Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 8
Elio
As I wait outside her apartment, I remind myself I’m here to do a job, to protect my woman. I’m not here to bring my fantasy to life. My manhood is getting hard already, though. I only drained the goddamn pipes an hour ago, but I feel hungry for her.
The door opens, whining on the hinges. I almost grab her when I see her nipples poking through her pink pajama shirt. Her hair is messy around her shoulders, giving her a wild, sexy look. My fingers twitch, willing my hands to reach up, play with her nipples, and make her moan for me.
She raises a shaky hand, showing me her phone. We have to be quiet. Mom is sleeping.
I nod, following her into the apartment. God, this place is grim. Scarlet deserves so much better. Everything is old. The walls seem thin, somehow. I’m unsure how I know that just by looking at them, but I do. They have a flimsy, papery look. Everything looks like it’s on the verge of breaking.
She walks ahead of me, giving me a look at her thick, sweet ass. Again, my hands shake, willing me to grab her. Massage that ass. Spank her thickness. Make her cream and shake for me.
She leads me into her bedroom. Her bedframe is wooden and chipped, the wallpaper flaking. She has a small bookshelf with a few books about singing on it.
“Are you a—”
She turns, glares at me, and raises her finger to her lips. She has no idea how cute and beautiful she looks doing that. She has no idea how wild she’d make me if she started to suck her finger, aiming those wide, innocent eyes at me. Being here with her, in person, makes me realize how foolish I was, thinking I could let her go.
She quickly types something on her phone and shows me the screen. We can’t talk. The walls are too thin. Mom can’t know you’re here until I’ve explained everything.
I nod, taking out my phone. Get some rest. If we need to speak, we can text.
Where will you go? she asks.
I smirk, sitting on the floor and stretching my legs out. In a low whisper, I say, “Never been more comfortable.”
A beautiful smile lights up her face. Then she holds her finger to her lips again. I watch obsessively as she walks to the bed, swaying side to side, her plump ass almost making me howl.
She climbs under the sheets. A moment later, my phone vibrates. I’ve got to say, Elio, this is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.
I chuckle quietly. She laughs just as quietly, as if hearing me laugh is enough to make her feel joy, too. This small moment, shared laughter, is more significant than anything I’ve ever shared with any other woman.
Inviting a forty-two-year-old man to sleep on your floor? I type. There’s nothing weird about that.
You’re forty-two?! I thought you were in your mid-thirties at the oldest.
Darkness tries to touch me when I read her message. Maybe she thinks I’m too old for her. Or perhaps this has nothing to do with lust or attraction or, the most ridiculous of all, love. I’ve never felt romantic love. I never thought I would. All that matters is the Family. Yet here I am.
I’m an old, old man.
Looking across the dark room, I see her sitting up in bed. She shakes her head, her wild hair dancing around her shoulders. My manhood is rock hard. I’m not sure when it flooded with tension, but I know it’s not going to quit until I taste her, touch her, own her.
You’re not old. Don’t be silly.
I wonder why she wants to convince me of this. Maybe it’s because she feels the connection burning between us, too. She wants to ensure I’m not holding myself back because of the age gap. Or, more likely, she’s just being friendly… to the stranger on her floor.
You should get some sleep, I reply.
What about you?
I don’t mind staying up. I’ll listen out for any sign of the lowlife. If we’re lucky, he’ll visit again tonight.
That would be lucky?
Yes. I pause, looking over at her again, my heart drumming so hard as I think about standing up, walking to the bed, sliding my hand between her thick legs, and massaging her needy pussy. Because then I’d be able to put the bastard in his place. I’d show him what happens when you threaten an innocent woman.
A shiver moves through her. It’s too dark for me to make out her expression clearly, but I can see her eyes snap open widely. I can see her silhouette, drenched in lust, drenched in heat. Or maybe that’s me projecting.
It’s cold tonight, she replies. Or is that just me? Maybe it’s the fear, you know, making it cold?