She’s exactly where I left her, tucked in her bed, cuddling her rugged Mr. Mickey Mouse doll. It’s like she was waiting for me.
Bella doesn’t need to worry about school anymore. There’s no reason for her to still be under the same roof as Marcus and Greg. And yet, there she lies, waiting for me. My girl knew I’d come back for her, because I would never just leave her.
I’m not sure how long I’ve stood here, staring at her, familiarizing myself with having her bracelet back on my wrist after so long without it. She’s so vulnerable like this, tucked under the blanket I got her, dark hair fanned around her like an angel, golden skin illuminated by the moonlight spilling in through the slit between the curtains. Her soft breaths fill the room like a siren beckoning me closer.
I’m helplessly drawn to her as I move closer with silent footsteps, careful not to wake her. There will be a time for that, but not today.
I let myself touch her face. Her skin is so smooth, so perfect. I may make art, but she is art made flesh. Every stroke, every color. Masterpiece doesn’t come close to describing her.
Even with her asleep with not a care in the world, I’m entranced. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I’d die if it would make her happy.
At the risk of waking her, I kiss her lips. I need to feel them, even if just for a second. I need another reminder of how soft they are, and how sweet she tastes.
I can’t help myself from pulling her plump pink bottom lip in between my teeth. For most of my life, I’ve seen her bottom lip quiver. I wanted to know what it felt like to nibble on it, whether I could feel it tremble as I take the rest of her.
I still when Bella stirs. A breathy sound leaves her, just like it did when I had her legs wrapped around me over two and a half years ago. It would have been so easy to slide her pants down her legs and make her shatter around me.
My cock strains against my pants. Every noise in my head tells me to throw my plans out of the window and steal her away now, figure the rest out later.
She’s real. She’s not just a drawing or a part of my dreams. She’s flesh and bone, the only thing that matters. I can see her shape beneath the sheets. The curve of her waist and the arch of her ass.
It’s almost painful to look at because of how hard I’m getting, seeing the outline of her body under the cover of darkness and her sheets. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t this horny when I was a teenager.
No, actually, I was. I was probably worse. I used to be voice-activated. She’d laugh, and I’d be on like a light.
Unable to resist the urge, I slowly slide the blanket down her body. It’s the tail’s end of summer, so the nighttime chill is bearable—but not for Bella. I inhale sharply when I see her nipples poking against the fabric of her thin t-shirt.
My muscles tense. Does she walk out of her room like this? Has Marcus seen her like this?
Tearing my gaze from her for just a second, I find something that worsens the ache in my balls tenfold.
I don’t think, I just do.
I grab her panties from the top of her hamper, settle over her, pop the button of my jeans, and slip myself free. I bite back a groan the instant the pressure releases, but hiss through my teeth when her pretty pink cotton panties wrap around my cock.
My balls tighten, and I stroke myself once, staring at her sleeping form, completely oblivious to what I’m doing. I grit my teeth and think about something else to stop myself from coming immediately.
Triumph Speed Triple 1200RS, that Italian guy’s cooking videos, Bella ignoring me for almost three fucking years.
There’s no warmth left on her cotton panties, yet I imagine her wearing them all day, making them all nice and warm as she walks around, goes to work, and makes dinner. Then, just before she sleeps, she leans back against her pillows and slips her hands down her shorts, playing with her pussy. She imagines it’s me touching her, that it’s my cock filling her tight little cunt.
I pant as I pick up speed.
She could wake up at any second and find me like this, getting myself off to the sight of her with her used panties wrapped around my cock. It almost makes me angry that she isn’t waking up at all. She’s not even stirring. Anyone could come in here and do exactly what I’m doing, and she wouldn’t even know.
My grip tightens at the thought. Maybe I should wake her. Push myself up against her entrance and bite down on her perky tits. I could make her wake up screaming from pleasure or while coming on her face. She’d fight the second she’s awake, then smile right before I claim her mouth and fuck her until she comes, crying out my name as she does it.
The very idea of it sets me over the edge. There’s nothing I can do to silence my groan as I release myself into her panties.
I hunch over and pant, then hold my breath when she turns over and pulls the blanket over her shoulder. My high doesn’t last long.
On her bedside table is the reason why Bella is dead to the world: Xanax.
Why is she taking it? How long has she been taking it? What the hell happened to her that she had to start taking prescription medication?
Annoyance zips through me as I glance at the window. What if it wasn’t me who climbed through it? Putting a chair under her door handle will stop anyone from inside getting to her, but the ones on the outside are the real threat.
People like me.
My irritation flares as my lust-blind mind finally clears, and I notice more of her room. There are drawings on the walls, just like before I left.
I tuck myself back into my pants, pocket the panties, and take a closer look. They’re drawings, alright. Not mine—hers.
Where my pen strokes are harsh, her graphite lines are soft. The proportions of the faces are spot-on, and the shading is blended and smooth. It’s realistic—far better than my drawings.
I’m not sure if I should be jealous.
Okay, I am. Just a little.
Before I left, she wouldn’t draw anything but the occasional doodle. Now she’s out here sketching like she’s been doing it since birth? I’m proud, but what the fuck? Who taught her how to draw like this, because it sure as hell wasn’t me?
I pull myself away from the drawings and investigate the rest of the room. Other than the art and the supplies, nothing in this room has changed.
Oh, and the Xanax. Couldn’t forget about those. I consider throwing the pills away. Though, she could just refill. But that’s money she wouldn’t spend on food or things for herself.
Later, I think to myself.
Soon, she’ll know I’m back and coming for her. Then, I’m going to find out why she’s been ignoring me.
And if she has, she’s going to regret it.
Chapter 14
ISABELLA
The Day of the Incident
Roman: 22 years old – Isabella: 20 years old.
It’s my birthday today.
Not that anyone remembers.