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Especiallywhen she wanted to run.
I had to show her. Had to see my desire reciprocated and have her beg to come back to my apartment with me. And fast.
Because she was holding back and wanted to regret what we’d done.
The way she spoke when doubt clung to her pores had me believing she came from some kind of religious background. Whether it was Catholic school or having overly strict parents, I couldn’t be sure. And I couldn’t take it.
She was mine. The past had to stay where it belonged. In the past.
Then that damned Rhonda and…
It ended all too fast. I couldn’t chase her—that would’ve been taking it one step too far. This fragile, precious flower couldn’t be ripped out of the garden in one soulless tug.
I’ll lay off her, provide her with the space she needs to realize her new reality.
For the weekend.
After that, I’m going to continue where we’d left off at the pool.
Until then, I’m here in my apartment. Following her.
Since the crack of dawn on this summer Sunday morning, I’ve been looking out my window and onto the street. Waiting. Watching. Expecting to see Prue’s car driving out of the building on her way to do whatever it is she does on Sundays.
She must have errands to run. Visiting her parents, maybe? I don’t know. But I want to find out.
At first, I considered stalking her from my place in the stairwell, same as I had yesterday. Then I considered logistics. Like how long it’d take me to go on a bathroom break and how I might miss her.
Perched against my windowsill is better. Where I can leave my laptop aimed at the sidewalk, recording what I might miss in my absence.
Which, apparently, I won’t have to use.
Air surges into my lungs, seeing Prue’s long ponytail outside my window. Wearing a loose, gray T-shirt and black shorts, she storms out of the building. She jogs, heading south, and disappears from my line of view.
In her absence, two options present themselves to me.
One, I already have my sweats and socks on. I can throw on a T-shirt, slip into my sneakers, and sprint out to catch up with her. My strides are longer, my determination burns harder. It wouldn’t be ten minutes before I’m at her side.
And it would end up in a disaster.
I’d be coming on too hot, too fast. I promised myself I’d let her off the hook for the weekend for a reason. Tomorrow night, she’ll have me knocking at her doorstep, coaxing another three orgasms out of her before we have a serious talk. She’ll see reason by then.
I can’t go another minute without her. Option two, it is: breaking into her apartment.
I’m strung out, my cock hard and heavy in my boxers since the moment I opened my eyes.
It doesn’t matter that I have her bikini set here. The set I stole last night. Fuckingsleptwith it.
Masturbated with it, too, this morning. Rubbed her top on my cock while sniffing her bottoms. The smell of chlorine nearly obliterated the musky, fresh scent of Prue, but not entirely. Enough had lingered to carry to my nose. To throw me back to when I feasted on her pussy.
But being as hooked as I am, I’m not satisfied.
I need to come again while being closer to her. Compelled to do it. I have to be quick about it too, before she returns home.
The top T-shirt in the closet gets thrown on my bare chest. It’s white, though it could’ve been gray and torn for all I care, and I still would’ve worn it. Next, I slip into one of the sneakers I have neatly organized on my shoe shelves.
Last but not least, I fish out a paper clip from my improvised, temporary work desk.
My desire is a palpable thing as I leave my apartment and take the steps. Last thing I need is nosy Rhonda wondering what I’m doing, stopping at floor three. The stairs are better. There’s no sign indicating what floor you’re going to. If I bump into Rhonda, all I have to do is continue my jog to the lobby.
