Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
As I look down at her helpless before me, I know that I will keep my word to her. I will keep her safe from everything.
Except maybe me.
Chapter Three
Orlando
I jerk when I wake, feeling warmth against me. My eyes fly open. I still when I realize what it is. Her. My little bit is snuggled up against me, her face buried in my neck, her warm breath puffing against my skin. One of her legs is thrown over me and my very hard cock is pressed up against it. She is clinging to me in her sleep and I’m doing the same. My arms are wrapped around in her in a tight hold. I loosen a little, scared I might be hurting her, but she lets out a small little sigh and snuggles even deeper into me.
I have to fight a growl. This is the sweetest torture I’ve ever felt in my life. I take a deep breath and a sugary sweet smell of honey fills my lungs. It's the only way I can even think to describe the smell of her. I’m instantly addicted to it. I lean my head down a little to take a deeper breath of it, running my nose back and forth through her hair.
I growl and my cock gives a jerk. It urges me to roll over on top of her and pull those white panties I saw she had on under my shirt to the side and slide right into her. My mind flashes to all the things I could do to her little body. I growl. I have to get out of this bed.
Carefully, I slide out from the bed without disturbing her. When in the bathroom I strip and get into the shower, hitting hit the cold on full blast, trying to shock my bad back, but it does nothing. I look down at my cock and know it’s not going to go down unless I do something about it.
The feeling is so fucking foreign. I can’t remember the last time I masturbated. There’s been no drive. Sure, I get hard from time to time. Not because I’m turned on but because I’m a man and that shit happens, but there was never a desire to do anything about it. Not since I came home. I thought that part of me had died and it hadn't bothered me. Now it’s rushing to life.
I wrap my hand around my cock and give it a hard stroke. I’m angry with myself for the thoughts I had about the girl in my bed. It was wrong. She was helpless. Scared and clearly on the run from someone, but my body gave no fucks.
I growl as I pump faster, picturing her in my bed. It doesn't take long and I’m cumming hard. Years of what I can only guess is pent-up, unknown need shoot from my cock. I try and keep quiet, but another loud growl is pulled from me. I drop back onto the bench in my walk-in shower and hang my head as I try to catch my breath. I don’t know how long I sit there, drowning in a mix of shame and pleasure.
I stand then, and finally wash myself, making quick work of my morning routine. Once I’m dressed I walk over to my bed and check on her. She lies there peacefully. The bruise on her cheek looks worse, but the cut is better. I place a few pain relievers and a glass of water next to the bed, along with a note in case she wakes up, telling her to come downstairs if she feels like it. If not, I’ll be back soon to check on her. I hope to be back before she wakes. I don’t want her waking alone in a strange bed.
I need to go look in her car. Otherwise I’d stay until she woke up. I want to see if I can find something out about her. Even just a name would make me feel better. I hate not knowing anything about her. Then I can try and find out who she is running from. My steps falter when I think how it could be a husband or boyfriend. I grit my teeth. Jealousy slices through me like a hot knife through butter, almost knocking the air right out of my lungs.
I push it back and head out the front door, running towards the detached garage where I house extra vehicles. The rain is still coming down hard, and I wonder how long these storms are going to last. I know they said we’d be hit one after another for the next few days.
When I walk over to the car, I know the thing is totaled. A backpack is sitting in the floorboard of the passenger side, so I grab it and pull everything out of the glovebox, too. The rest of the car is clean. Nothing else but shattered glass. I head back into the house and into my office. I want to go through it now. Marta greets me moments later with a cup of coffee as I drop the stuff down onto my desk.