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My lips mold with hers and I thrust my tongue into her mouth, searching it for the last time for two weeks.
A part of me doesn’t want to stop, because that means we’ll be apart. Hundreds of miles apart.
I try to push that nagging sensation away and focus on how good she feels in my arms right now.
When we part, we’re both gasping for air and aroused.
“See you in two weeks, sir,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone, waltzing away from me easily.
I don’t know what the nauseous sensation is in my gut, all I know is I don’t like it. It’s a warning sign to keep my distance from Camilla Morrone.
* * *
The city signfor Chicago comes into view. Five days I’ve been apart from Camilla, and already I’m losing it. I’m here to track her down and observe her from afar—stalk her, basically.
I need to ensure she’s not with another man. After all, she was quick to accept a date with Rizzo to the hockey game, so God knows what she’ll be up to back in Chicago.
Camilla is completely unaware that after that game, I installed spyware on her cell phone.
I can track her anywhere in this world. There’s nowhere she can run where I can’t find her.
Hell, if she went to Timbuktu, I’d know about it.
I take a left and find the parking lot closest to Bloomingdale’s and park my vehicle, getting out and surveying where the exit is. Camilla had to be in a fucking Bloomingdale’s the day I arrive in Chicago.
It’s not exactly the kind of place I’d ever be caught dead in, but I sense Camilla is the kind of girl who loves going shopping and doing things that would make my stomach churn.
I walk to Bloomingdale’s, keeping an eye now and then on the tracker on my phone to ensure she hasn’t moved somewhere else. Unfortunately for me, she hasn’t.
Entering the department store, I ensure I’m hyperaware of my surroundings as the last thing I want is Camilla catching me checking up on her, as it would no doubt give her the wrong impression.
She may have been a virgin at the start of this school year, but I am not a fool to think she’s never dated. I’m simply here to check she’s not out gallivanting with other men.
There’s an odd sensation pulling at my gut the moment I think that, and I sense it’s because a part of me is in denial.
Why do I care if she’s with another man, if this is nothing but sex?
I push the thought from my mind and focus on finding her. My questionable actions when it comes to this girl aren’t under scrutiny right now.
Where would a young girl be in Bloomingdale’s?
No doubt the womenswear section.
I ride the elevator up to the third floor and walk with caution around the floor until I hear her voice calling from the changing rooms.
“Fine, I’m going to keep searching for the perfect dress. None of these I like.”
My heart practically stops beating as I move away from the entrance and dart behind a mannequin just as she appears. There’s a large man wearing a suit lingering nearby and when he sees her, he moves closer. A twist of possessive rage coils through me, but I can tell by the way he keeps his distance, he is merely her bodyguard.
After all, the mobsters of Chicago are at war with one another. So it’s only normal that she has a bodyguard to ensure her safety.
She looks stunning in a simple yet beautiful floral dress that comes just below her knees and her hair is up in an elegant bun. I swallow hard as my cock turns hard at the sight of her, but I know I can’t act on my desires.
Coming all the way to Chicago from Maine just to check up on her would certainly give her the wrong impression.
I watch her as she walks over to some racks on the far wall and starts to sort through dresses.
She looks stunning and more mature than her actual age.
