Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
When she disappears inside the large walk-in, I find myself in front of the dresser staring at the pottery piece. I want that piece of pottery in my home, and I want her in my life, forever.
I manage to escape the apartment without tackling her. At home, I empty my pockets, placing the failed pottery piece on my nightstand next to the phone charger.
I undo my pants and take myself in hand. I imagine that we’re in that bedroom and the plush carpet is under my feet. I have her on her back on the bed. Her knees are closed, but they part easily when I palm them apart. Her body is flushed with her excitement, and when I place my hand against her pussy, her arousal coats my fingers. I lick her essence off each digit and then press a wet finger inside of her hot channel. She’s tight and moans as I penetrate her with one finger and then two.
I start my thrusts slow and shallow, allowing her virgin cunt to get used to the intrusion. She grips my wrist, but I can tell she’s not sure whether she wants to pull me close or hold me off. The sensations I’m pulling from her body are foreign. Because she’s never had another touch her like this. Only me, I think with a feral grin. I pump my own shaft harder.
Her body clamps around mine, sucking my fingers in deeper and deeper. I quicken the pace, driving into her until my palm slaps her pussy. Her heels dig into the mattress, and her back arches upward as her hot, narrow sex convulses around me.
“Charlie,” she says. “Charlie!”
I snap out of the fantasy and look at my palm filled with milky seed in frustration. My hand curls into a fist. Charlie is not the name I want to hear from her mouth. It’s Wick. I’m her husband, not anyone else.
Chapter Fifteen
ANNABELLE
Iroll over in bed, stretching. I slept like shit. Normally, sleep hasn’t been hard here. It’s been one of the rare comforts I have had. I might not have loved the place when I first got here, but it is quiet and safe. Plus, the bed is a pillowy cloud, and the ceiling-to-floor shades can make the whole room pitch-black.
I grab the pad off the nightstand and hit the button to make them partly open to give me fresh light. I sit up against the headboard, pulling my thighs to my chest.
Yesterday was so much fun. I thought things were going perfectly. Everything was lighter, and this gloom that had fallen over me cleared. Just as quickly as it had gone, it rushed right back in.
He left. One second we were laughing and he was making this place feel more like a home with me, and the next he was gone, taking all that warmth and joy I was experiencing with him. I don't have a clue what went wrong, but it had to have been me.
Was he worried he'd get in trouble? I don't want that for him, but why didn't he tell me that? I would have understood. Instead, he just left, like he'd never been here at all. Knowing I can't wallow in bed all day—it will only make things worse—I force myself to get up and get dressed for the day.
I take my time, a part of me hoping that Charlie might swing by today, but do I want him to? If there had been an emergency, it would have only taken a couple of seconds to have said that to me. Instead, he bolted out of here, not even saying goodbye.
It hits me that I cornered him into staying. He felt sorry for me, and when he saw the opportunity to flee, he did. I stare at myself in the mirror as I braid my hair and give myself a small pep talk. I need to put myself out there more. If I want to find friends, I should use this time to do that. I could sign up for different groups or events. I’ll keep myself busy.
I grab my laptop off the end table and take it into the living room before I make myself a hot chocolate. I turn the fireplace on and open the window covering to see that snow is starting to fall. The flakes are big and puffy, making it look as though it’s a winter wonderland.
My heart flutters when my phone goes off. I hurry back to the bedroom where I left it on the charger. I don't believe Charlie has my number, but maybe he got it from someone. He could be calling to apologize, but what if it's only to smooth things over so it's not awkward? It doesn't matter. When I see the number, I know it's not his. It's again a Nebraska phone number. My fingers hover over the button to answer, but I don't.