Page 54 of Sexting His Son's Ex
On her knees. On her back. Her mouth full of my cock.
There are so many ways this can end well for the both of us.
“I understand,” she whispers, her voice small and hopeless. “I have to go upstairs. That’s where my apartment is. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
I walk around the desk and stand beside her, stretching out my arm for her to lead the way. “After you.”
“You don’t trust me to pack a bag? Where am I going to go?”
“I don’t know you well enough to answer that, apparently.”
She flinches as if I’ve raised my hand to hit her. “You know me better than anyone else,” she says as she walks away, leaving me with the gift of her beautiful backside.
I follow her, like I’m a dog on a leash, never wanting to be too far away from the one who owns me.
Jovie unlocks a door to the left and swings it open, the stairs creaking as she climbs up to her apartment door. I frown, hating that she lives here. She deserves so much more than…this.
It’s old. She’s kept it in great shape, but is it even up to code? Is she safe here?
I’ll need to buy this building and renovate it too, so I know she’s safe. That will be difficult considering she owns this building. I’ve done my homework on Jovie Morgan, who inherited this shop from her parents after they died. It’s been in the family since the seventies, and I find it remarkable.
She won’t be happy with me if I find a way to buy it. I know if I ask her, she will not accept my offer, especially right now.
That’s okay. I can wait.
I’m a patient man. When I need to be.
She opens her apartment door and I step inside, pleasantly surprised with how spacious it is. It’s mostly one giant room, a studio apartment which is fine since she’s alone. My eyes land on the bed and the same bedspread that was in the videos lie there.
The same videos that made me come harder than I ever have in my entire life. The videos I’ve watched on repeat.
Over. And over. And over again.
I’ve memorized every single sound she made in those videos and it’s my goal to hear them in reality.
“Make yourself at home,” she says, her voice not polite, but not rude either. She’s still afraid, and if I were her, I would be too.
But I’ll never harm her. She doesn’t need to know that yet or I’ll lose my leverage.
“What were you so happy about?”
She tosses her suitcase on the floor, unzips it with hard, jerky movements that have me hold in a laugh. Jovie is cute when she’s mad.
“What?” She asks, blowing a piece of hair out of her face.
“When I walked in, you were happy. What were you happy about?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed to reduce how threatening I must look standing over her.
She lifts her shoulder, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter.” Jovie slides open her chest of drawers, the wood grinding from old age.
The more I study her room, the more I notice how worn her furniture is. Everything is secondhand but I can see the love she has poured into every single piece to make it her own.
And it’s beautiful.
I’ll buy her all-new things, but I have a feeling my girl loves to thrift, and I’ll happily support all of her habits.
“It matters. I want to know.”
She tosses a few shirts in the suitcase and narrows her eyes at me. “It matters? How? You’re kidnapping me to take me to your… what? Manor? Am I even allowed a phone call?”
