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“Jesus. You’re fucking perfect, Courtnee.”
“Wow. Is it always like that?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What?”
I reach over and cup her pussy, my index finger running through her wet folds. “This is the only pussy I’ll ever know.” I thrust my finger into her. She’s hot and swollen, but I push my come into her further. “Ever. And it will always be like this between us.”
“How do you know?” she asks, her breath hitching as she close to coming again.
“How can it not be? This explosive heat between us has to go somewhere.”
“Hmmm.”
“Come to New York with me.”
“And your life of crime?”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And schools always need good teachers.”
“How do you know I’m a good teacher?”
“I know everything about you, Courtnee Dalilah Beaufort.”
“You do?”
“I do. And you know what else I know?”
“What?” she asks, squealing as I pull her closer to me.
“You’re going to be an excellent wife.”
“I’m getting married?”
“You are.”
“To whom?”
“Don’t try my patience, baby. You’re going to be my wife.”
“I know, but what about love?”
“I already know that I love you, but I’ll wait for you to catch up.”
“Obsession isn’t love,” she says.
“Yes it is. All romantic love is an obsession. You become so obsessed with the other person you can’t imagine your life without them. Your home without them. Your children with anyone else. It’s fact. Everyone knows it but denies it. Not me. Not us. Obsession is love.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You will. Wait until you meet my family.”
“Your family?”
“My parents died a while ago. I was raised, along with siblings, by my aunt and uncle. You’ll love them.”
“Okay, I’ll just see,” she says, yawning.
