"Fine. You've made your choice. I just hope it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass,” I grit out.
She stands to leave and says a few words on her way toward the door. Things like thank you and other bullshit pleasantries tumble from her mouth as she closes the door behind her. The air in the room changes, no longer charged and now kind of empty. I hate that she's even partially right about Mancuso's guy seeing her as a bigger threat if she stays here. On the other hand, it doesn't sit right with me to let her go and not know what she's up to. It's fucking insane, and what she does with her time is none of my goddamn business. But for the last few weeks Squat has kept me up to date on her comings and goings. Everything from what kind of takeout she orders to where she shops and how often has been logged, in code, in a palm-sized notebook that he carries around in his back pocket.
Innocuous little details like knowing that she and her cousin Mindy eat at Sea Salt Pizza about twice a week, and that she's stopped by Early Bird Hardware twice in the last two weeks, but has only purchased something once, have left me wondering about all of the other dumb shit she does that I don't know about. Squat hasn't been able to figure out what kind of pizza she orders at Sea Salt yet, but he did get her coffee order for me. I should have paid attention when I ran into her there, but I was much too focused on pissing her off. I would be a liar if I said I had no idea why I want to know what kind of pizza she likes or what kind of coffee she drinks.
The last few minutes I spent with Holly Mercer make me realize something that I'd rather not admit: I like her. But it’s more than that. It’s deeper. She’s infuriating and pushy, and she doesn’t give a shit that I wear this cut. She is who she is, and fuck if that ain’t some kind of beautiful stupidity.
I don't want to like her, and I don't want the complication of trying to insert her into my life. But it's there, and I don't think it's going to go away anytime soon.
The door creaks as it opens, and there stands Elle. Her long black hair cascades over her shoulders and falls the top her old, worn brown leather jacket. Like always, she's wearing white jeans and a fitted top that stretches at her perfect fucking tits. She sees me notice the curves of her body, and a smirk appears at her lips. It’s easy between us. We both know what we’re after, and neither one is interested in fucking that up, and right now my dick couldn’t be more thankful.
After her father's death, it took me some time to shake the feeling of guilt that crept in because I'd been fucking my best friend's little girl for years and lying to him about it. I don't know that he would be pissed because one of his brothers did him like that as much as he'd be pissed that the asshole hadn't made Elle his Old Lady.
"You look tired," she says. As she walks into the room, she lets the door close behind her and twists the lock into place. There is only one reason she would lock the door. She doesn't move fast or anything, but it feels like one moment she's across the room and then she's right on top of me. First, she shrugs off her jacket and tosses it on top of the washer and dryer nearby. Then it's her top, and then her shoes. Her jeans slip down her long legs slowly, and finally she's just in her bra and panties. I crook my finger, and she drops to her knees. Her gorgeous fucking rack is in my face and her hot pussy just a foot away, I let out a heavy breath. My muscles tighten as I lean forward and move onto my knees. She places her hands on my shoulders and presses her tits into my chest. Her nipples are hard as they press into my cut. It's always good between us, and I'm more than up for a guaranteed orgasm, but tonight I just don't feel like doing any work.