Page 80 of Bronx

So I’m thinking that because I did something I ‘never’ do, and because it felt good as shit, for some reason I’m starting to think that I magically have some say in Karma’s decisions.

I don’t.

If she wants to visit her loser boyfriend, then why is it any of my business?

It’s not.

My only job is to find her brother… and settle a score that’s been a long time coming. All the rest of this business with Karma’s life is just noise.

A distraction.

I need to remember what the goal is.

1. Use Karma to find Lev.

2. Make Lev pay.

Was I just talking about distractions? Because the moment I step out of the elevator and into my living room, I smell something decadent cooking, and that’s when I notice Karma dressed only in an oversized New Edition t-shirt and baking something in my kitchen.

Why is this woman always half dressed? It’s torture.

“You’re home,” she says flatly, not even bothering to look up at me as she pours some sort of batter into the cups of a muffin pan.

“Why are you awake?” I ask, forgetting that most normal humans are up at this time of the day.

“It’s the morning and I work for a living,” the little smart ass says while wiping down the counter.

“Yeah, but you’re not my maid,” I retort.

I walk past the kitchen and into the main bathroom looking for a bottle of my pain meds that I usually never take, but it’s too early to have a drink, at least not in front of Karma.

“Your bananas were going bad, so I’m baking a batch of banana nut muffins and then I’m headed off to work. She tosses a dirty bowl and mixing spoon in the sink. Maybe your ‘girl’ can clean up the dishes if you’re physically incapable of doing it.”

It’s some sick shit but the slicker Karma’s mouth gets, the more my dick hardens. At first it seemed as if she was some down-and-out damsel in distress, with very little backbone, but now I’m seeing a different side of her emerge. She’s got a lot of fight in her. It’s just so interesting why I seem to be the only one to bring it out of her.

“You want to go put on some clothes?” I say, trying to avert my eyes away from her legs as I walk back into the living room.

Karma has a pair of the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen. They’re smooth and creamy like cake batter, but tight and muscular in all the right places. She even has a small tattoo of the word believe in dark, lowercase letters behind her knee that she thinks no one can see. It’s funny how I’ve already seen her completely naked, but she looks even sexier to me, half-dressed in a casual tee, especially making herself at home in my kitchen.

“There you go, blaming my choice of clothing for your dirty thoughts again.”

She lifts the edge of her shirt to scratch her thigh and I almost choke, thinking she’s about to flash me in a teeny, tiny pair of bikini underwear.

Maybe in red.

Possibly with lace.

Because that would be hilarious, seeing as how that’s exactly what she was wearing in a dream I had during the fifteen minutes of sleep I got last night.

“I have on shorts under this, Grandpa.”

God, that mouth.

I want to fuck it.

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Bronx