Текст книги "Skin of a sinner"

Автор книги: Avina St. Graves

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Chapter 12

ROMAN

3 Years Ago

Roman: 19 years old – Isabella: 17 years old.

She’s more than a dream. She doesn’t compare to my wildest imagination.

I’ve always known I have the addict gene in me, and I’ve found my vice. I’ve been addicted to Bella since the very beginning. Whether just by looking at her or hearing her voice, it fired off little signals in my brain that had my whole body craving my next hit of anything her.

I thought I knew what obsession was.

I very obviously did not.

Whatever I thought I felt before is fucking peanuts in comparison.

Now that I know what she tastes like, how she sounds when she moans, and the way her flesh molded so perfectly to me, I’m hooked. This girl was made for me, my own princess. I would give up everything for a single hit—my perfect drug. What she does to me hits like nothing else. And, fuck, if that doesn’t drive me insane just thinking about it.

That cute little whimper she made when I stopped kissing her?

The way she clawed at my back like she was as hypnotized as I was?

Don’t even get me started about how she was bucking her hips and practically begging me to take her.

Even how she looks wearing what I gave her, the earrings, necklace, and shirt. I wanted to know what the first two would look like against her skin without the last thing getting in the way. Naked, under me, and begging me to ruin her while she wears my marks.

I don’t think Bella understands the magnitude of what I just did, and she’s not nearly as impressed with me as she should be.

I stopped.

Stopped.

Me? I fought against my urges and let her walk out of there in one piece. I tore myself away from her when I only wanted to consume her whole. If I could live in her skin, I would. I don’t think she gets that.

Impulse has gotten me where I am today. Lack of control is the reason why Bella has had to patch me back together more times than I can count. Everything clicked into place when she was beneath me, looking up at me with her beautiful brown eyes. I’m her loyal servant, always have been, and always will be. She’s my purpose, my home.

One more year, and she’s all mine. She won’t have stupid shit like homework and exams to worry about. I won’t have to drop her off at home every night and watch that fucker Marcus look at her in a way that has my blood boiling.

I’ll probably still have to share her with that little shit Jeremy, but ultimately, nothing will get in our way. Not Maxim or Mikhail. And they’re going to know it.

As I drive away from her house, every voice in my head is telling me to turn around and finish what Bella and I started in that shed.

But our first time isn’t going to be with that seedy Marcus in the other room, or on the floor in a decrepit, abandoned shed. There will be flowers and candles and pretty things everywhere, like in those romantic movies she’s made me watch. She’s my delicate princess.

Tonight was meant to be perfect. There were meant to be no tears—the unhappy kind—and the only thing she was supposed to do today was smile, laugh, and be happy. But those two idiots ruined everything.

Mikhail and Maxim Androv.

Never heard of them, and I don’t care to know more than just their address. The only thing they will need to know is not to be in the same vicinity as Bella ever again. After I’m done with them, they may need to get wheeled out of any place where she is.

I asked Damien for their address, since Lord knows he owes me for all the times I’ve given out favors for him and the cartel he’s running with. I re-check the GPS on my phone. The blood roaring in my ears increases. They only live a few blocks from her.

And she sleeps with the fucking window open. Anyone could climb in.

Fuck it. I’m going to install bars on that window.

The thought only unsettles me more as I park my bike several houses down from where they live. I take a couple of steps away, then glance back at my bike. My only other love. It could be the last time I see her. She might not be in one piece by the time I get back. It’s a shitty neighborhood, and she could get sold for parts.

I stole those wheels from someone who owed me money. Someone else might steal the same set of wheels because they need money. It’s almost like the circle of life.

I check that she’s locked tight one last time, give her a pat, then I’m off on my merry way to fuck up those two pricks.

My body buzzes with anticipation. I can already imagine what their blood will look like on my riding gloves, and I hear the sounds of them begging me to stop. I don’t care how old they are; I’m putting them in their place. They didn’t pick on someone their own size, so why should I?

After the high of kissing Bella and all the built-up frustration that came with it, this is going to be the cherry on top. I thought I’d have to reach out to Damien, my contact, and find a place to let off some steam tonight, but I guess everything works out for me, eventually.

The street is dimmer with the helmet visor down, but there’s no missing their duplex and the two lookalikes sitting on the deck, smoking a joint. They look like idiots.

The twins look like their names sound: short, blonde with a number two cut, and brawny.

