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Instead, I pulled up some more information on my laptop and filed through every single fact about Sapphire Rose Faye I could get my hands on.
Birthday, place of birth, astrological sign, parents’ names.
A search for her parents revealed pictures of a boring looking couple. She definitely didn’t inherit her beauty from either of them.
Her father worked in an office, a boring marketing job. Her mother worked in a library. I wondered if she was the one Pet had inherited her love of books from, and it made me smile.
My phone pinged with a message, and I glanced at it. It was her. Another picture. Even though my cock twitched at the thought, I refused to look at it. Served her right for disobeying.
I filed through websites and Facebook posts and tweets and even a blog post on some website Pet had since abandoned but I’d managed to find via an old email of hers.
It was nothing like the girl I knew.
My Pet was beautiful, confident and cheeky.
Sapphire Rose Faye was shy, sweet and broken. Really fucking broken. Her eyes screamed it from every picture and her words trembled with her need to be understood.
What had changed? What happened six months ago when she up and left her life?
My phone pinged again, and this time, I picked it up.
The first picture she’d sent was followed by a picture of her licking her fingers. Those big baby blues fixed on the camera, her manicured talons all the way inside her mouth. Dirty girl.
And the last one was confusing. I could barely make out what was in it.
I peered closer, making out the shape of her legs. She was kneeling on my bed, our bed. One of her hands was on her thigh and the other one held the phone up. She’d spilled something on the bed.
Look what I did for the first time! her caption read.
I stared at the fucking picture and my blood boiled.
She.
Fucking.
Squirted.
Without me.
I resisted the urge to call her and tell her off. I set my phone aside after turning it off so the temptation wouldn’t be so fucking great. I went back to my laptop, back to Pet’s life before she met me, and I buried myself in the sorry facts of her past while my mind fought off images of her fucking her own pussy so hard she’d gushed all over our bed.
Little fucking bitch.
She was going to pay for that.
She was going to regret taking that moment from me.
Once I got home, I’d really fucking break her. And it was about fucking time.I kept my phone off for the next three days, resorting to using my business cell, which didn’t have Pet’s number, and which she didn’t know about. I didn’t check the email she had; I didn’t acknowledge her in any fucking way. Apart from the constant turmoil in my head, and apart from the digging I was doing.
At the end of my trip, I wasn’t much closer to unlocking Pet’s secrets. I didn’t understand why she’d upped and left her bright future. I wasn’t a single step closer to finding out who abused her when she was a little girl. But I understood her better. I knew she was troubled. I knew she pushed people away, hoping they’d prove how much they needed her, and I knew they’d always let her down. But I wasn’t going to.
I also used the time away from her to take care of some other shit that needed sorting, and I was pleased with the results.
I packed up my stuff on Sunday and grunted a hello at my driver who picked me up from the hotel. He didn’t comment on the fact I hadn’t left my hotel room in days. Just as well.
On the ride home, which took about an hour, I finally pulled out my phone and turned it on.
I kind of expected silence. I thought maybe she would’ve sulked after not getting a reply from me, gone quiet and ignored me to try and punish me for not calling her back.
But no.
My phone pinged once.
Twice.
Three times.
And then I stopped counting and started looking.
There were pictures, videos, texts. There were voicemails. There were threats, there were random thoughts, there were tears. She gave me everything on a silver platter.
I scrolled through the pictures first.
Sexy.
Sweet.
Some were fucking unbelievably hot. Close-ups of her dripping wet pussy.
Then the voicemails.
A lot of crying, a lot of begging.
Messages filled with empty threats.
And the videos, the fucking videos.
So many of her pussy. So many of her disobeying. So many of her fucking herself. One of her actually squirting onto the sheets, her buckling legs and agonized mewl enough to make me fucking hard.
I was getting worried for her, because after all of that, I was really going to fucking hurt her.
I went through it all when my phone pinged again – another video. I opened it and wished I hadn’t.
