Project Anubis

Project Anubis

Jacob Russell Dring

Copyright © 2016 by Jacob Russell Dring

Cover art © 2016 by Janice Duke

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, restored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Therefore unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

Printed in the United States of America.

1

Music in her ears, chipper spirits at her core. She sang to herself and hummed when the words surrendered to melody. The couch cushion let her bounce lightly according to rhythm as she thumbed through a magazine. The room was all beige and periwinkle, with lime green running boards. She once said that it reflected her Zen.

The flatscreen ahead of her was on the E! channel but muted. Behind it was a bay window that overlooked her backyard and on occasion she’d lift her eyes to enjoy the view—especially today. It was just past nine in the morning, but according to the forecast it was going to be a beautiful Virginian day.

It was the end of May and the climate was picking up into early summer temperatures with less showers. Everything was green and vibrant outside; Maia Kinipela had a mental plan to go running by noon and do some outdoor exercises on her backyard patio.

As if destined to hear it, the song she was currently listening to dropped in volume for a slow section, and a knock came on her door. It was hard and rapid, three fast raps. She looked to her right and saw a shadow splayed up on the arched lintel window above the front door in the foyer. She sprung to her feet, disregarding her phone and earbuds to the couch.

Coming! Maia called out, the same buoyancy in her voice delegated in the strides she took to the door. Her black ponytail was pendulous not unlike her anticipative pulse.

She went up on her tiptoes to utilize the peephole and then a bright grin adorned her face.

Maia unfastened the sliding chain-lock and deadbolt to the door, then happily swung it open. Her boyfriend was standing on the stone stoop, occupying the ‘welcome’ mat.

Hey babe, he said with a big smile that lifted one corner of his mouth.

Troy Aleksandrov.

They had been together for two years. One could have suspected that they met at a gym, although not too disparate it had been a Sports Authority. Shopping for different items albeit, sparks nonetheless flew.

He was undeniably attractive; robust but proportionate, with a peculiar visage. He had a rigid brow and prominent but not bulbous nose, framing vividly green eyes. He was an even six feet tall which made him eight inches taller than the petite but physically athletic Maia.

Troy entered with nothing less than a jubilant demeanor, seizing her by the waist and hoisting her a good foot off the ground. She giggled in a voice like delicate windchimes before her face loomed down and their lips eagerly met.

After kicking the door shut behind him, Troy set Maia down and she pirouetted to face the room she previously occupied. Her right knee bent to wrap her leg around Troy’s right leg, keeping her close to him as she effortlessly balanced. His arms curled at her waist, overlapping on her stomach.

She was wearing a fitted gray T-shirt and pink boyshorts.

Troy wore a black polo and jeans, the latter which began to feel very tight. He squeezed Maia close and her head tilted back so that her ponytail ran down his sternum. He dipped his face low to hers, joining lips as she grinded on him. His right hand raised to squeeze her left breast before traversing her clothed chest and caressing her arched neck. She moaned softly into his mouth and he held her tighter, closer than before—to the point where they threatened to melt into one body.

Come here, baby, she said after a gasp of air between their damp lips.

Troy glimpsed a glint of light in her steel-blue eyes, contacts she wore over her natural browns. He had always favored her real irises, but as a whole she was utterly irresistible to him.

I’ll follow you anywhere, Troy lied. It sounded poetic at the time, but deep down he knew it wasn’t true. Her priorities were deadest on the superficial, which he could hope to change over time. Meanwhile, he took the cards he was dealt selfishly—guilty as charged. Troy sustained no guilt from the matter; Maia was his girl and he was loyal to her, as he felt fortunate to have such a woman to himself.

Aesthetically, they were perfect for each other. The sparks were still there, even after two years, but they seldom raged fires outside the bedroom.

Sex was their strong suit.

Troy savored this for what it was worth; as a form of truth, he at least followed Maia through her house…and into her bedroom. He gave her barely sheathed buttocks a good slap before shutting the door behind him, as if it mattered—they had the whole place to themselves.

Maia’s roommate was on vacation with her own boyfriend for another five days.

They enjoyed the thorough privacy. The absolute freedom.

Maia stripped Troy of his shirt and traced his torso from navel to Adam’s apple with her tongue. His own form of music filled his head as the sensations built sensations upon themselves. Then they kissed fervently, Troy’s right hand cupping her cheek as his left palm filled itself with her rotund buttocks. He gave them a slap before marching forward and knocking her back onto the bed.

She bounced there briefly, giggling.

He knelt on the rug beside the futon while his hands lifted to her hips, where patient yet rapacious fingers pinched the waistband of her boyshorts. He lowered them slowly, fluently, until she kicked the pair off with a flick of her right foot. They were flung to the wall past Troy’s left ear, leaving a grin to consume half of his face.

