Page 20 of Unwrapping Deviance

I’ll make sure she makes it. Her sessions are too important to reschedule, despite her protests.

It’s helping.

She disagrees, but I see the changes. I see her coming out of that frozen, shellshock she’d been living in for almost two weeks after Sam. She barely moved off the sofa. I’m not letting her go back to that. I will never let that dead hollowness invade her eyes again.

“Hey Daniel, it’s Stephanie. I know we haven’t talked in a while. I came across your number and thought we could get drinks and catch up. Call me.”

The text has no name which means I deleted her information from my phone at some point.

I don’t remember a Stephanie.

It would have had to have been at least two years ago since I had a date. I didn’t want to once Sam got sick. She became my main focus.

Then Mira.

Still is Mira.

Will always be Mira.

My Mira. My baby.

My fucking weakness.

I’m not a quitter.

I don’t run from my problems. I don’t believe it will simply go away if ignored hard enough. Yet, I know I’m not strong enough to confront my feelings for the five foot nothing brunette with the blue eyes and tiny freckles.

I know I’m being a coward evading her every attempt to get us in bed, but the alternative is catastrophic. Losing Mira outweighs my need to have her. Having her in my life is enough.

Should be.

I shouldn’t want to pin her hands to the mattress, force her thighs apart with my hips and fuck her until she’s breaking in two and too helpless to stop me from doing it again.

She’s so small, so fucking fragile. I’m supposed to protect her, not imagine leaving my marks all across her satin flesh. She’s my responsibility. I swore to her mother on her deathbed that I would take care of her little girl. Samantha would die all over again if she knew how frequently I fantasize torturing Mira until she screams and climaxes just from the sheer pain.

Mira doesn’t help. She has zero awareness of my restraint, how hard I’ve had to fight to keep from giving us both what we desperately want. Never mind her little hints like last night, asking me to take her shorts off and showing me her wet pussy barely covered in pink fabric. Those requests make me hot, makemy cock strain in my pants, but ... but it’s the things she doesn’t realize she does that makes me unhinged. Deranged.

It’s her sweet little smile in the morning when I walk into the room. It’s the way her eyes light up with excitement when I get home from work.

It’s the way she curls up into me, small, warm, delicate ... trusting. Her perfect, sweet body nestled in my arms like she knows I would never let anything hurt her.

It’s the way she moans my name while grinding her pussy into my dick in her sleep, her hungry, little whimpers as she cums.

The first time she pressed into me, parting her thighs to hook one knee over my hip for better leverage, I thought she was awake. I murmured her name, ready to tell her to stop, that it wasn’t right; she’d barely been eighteen a week. Her mother just died. She was alone in the world and probably trying to feel something that wasn’t loss. But she was asleep and ... I let her.

I let her the next night, too. And the night after.

I stopped wearing sweats to bed. It was just my boxers and her panties between us, containing me from sinking inside her — protecting her. I let her drag me over her. Let my weight press her into the bed. Let her rub and grind and make incoherent whines as she came. As the heat of her pussy burned through our flimsy barrier and her body shuddered under me.

I hold her tight afterwards. I fold her in my chest and stroke her hair and back. I breathe her sweet, musky scent collecting between us. Woven into the front of my crotch.

My perfect baby.

She really is. Perfect. Fucking perfect. Everything about her fills my heart with contentment. In the short time I’ve known her, she has become my world. My saving grace. She calms the demons, and I know she’s too young. Much too young to be the sole guardian of my sanity, but I never said I wasn’t an asshole.

I press my face into the pillow still perfumed with Mira’s scent. Memories of her curled up in my bed, hugging my pillow as she struggled to stay awake incites a grin.

I would have given my left nut for the chance to keep her there. To finish unpacking and slide in next to her. But partially awake Mira is a dangerous creature — a fact solidified last night with her little tease. I can only resist so much; I know I will fold like a house of cards if she asks me to fuck her while awake.

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