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I feel protective. Yeah, that’s what it is. I feel protective of her. And that hasn’t always worked out well for me.
“Hello? Hello, Abby?” the secretary says impatiently.
“Yeah? Where’s my dad?”
“Your dad’s not available right now.”
To say the hope melted off Abby’s face is an understatement. It might be more accurate to say the very life melted off her face.
She looks down and passes the phone to me, which I swipe closed.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she absentmindedly runs her open palms over her thighs.
“Are you cold, Abby?” I ask.
It’s not cold. In fact, because it’s the middle of the day, it’s hot.
She runs her hands up and down her arms and nods.
So, I take a seat next to her and pull her to me, burying my nose in her sweet-smelling hair. She nestles closer to me and sighs.
It’s funny. I thought she’d rage when she finally accepted the truth. Throw stuff. Break things. Scream and shout.
Instead, she’s like a balloon that’s had ninety percent of its air leaked. That’s what it is. She’s a shell.
She looks up at me. “Maybe you were right about him.”
I run my fingers through her hair. Fuck, I could get used to this. “I’m sorry,zolotse. So sorry.”
She sighs, still looking up at me, and then leans closer, surprising me with a kiss. I hold her face as she parts her lips, letting me taste her.
I pull back. “I really am sorry, Abby.”
She shrugs. “Shit happens, I guess,” she says hollowly. “But who would have thought you were a softie? That all you guys are softies?”
She’s regarding me with a smirk, and I see some of the life coming back to her face. Along with some uncharacteristic hardness. Uncharacteristic, and most likely permanent.
“Well, keep it a secret, please,” I say.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” she laughs.
We never would have killed her. It would have been impossible. Simply impossible. But I don’t want to talk about that.
I have more important things on my mind at the moment, not least of which is my raging hard-on. And the scent of Abby’s pussy drifting from her loose shorts.
She gets to her feet and starts to undress. I know her well enough now to know she’s trying to forget. And I am happy to help.
“Your bedroom door’s open,” I say.
She glances over her shoulder. “Good.”
And as if she’d summoned them, Fedor and Ilya appear, both at the same time.
“Hey, guys, anyone up for a swim in the pool—” Fedor starts to say.
But stops short. For obvious reasons.
Abby is now nude, and she saunters over to the guys, who are enthusiastically eating her alive with their gaze. She takes each by the hand and brings them over to the bed. But not before Fedor kicks the door closed.