"Ya lyublyu, Troy uttered as he took a hiatus to kiss Maia’s inner thighs, kogda vasha kozha sodrogayetsya pod moimi rukami."

Oh my god I love it when you speak Russian, Maia moaned softly, her smile fluttering.

You don’t even know what I said, babe, Troy chuckled, his accent thick like molasses even as he spoke structured English. He had been born in Moscow, Russia but moved to America—specifically, the nation’s capital at first—when his parents received a joint promotion after a decade at the U.S. Embassy there. Nine years in Russia, but the last eighteen in America.

I love it when your skin shudders under my hands.

Maia’s grin widened even more as Troy translated what he had said, but besides that she was speechless. When Troy dove between her thighs, she felt momentarily breathless as well. But before long her lungs were exhausting themselves, her stomach undulating as her back arched and she clenched fistfuls of blanket.

Ten minutes later, Troy rose to crawl onto the bed, shedding his jeans en route. He came to hover above her and peck kisses around her clavicles, neck, and ears. Her hands guided his excitation into her, and with every impetuously rhythmic thrust her body rocked beneath him. Her beautiful Hawaiian face contorted with jolts of ecstasy; on occasion his right hand would wrap around her throat, and she’d have it no other way. But this seldom lasted; his right thumb would begin caressing her cheek during, until it rose to veil her face and she’d lick his palm before sucking on his fingers.

Eventually he flipped her over, rendering her a perspiring mess of gasps and laughter. She came to rest on her palms and knees. He hugged her buttocks, reentering without relent; she moaned shrilly, her naturally frail voice strained. She looked over her shoulder at him, tucking her bottom lip under incisors. He leaned forward and squeezed her breasts as his tongue drew up her cheek, just past her ear. His right hand raised to seize her ponytail and give it a gentle tug as he thrusted incessantly.

Troy’s other hand ultimately gave the caramel skin of her left buttocks a pink spot before latching his fingers into the flesh there. He squeezed and didn’t release as he delivered a few more forceful thrusts that left her body in beautiful ruin.

"Sozhmite, Troy spoke his own tongue as his teeth gritted and his muscles grew taut. Sozhmite, kak ya vypuskayu. Okhu ‘el! Fuck!"

Troy abruptly withdrew and then thrust forward, between Maia’s buttocks yet across her tailbone. He ejaculated onto her back, saturating her shoulder blades and lastly lumbar as her body arched.

Oh my god, baby… Maia caught her breath. Troy…that was amazing. Are you done? I mean, it’s okay if—

I am, for now, Troy nodded, sweat beading his brow. He shook his head, and then a subtle grin inhabited his face. "No vy ne."

What’s that, baby? Maia asked, raising an eyebrow. Troy reached under her stomach, his hand venturing down between her thighs as she remained on all fours, now resting on her forearms. What’d you—?

I said, Troy spoke as if growling, punctuating with the insertion of two fingers into Maia, "but not you."

Oh, fuck… Maia went from leaning on her forearms to letting her face take the weight. Her cheek pressed into the blanket, she began salivating and moaning, eyes rolling and face warping.

I’m done for now, babe, but not you. Troy worked the fingers of his right hand while his left rubbed and pinched her nipples.

Five minutes passed and he picked her up to gently squeeze her throat and kiss her from behind. Her butt was firmly pressed against his groin while her back arched away from his stomach but the tops of her shoulders touched his chest.

Lay on your back, Maia, Troy said. Come on.

She would wash her blanket later, the sheets if need be as well.

As Maia laid on her back, propped up only by her elbows and with her left knee raised, Troy knelt beside her right hip. He revisited her clamping ocean with avid fingers, conducting sign language inside of her.

As her stomach undulated, her abdominal muscles contracting and her chest heaving with each rippling breath, Maia received ardent kisses from Troy.

Minutes later her orgasm peaked, and in the same moment she fell, for what might have seemed like minutes were but very long seconds. The euphoric experience left Maia in a state of sheer exhaustion but not to the point of futility. She smiled and kissed Troy’s chest as he caressed her stomach, fondling her breasts in passing before bringing her face to his. After exchanging deep kisses for a few seconds, he hoisted her off the bed and she clutched his right hand, leading him out of the bedroom.

Across the hallway they went, and Troy voiced himself through a smirk.

You read my mind, babe.

You’ve kinda left me no choice, she said wryly.

Troy shrugged and slapped her butt as they entered the white-tile bathroom.

"Luchshe tak."

What’s that? Maia asked, spinning to face him and flicking on the lights behind him. She removed her hairband and embraced him to kiss his chin.

