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There’s every possibility that Thomas slit my father’s throat and went home the next day or two, and then made love to her.
She probably welcomed him into her arms, proud of her husband going about his daily tasks with due diligence.
It kills me to even imagine it, but it helps me maintain focus. Since she saw me naked, there’s always been that urgent to see her in that manner too. A petty craving it is, but one nonetheless…and I hate myself for it.
I spite myself for the slight elation that I feel when she talks to me informally, and for wanting her to say more.
“Well, the pool is always open. Not much danger happens when we’re within the walls of the house, so, you don’t need to look like one of the men in Black. You’re scaring the damn kid.” She chuckles again. “Bring your swimsuit next time, okay?”
I let out a sigh as opposed to an agreeing laugh. It’s easier on my conscience. “Noted, ma’am.”
“Rebecca.”
I turn to her.Did she just say her name?
“Call me Rebecca,” she elucidates. “Makes me feel younger.” She takes the last gulp of her drink before stepping into the pool.
I won’t lie, I shamelessly watch her swim. The rippling of the water adds an extra contouring to her already bouncing curves and it completely scrambles my brain.
The only part of me that isn’t jelly is my groin. It’s rock hard, and hungry for her skin.
I shouldn’t feel this, but it’s completely impossible not to. This is something that I’ve been secretly waiting for all week, and having just a little percentage of it fulfilled is supposed to give me joy and satisfaction.
Nope.
It instead fills me with frustration and an ungodly craving for my boss.
All I really want to do is to monitor Thomas. Every other thing is an association with the mission. The goal is Thomas’s death.
The death of the father of the girl I have grown fond of so dearly. Yes, I like Skylar, more than I care to admit. Her innocence and willful spirit keep me amused more than I show.
Somehow, it makes me regret having to want her father dead so badly. I know that at the end of it all l, this is going to breed some nasty friction between us in the future.
She might hate me now, as much as I hate her father, because I’m about to commit the same sin Thomas did, no matter the motive.
Murder is murder.
I have no inherent regrets, though. By the time her father is dead, I would go back to Oman, and probably never set footin the United States again…at least not with the aim of seeing Skylar.
There would be no friction to burn our lives because there would be no surface for it. If Skylar can’t see me, then she won’t hate me.
Once their swimming session is over, I’m relieved a little, because after at least thirty minutes of intermittent erections Rebecca finally throws on a towel that numbs my sexual senses.
From there, she disappears into the house, I’m guessing for either sleep or work.
Skylar smiles at me from the edge of the pool and I groan. The girl isn’t even a bit tired. Ten hours of sleep gets her like this…and I’m sure she even took a nap in her preschool.
“Now, we can play!” she screams and climbs out of the pool and sprints to me.
“No, no…you’re wet!” I put my hands out to catch her right before she slams into me, ruining my suit.
Jeez!
I lift her up as she giggles excitedly, her golden hair dripping water onto my sleeves.
“You’re a piece of work, you.” I shake my head and carry her to one of the pool chairs where a towel is waiting for her.
She promptly, and without any help, begins to dry herself. This is one of the things I love about Skylar. For lots of things, she's independent, or at least she insists on being so.
