AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nothing good ever comes from it, but now I’m wrapped up in it like a Christmas gift no one asked for, and now I am not knocking. I am bringing down this stupid door. I am shredding it to pieces with my fists.
I don’t even know what in the world I am doing. I don’t recognize the woman standing in this hallway losing her shit about an employee who, until a couple of weeks ago, was purely there for her entertainment. This is not the Kira Clark I crafted over the last decade and a half.
I hate it. I hate him for doing this to me. I hate myself for allowing some inconsequential, pathetic man to bring me down to my knees in the blink of an eye.
But do I leave? Do I fire his ass and find someone who doesn’t complicate my life? Someone who doesn’t lift up the dust of my past? No, I keep pounding, and I add some yelling on top of that.
“Open the fuck up, Levidis, or I swear I will take this door down.” I don’t even recognize my own voice as I speak. It is unhinged. And I don’t do unhinged.
“Shut the hell up. Someone is trying to actually sleep here!” I hear one of the neighbors howling from behind the next door.
And like the mature adult I am, I yell back, “Then shut up and sleep!”
Fuck, what is happening to me…
Just as I am about to come to my senses, the door opens, and a young, dark-haired girl with pretty brown eyes, wearing an oversized T-shirt—Vassar’s—stands on the other side, squinting at me with those sleepy eyes that she is rubbing her confusion out of.
“Do you need some help?” she asks me, her voice soothing and soft while I am a seething, raging mess over here.
This girl is my opposite in every fucking way. No wonder he runs away to her every time. She is a picture perfect of wholesome. She is someone who is ready to settle down, wear a big puffy ballgown, and make a whole herd of kids. When I am someone, you ship off to the madhouse and lock away from society.
And did she just seriously ask me if I needed some help? Calmly? As if I wasn’t just throwing their door down?
Fuck. Me. I should leave. I should leave him alone and let him enjoy his simple, pleasant life.
But I don’t. Because only a compassionate person who has a soul and a heart is capable of that kind of chivalry, and I don’t have either. So, naturally, my scowl deepens, my eyes narrow down a little more, and I push her out of the way as I enter the apartment without an invite.
“Wow,” she says, rocking back on her heels from my shove.
I don’t bother taking a look around the place. I only bother with one question. “Where is he?”
“Vassar?”
“You have any other boyfriends living here with you?” I deadpan, and she looks as confused as ever. “Vassar! There is no point in hiding from me. I own you, remember?” I yell out loudly since his little girlfriend is of no help.
“Shh, stop yelling,” she whisper-shouts. “You will wake up—” But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence because another door at the end of the apartment opens up—or flies open, more like—and a nearly naked Vassar is standing right there. His eyes are blazing with that same fury that mine are. I can see his flaring nostrils through the half-dark apartment, but nothing can take my eyes off his naked chest.
Fuck, this man is beautiful.
And the pads of my fingers tingle, remembering how he felt to my touch this morning.
He is not ripped like those athletes I normally take for a ride; he is just perfect. Smooth, toned body. Flat stomach, outlined by muscle lines on both sides and a trail of dark hair right in the middle, leading into his sweatpants.
And fuck me again. The sweatpants. The ones that don’t hide a thing, and I see the outline of his large dick as clear as a day even though we are in a very much dark room. Maybe it’s because I know exactly how it feels to have him pressed into my body or down my throat. Or maybe he is simply that big, he can’t hide it.
But I think I am drooling. And I am instantly wet. Soaked.
Fuck him for turning my anger into lust in mere seconds. I want to yell and kill somebody, not fuck.
But if I’d known he looked this damn good in stupid sweatpants, I would make that a fucking mandatory uniform for him alone. I would eye the fuck out of him each day while imagining how fucking big and thick he was behind those pants.
Vassar doesn’t slam the door as he comes towards me, no, he softly closes it, and I get another peek at those tattoos of his, the ones I can’t stop thinking about. The ones I want to trace with my tongue and learn every secret behind them.
Because there are secrets. These tattoos are not for art enjoyment. They are battle scars, and I must learn his.
Maybe a normal woman would feel awkward having these inappropriate thoughts about a man whose girlfriend is standing a few feet away from me, but I think we already established that I amnotnormal.
And maybe he isn’t either because he comes straight at me. He comes with such force any other weak girl would back away, but I stand still until he is so close I can smell the mint toothpaste off his mouth. I pick out that leather scent from his skin that Iassume comes from his body wash, and I feel the searing heat of his naked flesh calling out to me.
