Page 134 of Good Touch, Bad Touch Collection
Against the wall rests a gift I grabbed as I left my place this morning, fresh out of the shower, ready for another session with the girl that has gotten into my soul.
I texted her last night to make sure she was settled in and okay. I already knew she was at the hotel in her room, because I’m watching her like a psychopath on the tracking app, as well as watching her every move and keystroke on her laptop.
She Googled me five times.
First, just King Hertzof.
Next, King Hertzof girlfriend.
Then, King Hertzof photos.
And, King Hertzof criminal record.
Finally, King Hertzof bar fight.
That’s my girl.
I texted her to tell her goodnight and sweet dreams.
She needs her sleep.
I, on the other hand, don’t.
I need her.
I rap my knuckles on the door.
“Baby, it’s me. Open up.”
A shadow darkens the peephole, and my chest swells with pride. I told her last night no matter what, when someone comes to the door, you look at them before you let them in, even if it’s me.
I’m hoping she’s come to terms that I’m not just a client, and she needs to drop the whole ‘I can’t do this’ professional conduct bullshit.
The door swings open, and I rush inside, desperate to be close to her again, grabbing the accessory I brought with me, then kicking the door shut behind me.
Bam. Bam. Bam.My pulse rages in my chest and my eardrums as I take her in.
She steps out of reach before I grab her, walking toward the windows before turning my way. The view of the Detroit River and the Canadian Club sign on the other side of the waterway frame her in the distance.
She’s back in a pair of black stretch pants, and the seam highlights the indent of her pussy. She’s paired the pants with a pink tank top today, and she’s bare-footed, which makes my balls ache for some reason.
Her toenails are painted a sparkly green, matching her eyes, and her tits look even more tempting than yesterday, her nipples pebbling under her shirt. I’ve never needed anything as much in my life as I need to be inside of her.
Her hair is damp and fresh, hanging in natural curls around her face, with the blue sky out the window behind her… she’s a masterpiece.
I set the gift on the floor and walk forward, following the trail of her Sweet Tart scent, ready to dive into this pool of lust and obsession.
I need to figure out how I’m going to keep myself together, keep my no nutting vow to my team, but keep her in my life without upending everything I’ve worked for.
As I get closer, I notice she won’t meet my eyes. My heart drops as she squeezes them shut and a single tear drops down her cheek.
“What happened? Did you get hurt?” Wild panic aches in my chest as I bolt across the room. “I told you not to open the door unless you knew who it was!”
She does that waist squeezing thing again, doubling over as I leap over the couch between us, my fucking foot catching on the back, sending me airborne. I land with anoof,snapping a leg on the coffee table as I roll to the floor, then bounce up and barrel forward until her shoulders are in my hands.
“Jesus.” Her face screws up, watching me make an ass of myself, then she shakes her head like it’s too much to try to figure out right now and says. “Anyway, nothing happened. No one hurt me.”
This is not nothing. She may be the empathic whatever, but I have a connection to this girl that runs straight into my heart, and something is most definitely wrong.
