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But not by my hand.
No.
I need his hands on me.
Gasping a moan, I almost collapse once I see it.
A framed photo of the man himself, on one knee next to his beloved Valentine.
The same dog that’s just brought me here.
A man that makes my fantasy seem childish.
This man has gotta be at least six four, with shoulders that look like mountains, straining under his sweater.
His huge hands grip Valentine’s fur. Thick, strong fingers. Immaculate nails. A Rolex I know costs more than our whole house.
Tight denim reveals the man’s no slouch in the pant bulge department either, and it’s clear he’s never skipped leg day either.
But taking all of this in, as if an afterthought or at the same time, it’s his eyes and that smile that makes me melt.
Dark, penetrating eyes that are firm but also full of mischief I can tell Valentine has picked up from his master.
His dark hair is trim, with just a hint of silver at the temples, making him looked distinguished.
Powerful.
The perfect man of the world I just know is a success in more ways than just looking like he’s god’s gift to women.
The single, deep cleft in his chin supports a winning smile. Rows of perfectly white, straight teeth and a chiseled jaw that sees me walking closer to the frame.
I pick it up unconsciously and watching my finger run down its edge, I hear myself shuddering another breath again, not sure if I need the bathroom or to just touch myself so I can unravel this knot that’s forming inside me so suddenly.
That jaw though. That hair.
I suddenly crave that between my legs, those huge hands running up the inside of my thighs and then squeezing my ass once he’s buried his face and his whole tongue inside my drenched, quivering hole.
I can hear Valentine whining with curiosity, but it looks like he only goes into the main house when his master’s home.
He’s not bothered by me being here though, and before I know it, I’ve found his master’s bedroom, upstairs.
Still clutching the framed photo, I press it to my heart as I walk into his room, feeling the man’s energy as I take in the huge four poster bed and heavy wood furniture.
It oozes power, confidence, and best of all, some more of that cologne.
Maybe this is what people who’ve lost their minds feel like, but I really don’t have a conscious thought of my own anymore.
I’ve started to undress, suddenly cold up here and feeling a hot shiver inside me at the same time.
I see a Japanese style robe and want to put it on, want it to be him, want those hands guiding my pussy lips open for him to-
Click.
Holy fuck!
I dropping the framed photo, and scramble to get dressed again. Falling over in the process and calling out in pain when I hit my shoulder on the corner of the bed.
Someone’s in the house and I can hear Valentine going crazy with excitement, along with someone else.
Guess whose home?
Please god, let it be him.
Let him find me like this.
Chapter Four
Conor
It feels like time’s stood still. Like the whole world has somehow hit pause and it’s just me and the strangely empty streets.
Looking for something that feels suddenly lost forever.
Not just my best buddy, but that part of me that used to believe there was still time, that I’d find the one thing money can’t buy.
The life I’ve only ever seen other people living.
Living with the one, my queen. Together as a couple, forever.
I’m not in bad shape, could still out jog and out lift most guys half my age, so why’d I never settle down earlier?
Why not ever at all?
I just never found her, or she never found me. Sure, I’ve had plenty of wannabe options. Those plastic Malibu Barbie types. The kind of new money divorcees I used to keep as clients.
Nah. They’re as fake as the goop holding their chests up, and most of ‘em look like they need a three course meal.
I want a real woman, someone I can hang out with as well as spoil rotten when I feel like it. Someone I don’t have to pretend with, and someone I can actually grab a hold of and spend the day in bed with together when the weather’s like this.
All right, Romeo. Pack away the violin. We’ve got to find Valentine first and then maybe you can gouge your heart out and pin it to your sleeve.
I swear I hear him barking, but I also know there’s more than one dog in the world. It seems like every second house these days has a dog of some kind.
The weather does little to lift my mood, and once it starts to rain I decide maybe it really is best to start delegating the search from home instead of looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack, or the lone wolf-dog in an entire city.