Cold sweat gathers down my spine from excitement. I’ve met their type before. Guys like them wouldn’t be sitting outside in this neighborhood without carrying a gun. My lips twitch up at the corners. No one in this area would care if one goes off, but guns mean cops. I’m not in the mood to deal with pigs.

Clad in black, I creep along the side of the house, sticking to the shadows and keeping my footsteps light. I don’t do many of these outings while wearing a helmet. The anonymity is great, but it fucks with the senses. I won’t be able to see or hear as well.

The twins are completely oblivious to the intruder in their midst. I can smell the weed through my helmet, and I might not be able to see their bloodshot eyes this far out, but I’m sure they will be.

Shielded by the darkness, they don’t see me coming, too spaced out to hear me stretch my neck from side to side before the first crack from my fist carves through the night. Fucker Number One tips to the side, bringing the chair with him. Fucker Number Two scrambles for his gun behind his back, but not fast enough to avoid being hit in the jaw by my riding gloves.

God, that felt good.

His head snaps back, hitting the wall behind him. He groans as his hands instinctively snap up to stop another assault.

“What do you want?” Fucker Number one recovers in time to draw his gun, but it flies out of his hands before he has a chance to use it. Then, someone from inside the house starts screaming, raising my hackles.

An old woman comes running out of the house with a baseball bat, tripping over her slippers and nightie as she goes.

Fuck.

I don’t hurt old ladies.

Goddamnit, I have to somehow take her down without laying a hand on her.

“This isn’t about you,” I yell at her.

Fucker Two suddenly remembers he has a gun, and Fucker One uses the distraction to launch himself at me, hitting me square in the chest. “You cunt.”

A laugh rumbles out of me right before I bury my fist into the prick’s ribs and swing my head forward, using the helmet's weight to connect with his forehead.

He rears back with blood spurting from his nose, the bottom half of his face drenched in the beautiful crimson.

“Get away from my sons!” their mother screams. I don’t get to appreciate the sight of the dark red splatter over his pale skin, because I stumble forward when pain tears through my back.

Helmets are great for anonymity, but fucking shit for visibility.

“Fuck off.” I throw my hand back with a snarl and yank the bat out of the culprit's hands. The lady yelps from being thrown off balance. But then her screams turn into words. Only a single word, Help.

Fucker Two aims his gun at me. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”

They can’t see my grin as I say, “That’s my line.” I tilt my head to the side, eying the gun. “You weren’t planning on using that on me, were you?”

I swing the wooden bat before he manages to pull the trigger. Those things are great, but they’re shit for close combat, which is why I prefer my fists. Using a gun doesn’t give me the same satisfaction as pummeling someone’s head in until they’re an unrecognizable pile of flesh and bone.

He cries out as the weapon is ripped out of his hands and lands by their mother’s feet. Fucker One returns, hunched over, charging forward like a raging bull. I lift my leg before he makes contact, sending him careening backward just as Fucker Two swings his arm.

From the corner of my eye, I watch as the woman runs toward the gun on the ground.

And then red and blue lights flash.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

One of the twins lands a hit on my ribs, making me grunt. I grip the bat, raise it in the air and aim it at his head.

“Stop!” she screams.

Bang.

Another scream.

Yelling.

But my arm never moves. The bat doesn’t come crashing forward. I’m frozen. I just stare at Fucker Two as he gapes at me. Then slowly, questioningly, he drops his gaze to my chest.

And then I feel it. A prickle at first, like static along my skin.

Suddenly, it’s a burn, scorching hot, searing into my flesh as if I’ve been set on fire, though I never saw anyone light the match. The pain thunders through every molecule of my being, setting every hair and cell in my body ablaze. I feel so cold.

I look down to find my hand already on my chest. Trembling fingers pull away to a liquid sheen that catches the light on my leather gloves.

My body gives out beneath me, and my knees crash against the concrete. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Pure agony. The basement was better than this. The belt hurt less.

The burning worsens, swirling, until dots dance in my vision. As the world turns bright, something rough hits the back of my head. It’s not so dim anymore. The sounds are clearer. But I can’t make out any of them. Something presses against my chest. I want to scream, yell, yank this pain out of me.

I can’t breathe. It hurts too much. I can’t—oh, God. I’m going to die.

No.

No.

Bella.

Who’s going to watch over Bella?

Who’s going to take care of my princess?

