Page 24 of The Man Upstairs

He didn’t look at me. He wouldn’t look at me. He disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard him working the washing machine. He waited there too long before reappearing, and I stood there like an idiot in one of his shirts, flushed pink and embarrassed as he sat back down again with nothing more than a smile.

I guessed he didn’t want me after all.

For once, I got a taste of what my mum must be living in. Self-questioning. Self-doubt.

Maybe I wasn’t as good as the girl in the photo? Maybe after our conversation, I’d put him off somehow? Was I too desperate? Too needy? Too stupid for a professor like him? Were my tits not big enough? Or was I too awkward?

I didn’t have the chance to ask him.

“Goodnight,” he said again, dismissing me with a wave.

“Goodnight,” I said, hating every step as I retreated.

I threw myself flat on the bed, cringing inside at my stupid attempt at seduction, and wished I’d been better at it. More experienced like most of the girls at college. Damnit. I switched off the lamp and got under the covers. It made it even more embarrassing that they smelt like him.

Ok, it was done. Over. I’d made a goof up, and read him all wrong.

Or had I?

I heard footsteps outside in the hallway… I heard them stop dead.

Was he out there? Really? Was he outside the bedroom door? My heart thumped like crazy, tingles all over me, because he was definitely there, outside in the hall…

Maybe… just maybe…

I held my breath.

Please, PLEASE.

I prayed he’d come in…

But no. I heard more footsteps and the bathroom door close behind him.

“Goodnight,” I said to no one, feeling like the biggest fool on earth.

Chapter Seven

Julian

Some promisesto yourself are hard to keep, even while bearing a huge, foul cross on your back. The snakes had been awakening and twisting in my stomach, and my pulse had been desperate as I’d shoved her clothes into the washer dryer. Clothes that smelled of her sweetness. If she’d have been close enough, I’m certain Rosie would have felt the heat from me. Being in a room next to a barely clothed little angel was almost more than an addict like me could take.

I repeated my confession to myself.

I, Julian Lockley, am a sex addict, who likes the degradation of barely legal girls.

Rosie was sweeter and much more innocent than any of the others. A girl from a broken home, with a mother struggling with her own self-hating battle and a man who couldn’t be trusted with his fists. Sweet Rosie didn’t need a sexual deviant adding to her burdens. I told myself she was vulnerable. I could never take advantage of that.

Even so, I almost crumbled.

She’d been in the bedroom for a few long minutes by the time my senses began to consume me. Her nipples had been tiny bullets under the damp cling of my shirt on her. I’d seen the shape of her pert little tits and the soft slope of her stomach, and I knew there was a perfect little pussy under there, waiting. The look in her searching eyes showed the ubiquitous kind of curiosity I’d been taking advantage of for years. I could almost taste the intrigue there, as though she was actually sensing the dark needs in my psyche. Spirit meets soul – the archetypal myth of romantic legends. But my spirit was seedy and disgusting, Rosie’s soul was pure and innocent, fit for a storybook princess. She really was a Cinderella. Shame I wasn’t a Prince Charming.

My version of the story wouldn’t be fit for schoolyard reading, that was for certain.

Who knew? Maybe if I’d have written erotic fairytales of sweet little virgins back in my 80s heyday, I’d be a bestseller by now. Agents may have leapt all over it, as opposed to my overdramatised historical thrillers.

I imagined Rosie under the covers in my bedroom, contemplating what kind ofsickolived under the surface of a man like me. It was so tempting to show her. So tempting to ease the door open for a glance. The craving called. Teasing. My feet moved slowly, responding. I knew she’d invite me in there if I showed my interest.

I paused outside the bedroom, fighting my demons with my hand on the handle. It would be so easy to press down and push it open. So, so, so fucking easy. My fingers gripped, and my cock ached, and I could feel my filthy pulse in my temples. The thought of her untouched skin was enough to scorch me, and my world was filling with her.