Page 42 of Chicago Sin

Still, I’ve treated her like shit, and for the most part, she’s taken it. I need to do something nice.

I pull out my phone and go online shopping. It’s a stupid gift. Definitely not something she needs, considering she doesn’t even have food in the refrigerator or a van she can rely on. But then, aren’t the best kinds of gifts the ones you wouldn’t buy for yourself? I enter the Garden of Eden address for delivery and complete the transaction.

Sleeping beauty still hasn’t woken up.

Hunger finally gets me out of bed, but when I get up to rummage, I find nothing in her kitchen. I’d leave to go get something, but I don’t want to tie her up again. And I don’t want to wake her, either.

I find a nearby cafe connected to one of those food delivery companies and order an egg sandwich and latte for each of us.

And then I start looking through her shit.

I open her drawers and look inside. Check out the art on the walls, which mostly consists of photographs or paintings of flowers.

I don’t know what I’m looking for—clues about who she is, I guess. Nah, that’s a fucking lie. I’m looking for signs of a boyfriend.

I know she doesn’t have one, or she wouldn’t have fucked me, but I want to know if she dates. Who she’s dated. What her history is.

Did she fuck other guys the way we fucked?

Or was that special?

Because it sure as hell wasn’t normal for me.

Course, I’ve never gone five years without sex before.

But I think our connection is more than that. Our chemistry is off the charts. The way she gives herself over to me brings out the fucking dominant in me, which I didn’t even know was a thing.

I mean, yeah, I like to lead. I’m an alpha male and need to be the guy in charge. But I was always respectful. I didn’t bend women over, smack their asses and get nasty with them. I never tied a girl up before.

Course, that wasn’t for fun, it was a necessity.

The first time.

And the last.

But not the time in between. That time, we both liked it.

Hannah brings out the fucking savage in me. It’s crazy the things I want to do to her. Even now, when I’m thinking about buying her shit, I want to semi-force myself on her again.

Not real force. Not in a way that pisses her off. But play force. Or half-force. Like at the flower shop when she was scared but turned on. That’s how I want her every time.

Trembly. Nervous. Surrendered.

Of course, right now, sex is off the table. She’s pissed at me, and I won’t push it. I owe her my respect.

Hannah wakes up when the delivery guy rings the buzzer. I’m rooting through her underwear drawer, checking out all her panties.

“What the hell, Armando? Are you perving on my panties?”

Definitely, amore. I drop the pink lacy pair I’m holding back into the drawer. My cock’s pressed up against my zipper from me picturing her in those panties, picturing pulling them off her—with my teeth.

I don’t answer as I buzz the delivery guy up.

Hannah wraps her arms around herself like she’s scared. Or feeling vulnerable. “Who’s coming?”

“Just food, Flowers. You hungry?”

Some of the tension drops away from her posture. “Yeah.” She doesn’t leave the bed, though, so I just open the door a crack to accept the food then bring it over to her. She eyes me warily as I hand her the coffee and set mine down on the nightstand.