I can’t die. I need to take her to school. I have to make sure she’s okay. I have to be there for her. What if she forgets to bring her inhaler again? What if she doesn’t have enough money for lunch, or has a nightmare?

No. I can’t leave Bella. We finally kissed, and in one year, it’ll be just us. We’ll be going around the country to camp by the beach and see New Orleans, just like she always dreamed of. I’m meant to take her back to Disneyland and give her everything she’s ever wanted.

We haven’t gotten our high energy dog that’s been trained to protect Bella. Or flown to Italy so she can have authentic pizza, and to Greece to relive our ancient history obsession. I’m meant to be putting three kids in her, and we’re supposed to have an unconventional wedding, where she’d wear a white dress and start crying as she walks down the aisle.

I can’t die. I won’t.

But I can’t fight it.

The last thing on my lips when the lights go out is her name. "Bella."

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Chapter 13

ROMAN

Three Months Ago

Roman: 22 years old – Isabella: 19 years old.

“Inmate 25963, today’s your lucky day.”

It takes far too much physical effort to look away from the piece of paper in my hands to Rico’s stupid face. I’m not a portrait artist, but I’ve had nothing but time on my hands to try to draw her. This particular one is my favorite piece.

I managed to get the soft bow of her lips, the sweeping lashes framing big almond-shaped brown eyes, and the little dot on her left cheek. It’s the only way I can see her in this shithole, and I don’t want to forget what she looks like.

The drawing doesn’t come anywhere near the real thing. I could spend a lifetime perfecting my skill, but I will never do her justice.

Adjusting the hand beneath my head, I sink farther into the cot before finally looking at Rico, who’s leaning against the bars with his arms crossed over his chest.

I smirk. “Jealous?”

He whistles and shakes his dark brown hair, then nods at the drawing. “Going home to that pretty thing? Damn right, I am.”

My lips peel back. “Careful,” I warn.

Chuckling, he walks the two steps to the opposite bunk and pulls himself onto the top one. “Two more months, and I’ll be back on my shit. I ain’t never seeing the inside of this place again.”

Over two years and nine months away from Bella almost killed me. I’ve memorized every inch of this place. I can’t count how many times I’ve thought about breaking out of here. I even planned it all out in my head. I have studied the delivery trucks, the laundry rotation, and when the lazy guards are scheduled.

But each time I’m about to act on it, I stop. I have a higher chance of staying here longer than I do of getting out. No one has escaped this place in over fifty years. I’m cocky, but I don’t know if I’m delusional enough to think I could pull off a prison break. In fact, I’ve been on my best goddamn behavior, which is so unlike me. Bella would be shocked.

I’ve been practicing what the Shrink Arthur calls ‘flat hands.’ It’s where I use my palms, not my knuckles. The only time my fingers curl into fists is when it’s wrapped around a dumbbell or a bar of weights to channel my energy.

It’s some hippy-dippy bullshit, if you ask me. But it fucking works—sort of.

How many fights have I gotten into?

Six.

How many do the higher-ups know about?

One—but I proved I wasn’t at fault.

I’m a pillar in this community, an example to the other inmates of what a great prisoner looks like. I took English lit classes—not containing the dirty types of books that Bella reads, obviously—and I even had Arthur convinced I was interested in religion. Not like it was much of a choice. I was bored out of my mind and couldn’t use my arms while I was healing, so I had to pick something that made it seem like I was a half-decent person. Once I had full mobility, I flashed my finger at the man upstairs and started breaking my back at the garage they have here.

My religion starts with “Isa” and ends with “Bella,” and I’d worship at her altar every night. Blessed be the meal I’m about to eat and all that.

But Arthur buys the whole ‘reformed bad boy’ thing. He thinks I have “genuine guilt” over assaulting the twins.

Gullible idiot.

The only thing I’m guilty of is getting caught.

And shot.

Getting shot really sucked.

Both during and after sucks more than anyone warns you about.

The bullet was millimeters away from my heart. The doctors weren’t convinced I was going to make it, apparently. And the fact I didn’t have my Minnie to nurse me back to health was the final nail in the coffin.

The good news? Thanks to the helmet, I didn’t have a concussion to go with the life-threatening injury. Silver-fucking-linings.

From the hospital, I was moved to the prison med bay for even longer. I was ready to murder old-man Phil in the bed next to me. It came to the point that if the doctors weren’t going to remove his adenoids, I’d remove them for him. I couldn’t get a wink of sleep because of the human diesel power generator.

