Page 24 of Scary Suitor

I follow after her; she’s running down the hall, mostly to ditch me in the dust. It’s too bad I have long legs and am faster than her.

She dips into the infirmary, and I stay outside. Listening to drawn-out groans, whining moans, and occasional curses is no match for the usual sound of snapping bones, gushing blood, and piercing screams.

I’m used to those and am partly addicted to the pain I cause.

Alina comes out with her head hanging low and defeat on her shoulders, but her perturbed glare is an old friend. She mumbles something I can’t hear, the hacking coughs covering her lovely voice.

“Just don’t do anything funny,” she gripes and points to the ceiling. “There are cameras everywhere.”

I know where they are mounted and their purview range. The pool has none, and it’s designed that way for privacy.

Guiding her to the changing room, I note a few things she has to do. The swimwear is in her locker, towels are near the shower stalls, and she's to meet me in the pool.

Alina looks around the hall for a sign of life, moping when she doesn’t and goes inside with a loud complaint.

The main entrance to the pool has a metal basket for used goggles and snorkel masks. Hollowness promptly covers me when I step inside the warm room. My shoes squeak on the tile as I kick them off with my socks, and the loud clatter echoes sharply after I throw the clipboard on the bleacher.

A hand presses on the junction of my neck and shoulder, muscles straining as I pull on them to pop the stiffness.

I spent countless hours and sleepless nights getting my business to run smoothly and ensuring I wouldn't be interrupted for these few days here.

Valentine’s Day is closing in; I have little time left. I’d rather not take Alina home with her screaming and crying. Well, crying is fine. Her tears light a fire in my veins, and I’ve fisted my cock enough times to hate it.

Her smaller, softer hands would feel better around me. I can’t wait to eat her little pussy to get her ready to be stuffed with cock and cum.

It’s hot in here. I pinch the collar of my shirt and snap the tight fabric back to my chest, cool air stroking my burning skin while I sigh.

I hear quiet tapping from behind, so I turn to face Alina, wishing I had taken a moment to prepare myself.

Her silky hair tied up, white towel secured tightly around her shoulders, and bare legs make my mouth water.

“This is a trust test,” I say resignedly, forgetting what this activity entails when her toes curl with bashfulness.

There are guidelines on the clipboard, but I can’t remember them. I don’t want to look at anything that’s not Alina.

She shifts shyly under my scrutiny, glossy eyes peering from her lashes and a pout on her lips. Her pink tongue peeks out, briefly wetting her bottom lip as a nervous habit.

My cock thickens.

“No one is here,” she whispers and looks up with wide eyes. “They won’t know… where to find me.”

She doesn’t know how filthy her suggestion sounds.

“I won’t sign off just because I adore you, pretty.” I clench my hands, nails marking my palms as I focus on steady breaths.

I reiterate absently, “No special treatments on this one.”

An internal battle displays on her face, lips moving to talk to herself, and the fingers around the towel slacken. Whatever side wins her battle, I already lost to mine.

Latching onto the sides of my shirt, I rip the cotton over my head and toss the offending fabric to the ground. It’s too tight, and the room is too hot.

Alina’s eyes widen, blushing furiously as she scuttles back. Defensiveness helps self-preservation raise her shoulders to her neck, turning her fingers rigid on the towel as she spins around to run.

My predatory instinct flares.

She doesn’t get far; I don’t let her. One hand snagging the thick towel, ripping it from her back, and the other clamping around her arm like teeth on a bear trap. Her yelp of pain wrecks the shivers on my back, turning them into a shuddering mess.

I know better. I have self-control. I’ve been chasing after Alina for nearly a year, closing to our anniversary on Valentine’s Day—a year of restrained temptation must have reinforced my control.

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