Page 58 of Trouble from Abroad
Backpack slung over her shoulder, she drifts toward the front door, pulling on her headphones and tapping her iPad to start a new Duolingo lesson. Spanish this week. Last week, it was Italian. She’s six and already outpacing me.
I hover until she presses play. “¿Dónde está la biblioteca?” echoes faintly from her headphones.
Good enough.
I bolt.
Two steps at a time. Trying not to think. Failing.
I shouldn’t check on Mia. I know better.
I should give her space. Let her rest. Be grateful she didn’t run screaming from the house this morning. Hell, I should still be downstairs with my daughter, doing responsible things like cleaning up after breakfast or planning a weekend museum trip. Instead, I’m halfway to Mia’s door with a semi and a fast-slipping grip on my good ol’ common sense.
I pause.
I should text her and leave. That’s what a sane man would do.
My hand hovers over my phone, thumb grazing the edge, caught between the vivid memory of her moaning and the low, steady hum slipping beneath her door.
Did she leave already and forget to turn something off?
Or is she still in there, and I get to see her before I go?
It’s not loud. Barely there. But it crawls up my spine like a warning.
I step closer.
Could be a fan. Could be a toothbrush. Could be none of my business.
I bring my hand to the doorknob and hesitate. I really do.
Then a sound. Barely audible, a breath or a whimper or a?—
All logic goes quiet.
I push the door slightly open. Slowly. Just to make my voice heard. Just to make sure she’s?—
“Mia?” I call softly.
No answer.
A flicker of panic slams into me. Irrational. Immediate.
Why isn’t she answering? What if something happened? What if she fainted? What if…
I don’t think. I move.
And my brain detonates.
Mia’s propped against a stack of pillows. A fucking masterpiece. Camisole bunched up, baring one perfect full breast. Flushed like sin itself. Her thick thighs are spread wide, her hand buried between them, and my cock hardens in an instant.
The toy in her grip whirs softly. Too soft for the devastation it’s causing.
Her chest heaves with each short breath. Her mouth hangs open, letting tiny moans run free.
My first observation is medical.
Pupils dilated. Skin flushed. Breathing shallow. Pelvis tilted to relieve pressure?—
