Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Because it was wrong that I watched her at all. That I thought about her even when I was with someone else. That I deliberately flirted with my girlfriend, held her hand, put my arm around her to see another girl’s reaction. I mean, it doesn’t really get more twisted than that, does it? I had a girlfriend I was in love with and like a fucking jackass, I couldn’t stop thinking about my little sister’s best friend and her strawberry hair.
What’s even more criminal is what I’m doing right now.
But hey, I never claimed to be a fucking prince. So I press play on the video again and there she is. On my phone screen. Facing away at first and bathed in red light. A few seconds pass and all I can see is her hair in a ponytail, swishing against her delicate back. That silver halo on her head, twitching with her breath. And then she turns around, her mouth parted and her chest heaving. Her green eyes all pretty but nervous.
Before she tells me there’s no recording allowed in this room.
I knew that. It wasn’t my first time in one of the back rooms. While I’ve never fucked a stripper in there, which is what those rooms are built for, I’ve enjoyed private showings. I’ve also never recorded a stripper before. Never wanted to. Except two nights ago when she danced for me. I’m not sure why. Maybe because she isn’t a stripper in the first place and she was only dancing for me because I forced her to. Something about forcing her to do things she doesn’t want to, but likes anyway, gives me a certain kind of satisfaction. It makes me think I’m teaching her, corrupting her, bending and molding her to my tastes, my will. It at least makes me hard. Like I am right now as I watch her writhe against the pole, hump it with her tight ass, moving like a porn star with the face of an angel.
I watch and watch until I can’t anymore because if I do, I’m going to blow in my pants like a fucking teenager watching his first X-rated video.
I hop out of my truck and head toward her apartment. It’s been a while since her bedroom lights went off, meaning she must be asleep. Again, not the sanest thing to do, walking to a girl’s apartment when she’s asleep with the clear intention of looking through her window, but again, I’m not in my right mind at this moment.
I warned her not to run, but she ran away from me anyway.
Across the street from the restaurant, I watched her say goodbye to that douchebag—who looked like he was about to cry with disappointment; fucking pussy—and felt satisfaction warming my chest that she was doing exactly what I told her to do. But then instead of walking out through the front door, I watched her walk to the hallway in the back, where the bathrooms are located, and then a couple of minutes later, I saw her coming out of the back alley and going on her merry way like I hadn’t just given her explicit instruction about coming to me.
So I have to do this. I have to make sure she doesn’t run from me. Make sure she stays.
Her window is open—I saw her leave it that way—and I see her, sleeping in her bed. As always, I see her hair first. Long and thick, spread out on the pillow. Then comes her cinnamon-sprinkled face, her skin fucking luminescent in the moonlight. She’s under the covers and sleeping on her side, her lips parted, her eyelashes curled and thick. And fuck, I think something moves in my chest at how young she looks, how vulnerable and fragile as glass.
I’m not really sure what that was, that little flicker in my body, but I’ve never felt that before. I don’t know if I like it. I don’t know if I should examine it. In fact, I don’t want to. I bury it like everything else and without wasting another second, I push the window all the way up and climb inside. We’re probably going to have a talk about her sleeping with her window open. It’s not safe, especially when she lives on the first floor and in a part of town that’s known for being shitty. But first things first.
I look around the room and it’s pretty much what a normal bedroom would look like. A dresser, a closet, a little chair and a desk with a lamp on it. There are clothes strewn about on the floor—the dress she wore tonight is folded neatly on the dresser though—and those fucking heels that she ran in.
I’m not sure what I’m looking for except anything I can use to put a leash on her. So she stays put rather than running away from me every chance she gets. I mean, I didn’t even know she had a sister until that moron let it slip. How is it that I know her favorite fucking fruit but I don’t know something so big about her, something that should be common knowledge? So I need to get to know her. It’s high time anyway. And since she’s always running away from me, this is the only way.