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Rolling over, I pick up my phone.
I’ve got a text from Weston Wyatt.
CHAPTER 5
Weston
I was working out when my music paused, and the text alert sounded, the music resuming right after.
Now, I’m standing on the balcony of my penthouse apartment, looking over the city, the lights stretching across the LA landscape.
Her first message made me smile – or as close as a grump like me can get – and then I received her second.
The one in which she called herself a stranger.
Somehow, she’s gotten hold of my number.
She doesn’t know I have hers, too – has no clue I’ve spent the evening typing and deleting and typing and deleting some more.
She doesn’t know her name sits above the message.
I replied. That’s very kind of you to say, mysterious stranger. Could I ask your name?
If she’s hiding the fact this is her, there must be a reason. Perhaps she’s worried she’s going to get in trouble with Aurora.
If that’s the case, my original theory – that Aurora gave her my number – collapses instantly.
How did she get it, then? And why?
But even as I ask the questions, I find I don’t care.
It’s enough that she has it, that we’re talking, even if she doesn’t want to tell me her name.
I hope she’s not embarrassed about herself for any reason. I hope she doesn’t think she’s somehow lesser than me just because our situations are different.
My body is still throbbing from the workout. I don’t normally hit my home gym this late, but thoughts of Alice have been running around my head ever since I first laid eyes on her.
I’m sorry, she replies, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.
I wonder where she is, what she’s wearing, what she’s doing. I imagine her in bed – since it’s almost midnight – wearing PJ shorts that show off her juicy thighs, her feet tucked up beneath her to highlight her tempting curviness.
Perhaps she’s wearing a tank top, no bra, her nipples poking through the material, her large breasts tempting….
Why not? I text.
It just isn’t.
I chuckle. That’s some explanation. Well then… are you a man or a woman? Give me that much, at least.
A woman, she replies.
So far, honest.
How old are you?
Twenty-one.
My cock shudders, my balls feeling full as they expand with lust erupting through me.
Her age matters because it means she’s got time to give me multiple children, four or five, a number that seemed like a distant dream only yesterday.
But when she walked into that office, she surged into my life along with thoughts for the future.
What do you do? I text.
What do you mean, work?
Yes, I reply. And everything.
I imagine her biting her lip, her flushed cheeks getting even redder. This sort of thing has happened to me before – strangers getting a hold of my private cell – and it’s always resulted in me changing numbers.
But I won’t do that here.
I want to reach through the phone and tenderly stroke my fingers through her hair, somehow stilling my carnal ferocity for a few moments, before I kiss her.
And then the lust will erupt, my body claiming hers, my hands on her hips….
I work as a waitress, she replies, which is half true based on what Aurora has told me. But I want to work for a charity in the public relations department one day. Raising awareness. That sort of thing.
Walking to the edge of the balcony, I lean against the railing, letting the cool night air caress my naked torso.
What sort of charity? I ask.
Road safety, if possible, she replies. My mom passed a year ago from a head-on collision. The other driver was texting at the time, and nobody survived.
I bite down as tightness grips me as I attempt to quantify what she’s telling me.
She’s twenty-one, and her mother is gone….
What about your dad? I ask.
He passed when I was a kid from a workplace accident.
I’m so sorry, that’s awful and truly evil. The world’s a really screwed-up place sometimes.
I know, she replies. But I’ve got lots to keep me busy. My younger sister is in college, and it’s my job to keep us afloat while she studies. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.
Because I’m interested. I want to shout the words to Alice, and they’re the truth. In fact, I’m more interested in this than I’ve been in anything in a long time.
In a stranger’s story? she responds. Why?
Because you’re not a stranger, I want to tell her, but I don’t want to push her too fast. I can’t let out all the need whelming inside of me, all the obsession gripping me, roaring at me to make this happen, to make us happen.
You seem genuine. Far more so than most of the people I deal with.
You can tell that over text?
I almost type…. I could tell it the second you walked into Aurora’s office with your shy, pretty skittishness, flitting gaze, and tempting curves.
