Page 25 of Ruining Hattie

BASTION

S ensing that Hattie needs some space, I don’t fight her when she leaves my bed. I blow out a breath and push my hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling.

That was… fuck.

It’s not like I expected any of that to happen, though I’ve been planning to get us there since she arrived.

The only reason I backed off yesterday was because after our almost-kiss on Friday night, I wanted her to feel what it was like not to have my attention.

I wanted her to miss my affection so that when I again bestowed it on her, she’d be receptive.

I’d say that plan worked. Just as it always has with my conquests.

Maybe a little too well, because now I’m sitting here with a raging hard-on that I’m going to have to take care of myself.

No. I refuse to beat off with Hattie on my mind. That is not part of the plan.

I’m supposed to be seducing her, not the other way around.

But Jesus Christ, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

I’ve been with a lot of women, but none who gave themselves over to me like she did. It makes me want more—my face between her legs, my cock in her mouth, her cunt.

No, dammit, think of something else.

The remembrance of why she was in my bed floats through my mind then—the nightmare that was really more of a memory. I was nine and found my mom passed out in her own vomit, and I thought she was dead.

“Fuck that.” I refuse to take a trip down memory lane.

I twist out of bed and stalk into my en suite, turning the cold water on in the shower. It’s not until I’m exiting the shower five minutes later that I remember that Hattie brushed me off today.

She’s new in this city. What the hell could she be up to?

Only one way to find out.

An hour later, my question is answered as I watch her disappear through the doors of a church a few blocks away from my condo building.

I can’t help but wonder if she already had plans to be here today or if this is a result of what happened this morning.

Maybe she feels the need to confess her sins. God forbid she had an orgasm.

Since I have no desire to walk through those doors, I wait until the service is over for her to leave.

It’s clear the service is finished when groups of people make their way through the door and down the stairs, but Hattie doesn’t come out.

In fact, it’s not until most people have left that she walks through the doors, making conversation with a man I’m guessing might be a couple years older than her.

She laughs at something he says, and my hands fist, my jaw setting. I’m even more annoyed when I realize that she appears relaxed with him. I only see that side of her sometimes. Lately, she’s always on edge when she’s around me.

They make their way down the steps together before saying their goodbyes and heading in opposite directions. I wait until she’s far enough ahead that I won’t be seen before I follow her.

She’s definitely not headed back to the condo based on the direction she’s going, unless she’s forgotten her way back.

But within a few minutes, it’s clear she has a destination in mind when she pulls out her phone a few times to glance at it, as if checking her current location against the directions on the screen.

As I follow her, I tell myself that it’s only because I need to know where her head is.

After a ten-minute walk, she looks at the sign over the door of an old brick building before entering. I don’t slow my pace. I’m unable to see what this place is from this far, and I didn’t walk all this way not to find out where she’s going.

I draw closer and realize it’s a soup kitchen for the homeless. She must be looking to volunteer here. Once I’ve passed the building, I continue walking, telling myself I’ve seen what I needed to see.

Still, for some reason, it’s hard to walk away, to not wait outside until she reappears and see where she might go next. So instead, I’ll do the next best thing—I’ll go through her room at the condo and see what I might find.

A half an hour later, I’m going through the things she’s unpacked, and the only interesting thing I’ve managed to find thus far is the book on her nightstand.

This one is way smuttier than the one she was reading in Wisconsin, and when I see the price sticker from the airport bookstore, I figure she must’ve bought it on her way here.

I open the nightstand on one side of the bed and find spools of yarn and what I think are crochet needles. In the other drawer I find socks and… her underwear.

The sight makes my dick twitch. I’d forgotten that she doesn’t wear plain cotton panties.

I think back to this morning. Though I didn’t get to see them, they definitely weren’t lace. I reach into the drawer and pull out a pair of silky maroon ones. They must’ve been like these because they were smooth.

My dick grows to a half chub, and I drop the underwear back in the drawer.

I need to maintain control here. I can’t afford to let myself actually be attracted to Hattie. It would jeopardize my entire plan.

I slam the drawer shut, annoyed with myself for even having a reaction.

“I need to get out of here,” I grumble.

I start for the door, but as I reach the threshold, I plant my hands on either side of the doorjamb. My head drops forward as I try to will myself out of the room, but my feet won’t move.

Not until they spin around and hurry over to her closet. Yanking the hamper open, I grab the panties at the top of the pile—silk and lace hot pink panties—then I’m charging out of the room, heading straight to my own, and slamming the door behind me.

Before I consider my actions, I unfasten my jeans, shove them down my legs with my boxer briefs, and sit on the edge of my bed with my dick in one hand, Hattie’s panties in the other.

I bring the fabric up to my nose and inhale.

My eyes practically roll back in my head.

Fuck, I can’t wait to taste her. God, I’m no better than her sleazy landlord back in Wisconsin.

My bottle of lube rests on the mattress beside me, and I squirt some down the length of my cock with my free hand, then fist the base. I stroke it, imagining Hattie’s small hands doing the work, inhaling her scent once again.

I can imagine all I want, but it’s not like it would be if Hattie were doing the work. Visions of the two of us and all the things I want to do to her swarm my head. She’d pack up and leave so fast if she had any idea the kinds of things running through my head.

Fuck, I wish she were here right now, touching me, torturing me with her wide-eyed innocence.

I wrap her panties around the base of my cock and use them to stroke my shaft. Looking down, I watch the bright pink lace and silk slide against my slick cock, and I grow even harder. My shaft twitches as my hand moves up and down the length, and I cup my balls and squeeze lightly.

My low groan rings out into the empty room, and I increase my rhythm. I imagine the panties currently stretched around my girth on Hattie’s body, pressed up against her cunt, and the tingling starts in the base of my spine.

I grip my cock harder, imagining Hattie wearing them and only them, bending over in front of me so I can get a peek of what I know will be her pretty pink pussy through the lace, and my dick gets impossibly hard before I bring the fabric up to the head and come on a roar.

My orgasm just keeps coming, feeling almost never-ending.

Once I’ve spilled everything I have onto the pink silk and lace, I unwrap them from around my length, pull open the top drawer of my nightstand, and toss them in. Hattie won’t be getting them back. It’s not as though she’d ever ask me if I knew where they were anyway, so she’ll be left to wonder.

Then I go into my en suite and have my second cold shower of the day.