I expect a smirk on her face when I lift my gaze up, one of those obnoxious smiles that makes me want to spank her, yet, to my surprise, she seems to be in shock.
Our eyes stay connected briefly, like birds flapping their wings against each other in flight, before we both hear the knock on the door.
“Wait here,” I say, regaining my composure.
Seconds later, Cosimo hands me a couple of hangers.
“Things all right outside?” I ask.
“Everything’s fine.”
With that, he quietly retreats, and I close the door.
On my way over, I check the time on my watch. It’s almost midnight.
I need to get out of this house before something worse than this happens.
Pushing through the bathroom door, I speak.
“Here. Pick one.”
Then I shift my focus to her and notice that she’s crouched down, her back to me, as she’s collecting what's left of her dress.
The bottom of my suit jacket almost touches the shiny tiles, setting a stark contrast to her red coral heels, before she pushes up and turns around, and her beauty hits me like a rocket.
She’s done something to her hair––perhaps run her fingers through it––and then, removed the smudged mascara from her eyes, and the most important change, her bare breasts touch the inside of my jacket.
Half moons hidden in the shadows.
Half moons peering at me, her nipples hard.
She still wears her white shorts, which are now drenched and leave nothing to the imagination, and heels, but there’s nothing else under my jacket.
Patiently, she’s waiting for me to finish my inspection.
I’m so hard, I can barely suppress my need to adjust myself.
This is so wrong.
Wrong and fruitless.
I try to talk myself into the idea that this is nothing more than biology. Little stupid molecules linking hands together and planning to dance on my grave.
I shift to face the vanity and make myself busy with my tie. It all works great, although I feel the heat of her stare on my back, like it can’t find a way to land.
She doesn’t move. No picking up her new dresses. No checking them.
The devil knows where I am in my journey.
She must know.
She may be young, but she is smart beyond her years.
A glance in the mirror gives me a perfect view of myself as I expertly produce a smooth tie knot, and of her silhouette in the background.
Her slightly inclined profile tells me she is contemplating something else.
I won’t be here to hear the rest of the story, as I have no interest in it.
