She took the cameras down in her old apartment. She deleted my key logger hack on her old laptop.
I respected her decision. I pulled back. I didn't even try to infiltrate her new place downtown. I didn't even try to hack her wi-fi and insert a new key logger.
I backed the fuck off.
I gave herspace.
That was the mistake.
I have no idea what she does in that new apartment. I didn't keep a good eye on the gym and what she's been doing in there.
Maybe Ryan has been flirting with her for months—subtle compliments, lingering eye contact across the room, that practiced charm he probably deploys without thinking.
Maybe this whole time, while I was carefully curating my distance, he was slowly circling closer.
Or, more likely, he never noticed her at all.
And then… one day… he's in the airport—why? Why was he there? I'll find out, but doesn't really matter. He was. At the baggage claim with nothing but a backpack. And they see each other.
She's transformed.
From mousy introvert to stunning Instagram fantasy.
He's transfixed, recovers quickly enough to pull the heaviest suitcase from the conveyor, small talk.
Wow, look at you!
Yeah, I look hot, don't I? Do you wanna fuck me now?
Right now, my good little slut. Right the fuck now. Bend over this suitcase, pull your dress up, let me spread those perfect cheeks apart and see that glistening pussy waiting for me.
I'm absolutely soaking for you, Ryan. Please, I need you inside me! Fuck me right here against the baggage claim! Don't hold back—I want it rough!
I scoff.
Ridiculous. New hair doesn't change an entire personality.
Also, I should definitely not quit my day job. That pathetic little fantasy I just conjured was… frankly embarrassing.
I'm absolutely soaking for you, Ryan?
Scarletta wouldn't say that. She'd beg for his cock., though.
Please, please fuck me.
That's more her style. She'd probably call him Master.
Give me that cock, Master.
I can picture that easy enough. I'm the fucking one who trained her to say those words out loud instead of locking them up in a story, after all.
I keep spiraling.
Ryan would pin her against his truck in the airport parking garage. Scarletta would melt against him, her new nails scratching down his back, those purple-tipped fingers digging into his shoulders.
He'd hike up that black sundress, discover she's wearing nothing underneath and he'd finger her, right there in public.
She'd moan his name. Beg him to fuck her.