Troy grinned. What’s the point of speaking Russian if you’re gonna ask me every time?

How do I know you’re not mocking me? Maia scoffed, pushing off from him. She stepped into the shower and began to close the sliding glass door behind her.

Troy stepped forward, a long stride that impeded the door. He tilted his head and leered at her. She flashed a smirk and leaned forward to turn on the water. It went from cold to lukewarm real fast, dousing them both as he shut the opaque glass door behind him.

Better this way, Troy said, embracing her. "I said ‘better this way.’ Luchshe tak."

See? Maia tilted her head. Was that so hard?

With his hands on her buttocks and their pelvises pressed together, he shook his head and sighed—then looked down. Her gaze followed his as water dripped off their noses and chins, off her breasts and across her midriff.

No, he said. But this is.

Maia grinned and dropped to her knees, taking him in her mouth. His fingers ran through her freed black hair, an obsidian river down her back. They eventually gathered up a small handful to wrap around his knuckles and use as reins.

Sooner or later she pulled back, gasping and smiling with her hands behind her back. He took her for another ride, teasing her uvula until her eyes watered one with the water dousing them. After experiencing the duality of ‘showerhead,’ she rose to her feet and turned to grind on Troy.

Her palms flattened against the tile wall above the faucet, her ankles together. He reentered her not unlike earlier in the bedroom, except now they wore more than just sweat and any mess made was instantly rinsed. In coordination with his thrusts, Troy also squeezed her breasts when not seizing her waist, thumbs pressing into the dimples of her lower back.

Oh my god, fuck me, baby, Maia pleaded. Fuck me in Russian, baby. Please.

Troy rolled his eyes, but his face immediately transitioned into an expression more animal than man. His hands raised to clutch her shoulders as he thrusted, his elbows locking and his force increasing ruthlessly. The speed at which his hips moved might have matched that of a track runner’s legs.

"Shlyukha! Voz'mi eto, shlyukha! Troy snarled. He bit his bottom lip when he could afford the surrender of breath. Zastavit menya ili ostavit. Come on, Maia! Shlyukha! Ya gluboko, vy negluboko! Here it is!"

Oh my fucking—

Troy withdrew and repeated what he had done earlier, except this time the shower water took care of the mess upon her back. He pulled her head back to him for a kiss on her brow, but eventually she turned to face him and they exchanged tongues.

You’re so good, baby, Maia breathed into his neck, shower water dripping from her lips and adding to the cascade over his shoulder.

"Ty ponyatiya ne imeyesh, Troy replied, coursing his fingers through her hair and over her ear. Only because of you."

Aww, Maia smiled and began to bathe properly. Troy did the same, not feeling bad that up until his last statement he had been translating the truth.

You have no idea, Troy thought to himself, reiterating his prior statement but in English. He briefly pondered how she might have acted to hear the translation of what he was saying earlier as they had sex in the shower. He couldn’t help but think: I’m just calling it as I see it.

After the shower, they exited and dried off using just one towel. She used it on him, and he assisted her while marveling at her wet, naked figure.

A peculiar sound, however, catches Troy’s ears. Soon thereafter she hears it, too, and cocks an eyebrow.

What the hell is that?

I don’t know, Troy said, mostly dried off by now and stepping out into the hall. Sounds like…oh, shit!

He suddenly bolted across the hallway, leaving behind a flabbergasted Maia.

Where are you going!? she called out after him, but he had already reentered the bedroom and begun ransacking his jeans. He unearthed his phone and silenced the alarm, then took a deep breath and cursed in Russian.

Frantically, Troy donned his briefs and jeans. As he slid his shirt back on, Maia appeared in the doorway, crossing her arms and wearing the towel around her.

Well? she insisted.

It was my alarm. My fucking alarm for my job. I forgot to adjust it from yesterday—it’s thirty minutes off! I’m covering for someone else’s shift today. Fuck!

Ugh, don’t you hate that place?

"Yes and no. Look, it’s all I got…I mean, job-wise. I need it; and the boss—he’s a good guy, for fuck’s sake he’s given me enough chances. I’m on my third goddamn strike. I gotta go, babe."

You’re a mechanic in a small county, it’s not exactly a goldmine.

Troy presented a semi-fake grin and wanted so hard to thoroughly believe his next words.

"You’re my goldmine, Maia, he leaned in to kiss her. I’ll see you later, babe! Tonight!"

Okay, Troy. See you then.

As Troy exited the house, Maia was left feeling rather ambivalent. She sighed gutturally and finished drying off, ambling into the front room. She hugged the wall, not quite entering it for any passersby to see her nakedness through the bay window. She did, however, watch as Troy’s car drove off down the street, whipping around the corner in a tire-screeching hurry.

