Page 28 of Run For Me (Until You’re Mine Duet #1)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Him
I’ve always known I was a little fucked in the head. I lack the normal amount of empathy and kindness that the average person has, but I’ve embraced that about myself. Makes it easy to handle bullshit—like the bullshit with my parents and clingy girls like Mindy.
But this… this takes the fucking cake.
It’s broad daylight, late afternoon, bordering evening time. After a bit of Google Earth stalking, I found my little dove doesn’t have close neighbors. None that should notice me breaking into her house, anyway—as long as I get in quickly, of course.
I parked my car down the block and walked over so no one would question the strange car in the driveway.
It’s not that I don’t want her to know I’m here, I just don’t want her to know who I am.
That will ruin all the fun. If someone goes to her with the details of my car, it’s only a few internet clicks away from finding out my name and everything else about me.
I pull the lock-picking kit from my pocket and hope this is as easy as I remember. I haven’t had to break into something in years. In fact, the last time I did was fucking hell. Probably why I’ve avoided doing it for so long. It takes only a minute or two and the door is swinging open.
“Jesus, Sailor. At least lock the damn deadbolt,” I mutter as I step in and swiftly close the door behind me.
I’m grateful she didn’t lock it, but let’s be smart.
She’s a single, young, smoking hot woman living alone.
The girl should have a complete security system in her house.
Of course, that was the first thing I checked for when driving by.
Could be a good birthday present… But that’s still so far away.
Christmas maybe? It’s something to think about.
I lock the door and look around, taking everything in.
This is not what I was expecting to walk into.
I know from reading her journal this house came from her grandparents, but I didn’t expect it to look like they still lived here.
Crocheted blankets on the sofa, classic wicker end tables and matching coffee table.
The counter tops are a garish yellow, and thankfully the cabinets are stained wood and not bubble-gum pink or puke green.
The house is ready for a 70s sitcom set.
The dining table tucked in the far corner is also wicker with a glass piece over the top, place mats in front of each of the four chairs.
There are a few plants hanging in front of the windows that are covered in sheer curtains.
The pictures on the walls are reprints of famous paintings, even the classic dogs playing poker and The Last Supper—which is interesting because I know my little dove isn’t religious.
She’s mentioned it more than once in that journal of hers, talking about how her grandmother always urged her to go to church.
Something about finding God will help her through her tough times.
Looking around, I can tell you my little dove hates change. I bet none of this stuff has been moved since her grandparents put it there.
From the outside, you can tell the house is small, just one floor with an attic that’s full of old decorations and family heirlooms, I’m sure.
I make my way deeper and find a short hallway to the right. There are three doors, two on the left and one straight ahead. The door ahead is open and I get a small glimpse into the bedroom I assume is hers. My feet haven’t moved so quickly in years.
I’m hit with this intoxicating smell that can only belong to her. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, my dick already hardening in my pants. I take another deep breath, then let it out before opening my eyes, wishing I could bottle this up and take it with me.
I scan the room. Now this… this looks like it belongs to my little dove.
It’s messy and chaotic. Clothes thrown all over, the bed sheets are tangled, and one of the bi-fold doors on the closet is off the track and about to fall off.
I walk over to it and see the screw on the track needs to be tightened.
Simple fix. I take the pocketknife from my back pocket, straighten out the door and tighten the screw as much as I can. Wouldn’t want an accident, little dove.
I open and close the door a few times to make sure it’s secure, and when I’m satisfied, I go to close it for good when my eyes land on exactly what I’m looking for—a backpack.
I snatch it up, finding it empty and grin.
I turn back to her room and look for the rest of what I came here for—preparation.
From her journal, I know this house wasn’t meant to be her home forever.
When her mother died, she moved in with her grandparents and took over this tiny bedroom that was hers from when she was a baby.
They were in the process of house shopping, wanting to get something bigger to fit her, but they died before it happened.
Since they left her this house, Sailor decided to stay.
She didn’t need anything else, and has no plans on going anywhere.
Well, that’ll change soon enough.
When I’m finished gathering everything I need, I drop the bag by the door and lie down on her bed, turning my head so I can breathe in the scent of her that’s lingering on the pillow.
A mix of honey, something flowery, and the smallest hint of musk, like she gets hot and sweaty when she sleeps.
The thought of her hot and sweaty on my dick has it turning to steel.
I reach for my pants to undo the button and free myself.
I rest my arm beneath my head and stroke my dick, closing my eyes and focusing on the smell, the soft mattress beneath me, the fact my little dove was touching herself for me—right in this very spot—while thinking of me.
I picture her full lips wrapped around the head of my cock, her eyes flickering with fear as she gazes up at me, waiting for approval because the poor girl has never had a cock in her mouth before.
“My sweet, innocent girl,” I coo, teasing her.
I hold her hair snuggly, guiding her along just the way I like, easing my dick to the back of her throat and when she gags, I groan over the throb of her throat around my thick tip.
When I pull her head back, her eyes shine with tears and her lips are soaked with drool.
When I’m close, I pull her up my body and she sinks onto my cock, her head falling back in pleasure and moaning loudly.
Her small hands rest on my chest as she rocks her hips, but it’s not enough. I grip her waist and thrust upwards. She cries out, the sound telling me it’s borderline painful, but she loves it. Fuck, does she love it.
I jerk my dick faster.
She loves it so damn much that her pussy oozes with arousal, and seconds later flutters around me, sending me spiraling through an orgasm just as she comes with me, her already tight pussy choking the fuck out of my dick as I fill her with cum.
And when I open my eyes, I find I’ve made a fucking mess. Thick cum all over my hand, my jeans, and my fucking shirt. And shit, I think there’s some on her bed.
I look around for something to clean up and find a pair of shorts on the floor.
I pick them up, certain they’re hers, and after giving them a deep sniff just to make sure, the scent of her pussy filling my lungs and stirring my dick again, I use them to clean everything up before tossing them back to the floor where they were.
When I spot a bright blue pair of panties, I stuff them in my pocket before fixing my pants, gathering my shit, and leaving.