AllFreeNovel
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Merry Christmas. You really want that favor. I wonder what I have that your keepers can’t get you.
I can’t put that in writing, but I can’t wait to tell you in person.
Oh, keeping me on my toes.
Or your back, your knees, against the wall…I delete all of that.
How was your day?
I catch myself grinning. Simple joys like asking someone about their day. I haven’t done that in years.
Mila
My day was great. The kids loved their presents and my sister is feeling reasonably well. I splurged on a whole huge turkey but it didn’t fit into the oven. LOL.
Fuck. She buys a turkey for Christmas and calls it splurging? Do I pay her that little? Are those medical bills so steep? And her oven is too small to fit the bird? Where the fuck does she live?
Red edges around my vision. At her situation. At my inability to help her out. Fuck me.
Who’s your sister’s doctor?
The three dots blink across the screen. Then they disappear. Then reappear. How long does it take to type a name?
Dr. Christensons in Chelsea. Why do you ask?
I guess this conversation isn’t as playful as the other nights, but I can’t cope with this feeling of uselessness.
I might have someone better.
Gio, her doctor is good.
I’m sure he is. Anyway, I’m on a screen ban, so good night.
??
Good night.
I look up Dr. Christensons and shoot a message to London who knows this world better.
Then I email my concierge and pour myself an inch of whiskey. I sit by the fireplace and spend the last moments of the day as I have been every night since California.
Fantasizing about Mila Ward.
Her infectious smile. Her annoying chatter. Her defiant chin-ups. The toss of her silky hair. Her rapid typing on the phone. The way she challenges me. The way she doesn’t take shit from me. The way she tackles her work and still spreads kindness, even though life hasn’t been kind to her. How she looks at me with those huge eyes.
The way her lips burned mine, and how her body melted into me. Those curves and subtle responses to any accidental touch. Nothing about my thoughts—or our texting every night—has been appropriate and will probably get me in trouble.
It’s wrong.
Yet I can’t stop.
My thoughts quickly turn into what could have been if I hadn’t bailed that last night in Napa. How would she look screaming my name?
As every night, my cock hardens. I take another sip of whiskey and consider a cold shower. Not that it’s been helping me. Fisting my cock and finding release to images of Mila is not enough.
I don’t know what the woman has done to me, but I need the real thing. I need her. I want her.
Self-control is something I’ve never struggled with, and here we are. I’m fucking pining after a woman.