Maia sighed again, her lips flapping.

A beautiful day out, nonetheless, she said to herself, and traipsed back into her room. She would put off the cleaning of her sheets until later. For now she pulled on a white spaghetti-strap tanktop and a white thong. She returned to the front room, snatching up her phone without the earbuds before exiting and approaching the door leading to her back porch. Her backyard was not vast but well-bordered by a high oak fence.

She sent a text and plopped down in lounge chair on the porch, just to the right of the back door. She crossed her ankles and browsed social media on her phone while humming a tune that lifted her spirits.

Less than ten minutes later, she heard a car door slam shut and deduced it to be at the front of her house. She perked up in the seat and before long the back door opened.

Terry Conlon peered down at her, grinning toothily.

Hey there, angel, he said, and squatted beside the chair. His left hand squeezed her thigh and she shivered, smiling with the tip of her tongue held between her teeth.

I love it that you live so close.

Oh, I’m here for you, Maia. Whenever you want.

And she was grateful for it. She met him through her roommate, who vouched for his libido and wealth. It was inherited, and his job as a personal trainer was only part-time. She was always avid to take advantage of these traits, and Troy’s naïveté. Her place was partially paid for by her weekend job as a hostess, by her roommate, but mostly by Terry.

Troy knew Terry, as well—only in passing, though. But as far as he was concerned, he was just a muscle-head at the gym he and Maia attended, currently in a relationship with her roommate’s sister.

Whether or not Troy had his own suspicions, Maia neither knew nor really cared.

She savored days like this one.

The time with Troy was great, indubitably. His passion was immense and unrelenting, but she didn’t care much for him out of the sack. She felt more in tune with Terry, especially out of the bedroom. But on gorgeous days like these, she was more than proud and regretless to take advantage of the double servings.

She and Terry kissed some, and he slipped his fingers inside of her. She scowled briefly and moaned, then smiled and licked her teeth. He stood up and raked her hair with his fingers as she reached for his board shorts to withdraw what was so eager to breathe.

So where’s Troy? Terry asked while Maia’s tongue made his toes curl.

She scoffed briefly, holding him against her cheek.

Probably getting fired by his shit job. Maia grinned and took him into her throat, then rasped a deep breath. Why don’t we take this inside?

My pleasure, angel.  

2

La-Z-Boy. It was called that for a reason. In his earlier days of work, its inviting cushions and reclining functions barely knew he existed. Now that he did most of his work from home and seldom had to go into the office at Arlington, a La-Z-Boy was just what he needed. And damn near what he had become.

However, at heart, Doug Kaufman was just the opposite.

He had fallen asleep while binge-watching college football and reading a Civil War novel simultaneously. It was his second one by David McCullough this week, even with the work he had put in. Mostly written consultations, system maintenance, and on occasion data entry when he longed to fill the emptiness of his days.

A widower of four years, with eleven under his belt at this same occupation.

Monotony was a word, too.

But the pay was exceptional and the risk these days, compared to his earlier years, was infinitesimal.

These factors were what allowed him to sleep so soundly when the laziness set into his bones.

Drool had accumulated on his cleft chin as he slept and snored intermittently, like a lawnmower struggling to start. When a discordant sound stirred Kaufman from a faintly pleasant dream, he was nothing shy of disgruntled.

Grateful for not being a total slob, he was only awkward to rise from the chair due to its supreme comfort. He was in shape only by the standards of an average office employee, despite being one of few high-caliber consultants under the Secretary of Defense.

No one could ever guess this by looking at him.

Kaufman arrived at his shrilly ringing wall-mounted landline without stubbing his toe on anything, surprisingly. At home and in his off-time, his gracefulness tended to drop a few notches. He sustained no shame in it.

It was part of being a civilian.

Even one with more knowledge than most in his position would care to admit. And especially paid not to admit.

Kaufman lifted the receiver and cradled it between his shoulder and ear. A lucid, firm male voice requests confirmation that it is in fact him speaking. Kaufman additionally supplies his employee ID, a series of eight numbers and letters, before the man could ask for it. Kaufman’s reorientation from waking up was accelerated by this notion of significance. Getting a call from work was not unusual, and 9:40 in the morning wasn’t even considered early to these people.

If anything, he had overslept.

However, the disposition of the man’s voice was unusually austere.

There’s been an incident, sir.

Kaufman’s heart skipped a beat. He began to ask what the man meant by that, but could not have ever anticipated the words he uttered next.

Project Anubis has gone live.

Kaufman shook his head and could envision deltas of sweat birthing in every pore. He now held the receiver so firmly against his ear that if