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She always did have a smart mouth. Little bitch.
Me
No, but if you bring a better attitude with you, it’d be greatly appreciated.
I can just imagine her giving me the middle finger. That would be just like the Charlize I remember. The rest? I’m not so sure.
I head downstairs to the cafe next door for a quick omelette, then hit it out at the gym — two fucking hours late — all because I couldn’t move from my seat until Charlize messaged me back.
I cringe when I think about my dirty talk.
I also cannot bring myself to think about what else I did and how that made me feel. If I let myself, then I know I’ll be rock hard all over again and that won’t do.
Ramming my cock down her throat was supposed to be a release, not a goddamn sin that I’d have to repent for all of eternity.
Charlize
I can’t promise anything.
I know she’s just trying to get a rise out of me. But I have the upper hand here. Not her.
Me
My jumper can also be returned at your leisure.
A reply comes back immediately, and it makes me chuckle.
Charlize
Why? I like that jumper. It’s Dior.
Me
Because you stole it. And it’s one of my favourites.
It’s not really. I don’t give a fuck about it, or anything she wants to have. That protective surge flows through me once more, lighting my veins on fire. I like it when she has my shit, I realise. And I want her to have more of it. Maybe it’s my conscience calling — or the fact I just feel guilty that she’s grown up poor, but I want her to have the best of everything.
She deserves it.
Charlize
I’ll be sure to return it when I’m done ??
I’m tense and edgy for the rest of the day until I’m getting ready for dinner. I already took a drive to Blakefield and I don’t like the area. It’s dull and lifeless and has too much graffiti. Furthermore, Charlize shouldn’t be living in a neighbourhood like that. It isn’t safe. What kind of money is she earning in her day job? She claimed that meeting with me last night was her first time. I don’t know if I believe her, but the thought of her with some other man makes my blood curdle.
She’s too good for this, and for me. She’s better than that.
Though I know why some women seek that kind of work out or try OnlyFans; it’s for the quick cash. And that’s great, as long as you’re not Charlize Prescott. No way in God’s earth is she going to bare her body for all to see. I’ll make sure of it.
I pick out a new, white button down and a navy blue jacket and pair it with jeans.
Cruz is a high-end restaurant in my neighbourhood, but jeans are acceptable. I take a shower, ignoring my cock as it hangs heavily between my legs, needing attention.
I may have time to bust a nut, but that doesn’t mean I should. The main reason being I still have Charlize on my mind, and her touch on my skin. Still. I don’t have to picture her while I’m pleasuring myself. I’ve been jerking off my entire life, I’m pretty sure I can get the job done without crossing any more morally grey lines.
My hand reaches for my cock and I give it a tug. Once. Twice. Then I grab the soap, lathering it in my hands as I wash my body clean. My hand moves back between my legs, unable to ignore my raging cock any longer. I tug on it once more. Then I squeeze and start to pleasure myself, bracing one hand against the shower tile as the warm spray hits me from all angles. I fucking love this shower and the pressure.
It hits just right. Just like my hand… I work myself harder, jerking in long, hard pulls as the vision of Charlize on her knees flashes before my eyes. A groan leaves my chest.
