Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
The thought filled me with a frustrated rage. Why? What had happened since I saw her last? Before I’d gone on my trip everything was fine. We’d been so into each other that no one and nothing else mattered. I thought about her all time at work, counting the hours until I could justify leaving the place in the hands of my managers to go home and find her in my penthouse. Usually she’d be there already, waiting for me to take her in my arms and own her. I couldn’t get enough of that curvy body - her huge, soft tits, her wide ass and full thighs. Her soft innocence paired with her burning lust for me was intoxicating.
So yeah. What the hell is going on? I’m pacing my office, working late into the night. Without Fiona waiting for me in my bed, what’s the point of going home? But I can’t focus on work. All I can think about is the curvy brunette. What did I do to piss her off?
I’ve had enough of taking stabs in the dark. This isn’t natural. I don’t whine and beg. I take. With all the girls I’d dated in the past, I’ve never been the one in this position. Giving them the runaround wasn't something I necessarily did consciously, but I suppose I never really cared for them enough to really notice. They pursued me, and I brushed them off if it wasn’t convenient.
Eventually I’d get bored of the woman and end it. But with Fiona it’s different. Suddenly I find myself being given the runaround - and it fills me rage. It boils up inside me and erupts, sending my arm forward to sweep it across my desk, sending all the contents flying into the wall and the floor. The door opens almost immediately and my assistant Nathan peeks his head in to find me panting and running my hand through my hair.
“Are - are you okay, Mr. Masterson?” he asks meekly.
“Go home, Nathan,” I growl without looking his way. “It’s late.” I hear the door close quietly. I clench my jaw in frustration and decide I can’t take the not knowing. If Fiona isn’t interested in seeing me again, the girl should at least have the decency to tell me to my face. She may not feel the same way about me, but after what we’ve shared the past three months, she can’t just stop speaking to me without an explanation. I snatch my keys off the floor from among the debris of my rage, leaving the rest of the mess on the floor. Fuck that.
I jump in my car, racing to Fiona’s apartment. But at a red light, it occurs to me I better calm the fuck down. If I show up at her apartment like some raging bull, I might scare her, and I don’t want to do that. If I’m completely honest with myself, I never deserved her to begin with. Having always put my business and myself first, chasing dollars, I’ve never much given another person much thought, let alone a woman I was dating. So why should I suddenly have the right to claim the continued devotion of this sweet, innocent, curvy girl? She’s probably got lots of suitors, and maybe she met some other guy while I was gone. Oh shit. Am I about to bust in on her and some other dude?
Oh shit. Maybe I should turn my car around. Because she deserves better than me. She deserves some dude who will give her a dozen kids and a house with a white picket fence, instead of someone who’s all about money. Maybe it’s better I stay out of her life before I corrupt her. Before I show her the dark side, and return to my old ways.
But I don’t do it. I don’t turn the car around. That was the old Dylan, the pre-Fiona Dylan. Something in her changed something in me. I feel balanced and happy when she’s around. I don’t care about spending twelve hours a day at the office and two hours a day in the gym anymore. I don’t want to live like that. She probably doesn’t even know this, but the connection we built has changed the way I do everything. And the fact that she won’t speak to me, out of nowhere like this, is driving me fucking bonkers. I have to see her!
I don’t fully succeed in keeping my cool during the rest of the drive, but I manage to keep my frustrated rage more or less under wraps. So by the time I’m buzzing at her apartment door, all I’m doing is breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest, missing a beat when she answers.
“Hello?” her digitalized voice comes through the speaker. They don’t have cameras at her building, so she can’t see me.