To top it off, I was furious. I am furious. Not once did she check in on me while I was in the hospital. After the hell I went through, from recovery to pleading guilty for a lesser sentence, I finally had the chance to call her, and the line wouldn’t go through.

She’s deactivated her fucking number.

That’s not even the worst part.

She hasn’t responded to a single one of my letters.

Not a single one.

The only thing that pulled me through was the thought of hearing the sound of her voice again. It was the only reason I did every single ridiculous exercise the doctors told me to. Still, she doesn’t answer. I have no idea what she’s been doing or where she lives now.

The twins had no reason to suspect I attacked them because of what they did to Bella because I never got to tell them to leave her alone, after I beat them black and blue. It wouldn’t have been on the news, because shit like that happens all the time. Plus, my registered emergency contact is Margaret, the child psychologist. Margaret probably didn’t pick up either.

Not once did I mention Bella’s name. It was a conscious decision at the time that I didn’t think would have these types of consequences. Having cops come in to interrogate her would only stress her out. So, I told the shrink and the police I had a bad day at work, saw the twins, then got triggered. Arthur slapped my case with an “anger management” label.

Have I learned my lesson? Yes.

Will I stop using my fists? No.

But will I handle all witnesses and look around for police first? Yes.

That still doesn’t explain why she hasn’t replied to my letters. Unless she moved houses…

Joel scoffs from the bunk below Rico’s. “I give you both a month before you’re back in here.”

Joel’s been in the can for twenty years or some shit. In here for organized crime and conspiracy to murder or whatever. Something boring and disproportionate to the sentence time. He’s kept being in prison interesting for himself by adding more time to his sentence.

The first year he was here, he murdered a rapist right in front of the guards, then again five years ago. I think he doesn’t like his original crime’s ‘conspiracy’ label.

“Old man’s already dead. Can’t die twice.” On the other hand, Rico came in here at eighteen without any label other than manslaughter in the third degree. Eight years for killing his father, of all people. “What about you, Tao? You placin’ bets or what?”

The bunk creaks as Tao Yang Junior shifts before the sound of his Rubix cube starts back up. “Two grand on fourteen months. The court system is slow.”

It’s my turn to chuckle. Out of all of us, he’s the one who will never learn. I can guarantee the second he’s out of here, he’ll go back to gambling, embezzlement, and money laundering. The only difference is that he’ll move back to China and get away with it from now on.

His wife did him dirty during the divorce, and Tao Yang Senior dropped over a million on lawyers to get him out of criminal charges.

It obviously didn’t do much.

I’m glad he’s here, though. Not because I like him or anything. He gets on my nerves with the Rubix cube, and he’s constantly droning on and on about stocks. Every other person in this cell loves him because he’s an absolute fucking idiot who has no idea how to manage his finances. Which, lucky for me, means that there’s an extra ten grand sitting in my bank account, courtesy of the Yang family and Junior’s shitty bets.

“This pretty face will never see the inside of a cell ever again.” Rico’s legs dangle over the side of the bed as he shadow punches the air quickly. “I’m too fast; they’ll never catch me.”

Joel shakes his head and mutters something along the lines of, “I’m too old for this shit.”

Rico looks at me, but I don’t acknowledge him as I go back to staring at Bella. “Damien’s got you hooked up. Don’t you worry, my bro will take care of you. I told him about the solid you did for me.”

By solid, he means looking the other way when he stabbed an inmate from a rival gang. And by solid, he also means the drugs I found in one of the cars I was fixing. According to Rico, that is thanks to one of the other cartels in the prison—one he’s not part of.

I inadvertently started a turf war with Rico’s guys ten points ahead, and half a million dollars richer. Needless to say, the Vargas men are upset by the whole shipment mishap.

Oh, and I also backed him in a fight. He just thinks I did it for him, but the guy looked at me wrong, and gymming as the only time my fists were clenched wasn’t cutting it anymore.

Rico and I are not friends, but I don’t hate him completely. He has his uses.

Do Rico and Damien—the Reyes brothers—owe me?

Fuck yeah.

Could I ask Damien to check on Bella for me?

Absolutely.

Will I?

Absolutely… not. I’d break out of prison and kill him myself if he went anywhere near her.

“What will you do with your girl when you see her?” From the corner of my eye, I catch Rico leaning on his knees. “What if she’s got another man?”

I snap my head in his direction, and his face splits into a wild smirk. Asshole.

