24
BASTION
Sensing that Hattie needs some space, I don’t fight her when she leaves my bed. I blow out a breath and push my hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling.
That was… fuck.
It’s not like I expected any of that to happen, though I’ve been planning to get us there since she arrived. The only reason I backed off yesterday was because after our almost-kiss on Friday night, I wanted her to feel what it was like not to have my attention. I wanted her to miss my affection so that when I again bestowed it on her, she’d be receptive.
I’d say that plan worked. Just as it always has with my conquests.
Maybe a little too well, because now I’m sitting here with a raging hard-on that I’m going to have to take care of myself.
No. I refuse to beat off with Hattie on my mind. That is not part of the plan.
I’m supposed to be seducing her, not the other way around.
But Jesus Christ, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
I’ve been with a lot of women, but none who gave themselves over to me like she did. It makes me want more—my face between her legs, my cock in her mouth, her cunt.
No, dammit, think of something else.
The remembrance of why she was in my bed floats through my mind then—the nightmare that was really more of a memory. I was nine and found my mom passed out in her own vomit, and I thought she was dead.
“Fuck that.” I refuse to take a trip down memory lane.
I twist out of bed and stalk into my en suite, turning the cold water on in the shower. It’s not until I’m exiting the shower five minutes later that I remember that Hattie brushed me off today.
She’s new in this city. What the hell could she be up to?
Only one way to find out.
An hour later, my question is answered as I watch her disappear through the doors of a church a few blocks away from my condo building. I can’t help but wonder if she already had plans to be here today or if this is a result of what happened this morning. Maybe she feels the need to confess her sins. God forbid she had an orgasm.
Since I have no desire to walk through those doors, I wait until the service is over for her to leave. It’s clear the service is finished when groups of people make their way through the door and down the stairs, but Hattie doesn’t come out. In fact, it’s notuntil most people have left that she walks through the doors, making conversation with a man I’m guessing might be a couple years older than her.
She laughs at something he says, and my hands fist, my jaw setting. I’m even more annoyed when I realize that she appears relaxed with him. I only see that side of her sometimes. Lately, she’s always on edge when she’s around me.
They make their way down the steps together before saying their goodbyes and heading in opposite directions. I wait until she’s far enough ahead that I won’t be seen before I follow her.
She’s definitely not headed back to the condo based on the direction she’s going, unless she’s forgotten her way back. But within a few minutes, it’s clear she has a destination in mind when she pulls out her phone a few times to glance at it, as if checking her current location against the directions on the screen.
As I follow her, I tell myself that it’s only because I need to know where her head is.
After a ten-minute walk, she looks at the sign over the door of an old brick building before entering. I don’t slow my pace. I’m unable to see what this place is from this far, and I didn’t walk all this way not to find out where she’s going.
I draw closer and realize it’s a soup kitchen for the homeless. She must be looking to volunteer here. Once I’ve passed the building, I continue walking, telling myself I’ve seen what I needed to see.
Still, for some reason, it’s hard to walk away, to not wait outside until she reappears and see where she might go next. So instead, I’ll do the next best thing—I’ll go through her room at the condo and see what I might find.
A half an hour later, I’m going through the things she’s unpacked, and the only interesting thing I’ve managed to find thus far is the book on her nightstand. This one is way smuttier than the one she was reading in Wisconsin, and when I see the price sticker from the airport bookstore, I figure she must’ve bought it on her way here.
I open the nightstand on one side of the bed and find spools of yarn and what I think are crochet needles. In the other drawer I find socks and… her underwear.
The sight makes my dick twitch. I’d forgotten that she doesn’t wear plain cotton panties.
I think back to this morning. Though I didn’t get to see them, they definitely weren’t lace. I reach into the drawer and pull out a pair of silky maroon ones. They must’ve been like these because they were smooth.
