Page 5 of He Loves Me Lots


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The answer lives right across the street from the laundromat, and the thought makes me smile like a maniac.

The evening crowd thinned on the sidewalk, giving way to the streetwalkers—different than people coming home from work. The kind of folks I instantly feel the need to protect her from.

Before I even knew her name, I vowed that as quaint and “hip” as living down in this part of town might be, she wouldn’t be living here much longer.

Not if I have anything to do with it.

It was dawn until I saw her again.

More than one person changed their mind about laundry day when they saw a six-foot-eight guy in a two-thousand-dollar suit… with no laundry.

I stood by the giant window with faded pictures of giant suds and the letters of the word “laundromat” that were just high enough to cover my insane arousal.

It should’ve been a long night, but everything that happened in the moments until seeing her again is like white noise, static.

The world is only real when I know that she’s in it and time stands still when I’m waiting for my next fix—my next dose of her, which I already know is going to be a forever thing.

It’s the kind of thing I need on tap, always by my side.

In my mind and in my eyes, whoever she is, she’s already under my skin.

So deep inside me, it only seems right to want to return the favor.

Either she’s an early riser and has someplace to be, or both.

Taking more care to stay out of sight as I tail her, I see that “someplace else to be” for myself.

A flower shop.

And unless she’s getting paid the big bucks for opening and closing, I’m guessing it’s her own business… something I should mind more of my own. However, it’s too late for that now.

I’d never be able to go back to my usual life after seeing her. Not knowing where she is or what she’s doing suddenly feels like I should have been here for her all along.

But as much as my instinct is to just go grab her, throw her over my shoulder, and explain everything on the way to our bed in the clouds of my penthouse, I’m fully aware it doesn’t work that way.

Try telling that to Mr. About Fucking Time in my pants here…

With no laundromat across the street, and rain on the way, a high-arched doorway to an empty building is my best vantage point.

And boy, is it good to watch her instead of the outside of her building.

Her strawberry blond hair is back in a tight ponytail. Those curves I’ve been etching into my mind are finally covered with a thick denim apron.

Seeing her lift her arms as she hooks the apron over herself, I moan shamelessly. Those heavy breasts almost look like they’re sighing. They need as much attention as the rest of her. And I know I’ve got plenty to spare.

But to my satisfaction, there’s enough of her to look perfect either way. Apron or not.

I’m already picturing her out of all her clothes, though, with that ponytail swishing for a different reason—bouncing on the end of my cock, which I have to keep adjusting through my pocket.

But fortunately, nobody else can see. The rain’s heavy, and everyone passing by has their eyes front and down.

Someplace else to be.

Me? I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. But I need to get closer. To fucking talk to her.

How can I claim her, give her the life I know she deserves from across the street?

She has one visitor, an old lady who looks like the owner of the coffee place next door.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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