“I want that,” I whisper through a shuddered breath. “I shouldn’t want it, after everything that I’ve been through and the things that I’ve done but I do. I wantyou,and I have no idea why.”
At the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, Kincaid slowly lowers me to the ground. The difference in height sends my head spinning but I manage to keep upright, and just before I can step out of his hold, he pulls me back then shouts to whoever is coming down the steps.
”Whoever the fuck is coming down, go back. I’m not done yet.”
The grating of Jay’s voice rings through my ears. “Are you done getting your dick wet?”
I roll my eyes at his comment and just as Kincaid is about to snap back, I interrupt him to speak to Jay. “It seems you’ve forgotten our little chat from before. I can always make that threat come true, Jay.” Kincaid cocks his brow at me then he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
Jay shuffles on the steps, then I hear him retreat.
“Fuck, you makemewanna apologise for something I haven’t even done.” Kincaid groans, causing me to smile.
“That can be arranged,” I retort, then slip out of his hold and make my way over to the steps. I hear him chuckle behind me so I turn to face him. “Pick me up at seven tomorrow night?”
His dark eyes trail from my bare feet, all the way up my legs, over my stomach then to my eyes. He wets his bottom lip withhis tongue, the simple act causes a fire to ignite in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ll be here.” He says with a wink.
My phone has been blowing up all night and I haven’t had the brain capacity to check the messages because a certain someone, a certainmanhas filled my mind all night. I could hardly sleep, every time I closed my eyes, he was there. His face, his voice, the way he handled my fiery exterior, completely unafraid to get burnt.
Kincaid is something that I’ve never experienced before. He’s gentle but demanding, soft and sharp. He sparks something inside of me that I think has been dead for quite a while.
Ever since that night, three years ago, I’ve felt hollow. Just going through the motions. I can put on a mask, yes, but deep down, I’m lonely. I can feed into these men’s fantasies and get what I want, but really it’s not enough. No matter how many men I get rid of on this earth, it’ll never fix my broken soul. It’ll never repair what Chris did to me, or what monsters like him do to other women.
Sometimes, I feel as though I’m fighting a losing battle but I’ll never give up, I’ll never stop and maybe I’ll let Kincaid see me for who I really am.
Steam swirls around the kitchen from the coffee machine. The warm rays of the sun are peaking through the treeline that surrounds my home. Whilst my coffee brews, I grab my phonefrom the dining table, the very same table where Chris ate his last meal. The thought makes me smirk because now, he’s being pickled in little jars.
I swipe across some of the notifications that don’t hold my interest, there’s a text message from Albert to confirm that he received my payment for last night's cleaning job. I send him a quick thank you, then scroll through the various messages that arrived throughout the night from the dating app I use to catch these vile bastards.
Random messages cluster together across the screen, a few of them making my eyes roll.
“Hey baby, you got any more pics you can send me?”
Bore off.
“Hows about we skip the dinner stage and head straight to dessert?”
Is this guy for real?
I clear all the ones that are asking me for titty pics, and the odd ones saying they have a sausage that they could feed me, until one stands out.
“You’re such a fucking slut. I bet you’d scream like a little bitch when I find you and shove my cock inside that tainted cunt. I bet I could make you bleed for me as I rape your tight little ass.”
So,Leroythinks he can take me on does he? Does he really think that I won’t find him? That I won’t skin him alive and turn his fucking insides into soup?
Don’t fucking tease me with a good time.
I quickly serve up my coffee, adding two sugars and a dash of milk then I sit myself down and open up the dating website on my laptop.
In between sipping on my coffee, my fingers fly across the keyboard, collecting all the information that I can on Leroy. I grab the pictures he’s uploaded on to his profile and drop theminto an image reverse website. Anticipation buzzes around in my system like a swarm of bees as I watch the website work away, searching the wide web for Leroy. Then, it gives me exactly what I want.
I click on his social media page.
Leroy Jenkins.
Forty-five.
