubber things." She wasn't a virgin. She had only never done it with a man before.

She let out a cry, a primal sound that filled the room, and shouted, "My God! It feels so good! Much better than..." The fit was perfect, like we were made for each other. She cried "oooh!" every time I bottomed out, her mouth open, breathing rapidly, mumbling "fuck me!" mixed in with "sooo good!"

As I increased the speed of my thrusts, her mumbling became more and more incoherent, and her moaning intensified. The room echoed with moaning, grunting, and a rhythmic slapping sound as I really went to town.

Suddenly, I felt her pussy clamping down on my cock, and she started screaming, her body arching, her pussy gushing as she came, hot and relentless. I was close also and didn't have a coherent thought other than finishing the goal line. Filling her up as she wanted. I came harder than I could ever remember cumming before.

For a while, we only lay there, breathing, the sounds of our exertion filling the quiet room. Thinking I must be heavy on her, I started to get up.

She stretched her hand down to her pussy and picked up a little of our combined juices, looked at it closely, and carefully licked her finger. She rolled the mix around in her mouth. "Hmmm" she said. she picked up a bit more and tasted again. She smiled and said "Not bad, I like the taste of us".

Before I could reply, she looked at me, a brilliant smile on her face. "When can we do this again?" she asked.

"I think it might take a while," I answered, laughing softly. "It seems like you've drained me completely. You must be patient, at least one hour." I said jokingly. I pulled out slowly, and when I looked down, I saw her pussy covered in juice and cum, still leaking out. "So beautiful!" I exclaimed, a genuine gasp escaping me. "I wish I could take a picture and use it as a picture on the wall!"

Thinking she would call me a freak, I watched in surprise as my exclamation sparked an idea in her eyes. "YES! Take a picture!" she said, reaching out frantically, grabbing her phone from the nightstand and starting the camera app. She handed me her phone, pulled her legs up, and spread them wide. "Now, take a picture, please."

Looking through the camera, I noticed it was too dark to get a good picture. I told her to cover her eyes and said, "Computer: Set the light in the bedroom to max."

Taking three rapid pictures, I called out again, "Computer: Set the light in the bedroom to normal."

Blinking to clear my eyes, I focused on Linnea. "Why do you want a picture of your cum-filled pussy?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm going to send it to Emelie," she said, her voice filled with a triumphant glee. "I have to tell her what happened to me, and she's never going to believe me unless I have proof."

"Emelie is your best friend, right?" I asked, trying to connect the dots.

"Yes, she has been my anchor the last few years, and without her and her mother's help, I don't think I'd even be alive today," she answered, her tone softening with gratitude.

I paused, a bit thrown by the thought of this particular proof. "You must excuse me, Linnea, but I don't really understand why you would send her a picture of your, well, your sodden pussy. Isn't that a little too private?" I pressed, trying to understand her reasoning. "Wouldn't it be enough to send pictures of the apartment?"

She blushed deeply, a charming flush that spread across her chest. "We might have been playing a little with each other," she admitted, her gaze a little shy, "and you could say that we are familiar with each other's private parts." She then brightened. "But pictures of the apartment are also a good idea! I'll include a few of those also."

With that, she covered herself with a hand and practically darted off the bed, running to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, I heard her muttering in the living room, followed by a sudden, booming "Computer: Turn the living room lights to max!" and then a surprised "Ouch!" She was moving about, and I imagined she was snapping a lot of pictures before saying, "Computer: Turn the living room lights to normal," followed by a relieved "Ohh, that's better."

She soon climbed back into bed, settling herself into a lotus pose and began writing rapidly on her phone, her thumbs flying across the screen. "There," she announced, looking up with a triumphant smile. "She's going to be so envious."

I lay there admiring her body, seeing that she still had traces of our juices left.

"You wouldn't mind me enlarging that picture and hanging it on the wall then?" I asked, half joking.

She thought for a while, a thoughtful frown on her face. "No, I wouldn't mind," she finally said, then a playful glint entered her eyes. "But it might be a little difficult to explain if we have guests, don't you think?"

I couldn't help myself; I just had to tell her again how beautiful she looked. If I hadn't been utterly drained, I would have certainly ravished her again.

As if reading my mind, she spread her legs slightly, a bold invitation. "Please," she murmured, her eyes sparkling, "this is always available for you. You can ravish me whenever you want."

Just then, her phone pinged. She opened it, reading something, then rereading it by the looks of it. Her happy smile widened even further as she looked at me. "Emelie wants to meet you," she said, her voice laced with excitement. "As in, she really wants to meet you."