I keep picturing getting out of here to track Bella down, only to find she has a boyfriend. And then the imagination plays out the same every time: I kill him, then and there.

It wouldn’t be the first time I killed for her, either. Mitchell took her away from me for a year, and she got bullied. He should have known better than to do that.

Fortunately, the cops aren’t smart enough to catch a murderer who crosses state lines to kill his childhood best friend’s foster dad.

“She probably does have a boyfriend,” Tao adds.

No one asked for your opinion, Yang.

Because Joel always has to put in his two cents, he says, “Beauts like her don't stay single.”

“Three hundred says she does.” If Tao doesn’t stop talking, he can kiss his Rubix cube goodbye.

Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

“You’re going to win for once,” I say to the old man. “If she does, I might be seeing you real soon.”

“Don’t forget what I told you,” Rico starts with his shit-eating grin firmly intact. I just know that the next words out of his mouth are going to piss me off. “Tie her up, then use your fingers to get Bella’s pussy nice and wet before you take that tight little cunt.”

White-hot fury flashes throughout my body.

I’m out of bed and on my feet in under a second. He meets me on the floor, in the small space between the two bunks. Red burns in my vision as I stare him down. “You don’t fucking talk about her.” My fingers twitch and curl into fists.

I could beat him right now. He might have been here longer, but I’m the one with the experience.

Our chests brush as we square off. He juts his chin out in a challenge. “Maybe she and I should meet up.” He licks his lips. “I could have her coming on my cock in two minutes flat.”

I’m going to–

“Hey, hey, hey.” Joel is off the bed, holding me back before I can land my first punch. As usual, Tao is useless in his bed, fiddling with his Rubix cube like nothing is going on. Asshole better be putting money on me to win.

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.

“I’ll leave a mark on her just like I left my handiwork on your chest.” He’s goading me. I know he is, but if he doesn’t stop talking in the next two seconds, I will bash his teeth out. “Isabella,” he sings her name.

I spring forward, regretting telling him her name a year ago just because he’s good with a needle and ink. Joel’s grip isn’t as tight as it should be, and I slip away. He yanks me back by the arm, hissing, “Don’t be stupid, boy. You gon’ let him stop you from seeing your girl?”

An animalistic noise settles low in my throat. Screw him for being right. I didn’t put up with and do all this shit for the past two and a half years just to stay back because of Rico.

Sensing that reason has gotten to me, Joel steps back. The smug grin on Rico’s face almost makes me question whether it’s worth not seeing Bella for a couple more months. Rico and I were getting along, and he just had to say stupid shit like that on my last day.

“Riviera,” someone calls. We all turn to see the bored-faced guard. “Hands.”

Joel slaps me on the back—not aggressively—and points a finger at my face. “You take care of her. Treat her right.”

It’s not like I’m going to do anything other than that. I grunt in response and grab my drawings of Bella—I’m not about to leave them here for them to jack off to. That’s for me to do.

“Hurry up. I haven’t got all day,” the guard drones.

He can wait as long as he needs. Fuck him.

I push the drawings through the feeder cap, and he takes them without question, shaking it out to ensure I’m not hiding a shiv.

Tao finally drops to the floor when I turn around. He holds his hand out to me. I take it and pull him closer. “You’re going to owe me two grand.”

He shrugs. “We’ll see.”

Prick.

I narrow my eyes at Rico, daring him to say something.

He lifts a shoulder. “See you ’round.”

I don’t answer and push my hands through the feeder. The cold metal cuffs dig into my wrists, then he unlocks the bars that separate us, and I step out of the cell. I don’t understand why we must go through these safety measures when I’m a free man today, but if having the shackles around my ankles and hands means I get to see Bella, so be it.

Back to holding my drawings, I look at my cellmates one last time and nod at them, then begin my walk toward freedom, passing whistling prisoners who bang on the metal bars in celebration. I don’t need to look at the Vargas men to know they’re glaring daggers at me. The Vargas “gang” is nothing but a bunch of disorganized idiots running around claiming they’re Chicago’s newest, scariest “cartel”, when a majority of their drugs get busted one way or another.

Rico and Damien aren’t worried about them, so neither am I.

One presses his head against the bars. “You better watch your back, boy,” he growls. I think his name is Gonzales? I don’t know. I’m bad at names. “Sleep with one eye open.”

“Frightening,” I deadpan, walking past without sparing him a second glance as I flip him the bird. “I’ve never heard that line before.”

