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I’ve been up in the office a few times today. Each time, she’s so engrossed in her work that shepretendsto pay no attention to me. I’m not an idiot, though and I can see the way her shoulders tense when I come in the room and I almost laugh.
So this morning got to her, too.
You want the truth? I’m fucking reeling. Having her lips wrapped around my cock has been a personal fantasy for years, but seeing the real thing?
Fucking nirvana.
If I’d thought I could wipe this addiction away by dosing myself with her until I was tired of her, I was dead fucking wrong.
Now, I only want more.
I meant what I said earlier. Someday she’ll learn the truth, but before that happens, I plan to have her so fucking addicted to me, that she won’t even think about leaving.
Is it right?
No.
Do I give a fuck?
Also no.
Drying her tears last night solidified that, but then I’ve always been in this deeper than her.
By five, I let Ian and Puke cut out early, but Hannah’s not done in the office, so I stay back, cleaning up, organizing shit. I’m not used to this new domestic reality we’ve taken on in the last seventy-two hours, so I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.
It’s not until I’m contemplating throwing Hannah over my shoulder and carrying her home to finish what we started this morning that my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Ian.
Odd.
“Hello?
“They’re coming.”
I don’t have to ask to know who the fucktheyare.
“Fuck,” I bite, tossing the wrench I’m holding onto the tool cart. It rattles with a deafening clang, but it does nothing to drown out the roar of blood in my ears. “Where?”
“A couple blocks away. You need to get Hannah out of there,” Ian says and my entire body goes on alert.
Fuck.
Fuck.
And then, before I can even fucking react, the rumble from multiple engines sounds down the street.
Shit.
“They’re already here.”
“I’m coming back,” Ian declares.
“No. Go home.” I’m already heading toward the office door.
“Mason—”
“Go home, Ian.”
