It’s Kristina, and she’s frantic

When I look at my phone, I see it’s Kristina. I answer it and say, “Hello, this is Andrew.”

“Andrew?” she asks, and my eyes go wide—she sounds almost hysterical. “Ohhhh, thank you, thank you, thank you. Andrew, I need you to come over. I need you right now. Please tell me you can come.”

“Sure, Kristina,” I tell her, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll be there right away.”

“Thank you,” she says, then hangs up. Worried and afraid for her, I get in the car and head over.

*******

When I knock on the door of Kristina’s apartment, she flings it open and falls weeping into my arms. I maneuver us through the door, close it behind us, and lean into the corner of the wall. I hold her close and stroke her hair as she sobs into my shoulder. I don’t know how long we stand there, but my knees are starting to shake just a little by the time she gets herself under control. She pulls back, looks up at me, and says, “Thank you.” I’m shocked—she looks terrible. Her eyes are red, her face is smudged, and her hair is wild.

“What—” I start to ask. Kristina shushes me.

“Not here,” she says. “Give me a minute.” She leads me into her bedroom—the bed is made, at least—and draws me down to lie next to her. “Hold me,” she murmurs. We wrap our arms around each other; she buries her head in my shoulder again and says, “Rob is dead.”

“What?!” I blurt out.

Kristina doesn’t even raise her head. Her tears start flowing freely again as she says, “Car accident. Hit by a drunk. He was dead before the paramedics got there.”

I bury my head in her hair. “Ohhh, Kristina, I’m so sorry.” There’s nothing else to say—or if there is, I’m not smart enough to think of it—so I keep my mouth shut and hold her as she cries.

After a while, her breathing slows, and she says, “I didn’t know who else to call. I don’t want to be alone tonight—I just need someone to hold me. I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

I’m honored, if more than a little bemused. This is very different from my normal services. Still, I think I see where Kristina’s coming from. My touch is familiar to her, and I’ve certainly proven myself safe—I’ve eaten her pussy a number of times, now, and every time, I’ve had to be the one to stop things there. I’ve done it every time. If I’m not safe, I’m not sure who would be. I think she feels that I care about her, and the truth is, I do. Ours is an odd sort of friendship, but I do believe we’re becoming friends. I enjoy her company, not just her pussy.

“You want me to stay with you tonight?” I ask gently, just to make sure I’m not making the wrong assumption.

“Please, Andrew,” Kristina asks, her voice muffled somewhat by my chest.

“Well, I don’t have anything but what I’m wearing,” I tell her, “but as long as you don’t mind that I sleep in my boxers and don’t brush my teeth, I’ll be happy to stay with you.”

“Thank you,” she says, and in the relief I can hear a tiny bubble of amusement.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch—” I begin, but Kristina interrupts me.

“No!” she cries, sounding a little panicked. She calms herself and says, “I want you in bed with me. I need you to hold me. I need to feel your comfort.”

I kiss her hair and say, “Kristina, whatever you want from me, I’m happy to give you.” She sighs and snuggles into my chest.

We lie together like that atop the covers for quite some time, but eventually, Kristina stirs. “I need to get to sleep—I have a lot to do tomorrow. I—” She starts to break down, catches herself, and is quiet for a few minutes. “Never mind. At least with you here, I think I’ll be able to sleep.” She gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt as a nightshirt; it must have belonged to her late fiancé. Even in that, she looks spectacular, though now is far from the time to tell her so.

Once Kristina is ready for bed and I’ve done what little I can, we climb under the covers. I don’t need to worry about an alarm, because she needs to set hers early enough that I’ll have no trouble getting back to the dorm for a shower before breakfast. She spoons herself against me, nestling her ass into the bend of my hips; I try to keep my hands to myself, but she grabs them and puts them on her perfect tits. “Come on, Andrew,” she murmurs, “it’s not like you’ve never touched them before.” I can’t argue, so I give her tits the faintest hint of a squeeze by way of acquiesence. She chuckles a little, then drops quickly off to sleep. I fall asleep soon after, still holding her close.