He’s in here, and I’m out there.

It’s not my fault they didn’t pay attention to their shipment. They would have done the same thing if they had found someone else’s coke.

Just as I’m about to leave the wing, I hear Rico yell, “Say hi to Bella for me, hombre.”

Next time I see him, I'll break his nose.

There she is.

Fuck me.

She’s even more stunning than the last time I saw her. I didn’t think that was possible.

Hell, I thought I was going to die spending all this time apart from her.

She’s exactly where I left her, tucked in her bed, cuddling her rugged Mr. Mickey Mouse doll. It’s like she was waiting for me.

Bella doesn’t need to worry about school anymore. There’s no reason for her to still be under the same roof as Marcus and Greg. And yet, there she lies, waiting for me. My girl knew I’d come back for her, because I would never just leave her.

I’m not sure how long I’ve stood here, staring at her, familiarizing myself with having her bracelet back on my wrist after so long without it. She’s so vulnerable like this, tucked under the blanket I got her, dark hair fanned around her like an angel, golden skin illuminated by the moonlight spilling in through the slit between the curtains. Her soft breaths fill the room like a siren beckoning me closer.

I’m helplessly drawn to her as I move closer with silent footsteps, careful not to wake her. There will be a time for that, but not today.

I let myself touch her face. Her skin is so smooth, so perfect. I may make art, but she is art made flesh. Every stroke, every color. Masterpiece doesn’t come close to describing her.

Even with her asleep with not a care in the world, I’m entranced. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I’d die if it would make her happy.

At the risk of waking her, I kiss her lips. I need to feel them, even if just for a second. I need another reminder of how soft they are, and how sweet she tastes.

I can’t help myself from pulling her plump pink bottom lip in between my teeth. For most of my life, I’ve seen her bottom lip quiver. I wanted to know what it felt like to nibble on it, whether I could feel it tremble as I take the rest of her.

I still when Bella stirs. A breathy sound leaves her, just like it did when I had her legs wrapped around me over two and a half years ago. It would have been so easy to slide her pants down her legs and make her shatter around me.

My cock strains against my pants. Every noise in my head tells me to throw my plans out of the window and steal her away now, figure the rest out later.

She’s real. She’s not just a drawing or a part of my dreams. She’s flesh and bone, the only thing that matters. I can see her shape beneath the sheets. The curve of her waist and the arch of her ass.

It’s almost painful to look at because of how hard I’m getting, seeing the outline of her body under the cover of darkness and her sheets. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t this horny when I was a teenager.

No, actually, I was. I was probably worse. I used to be voice-activated. She’d laugh, and I’d be on like a light.

Unable to resist the urge, I slowly slide the blanket down her body. It’s the tail’s end of summer, so the nighttime chill is bearable—but not for Bella. I inhale sharply when I see her nipples poking against the fabric of her thin t-shirt.

My muscles tense. Does she walk out of her room like this? Has Marcus seen her like this?

Tearing my gaze from her for just a second, I find something that worsens the ache in my balls tenfold.

I don’t think, I just do.

I grab her panties from the top of her hamper, settle over her, pop the button of my jeans, and slip myself free. I bite back a groan the instant the pressure releases, but hiss through my teeth when her pretty pink cotton panties wrap around my cock.

My balls tighten, and I stroke myself once, staring at her sleeping form, completely oblivious to what I’m doing. I grit my teeth and think about something else to stop myself from coming immediately.

Triumph Speed Triple 1200RS, that Italian guy’s cooking videos, Bella ignoring me for almost three fucking years.

There’s no warmth left on her cotton panties, yet I imagine her wearing them all day, making them all nice and warm as she walks around, goes to work, and makes dinner. Then, just before she sleeps, she leans back against her pillows and slips her hands down her shorts, playing with her pussy. She imagines it’s me touching her, that it’s my cock filling her tight little cunt.

I pant as I pick up speed.

She could wake up at any second and find me like this, getting myself off to the sight of her with her used panties wrapped around my cock. It almost makes me angry that she isn’t waking up at all. She’s not even stirring. Anyone could come in here and do exactly what I’m doing, and she wouldn’t even know.

My grip tightens at the thought. Maybe I should wake her. Push myself up against her entrance and bite down on her perky tits. I could make her wake up screaming from pleasure or while coming on her face. She’d fight the second she’s awake, then smile right before I claim her mouth and fuck her until she comes, crying out my name as she does it.