Page 24 of Deranged Imposter

Guilt wasn’t there the first time I did it, so I knew there was already a seed of debauchery in my blood.

The short hall’s temperature cools down my heaving body. I quietly move to the living room, steadying my breathing before announcing my presence.

Isa lifts her head from her laptop, fingers dancing mid-stroke as she organizes her thoughts. She smiles brightly, and my soul searches furiously for a hint of remorse for such a shameless deed.

I find temptation, impatience, and insatiable lust. They’re common emotions associated with cum-soaked panties.

Disgrace and regret are lounging on a beach with a glass of whiskey sour.

“Planned it out yet?” I croak, purring her name with a saccharine swirl of bliss.

She nods happily while waving me over to sit next to her. I oblige and lean my buzzing body to her side, half-listening to her plan about the final trip to the Ozark National Forest.

“You don’t have to drop me off at the airport,” she says, “I can manage fine. It’s a short car ride.”

I hum, not bothering to fight her when she knows I’ll be waiting for her at the door with my car key. She also shouldn’t be shocked when I upgrade her to first-class seating.

My Isa sitting between two people doesn’t bode well for me, not with passengers joining the mile-high club.

“I’ll freeze some meals in case you want them, but you should eat freshly cooked food—”

I grumble sullenly, “You don’t have to go.”

“That hot shower must have fried your brain,” she mumbles, her fingers threading through my messy hair. “It’s worth an arm and a leg on my final exam.”

“It’s not worth it to upset my stomach.” I push my face into her neck, smelling the body wash as I close my eyes.

“Please,” Isa grouses while scooting closer to my chest. “You’ve never had indigestion, much less food poisoning.”

“You take good care of me.” I nose her hair and nuzzle the shell of her ear.

“Someone has to,” she whispers, her arm instinctively curling around my waist.

“Then we should get married,” I suggest, kissing her ear as her breath hitches. “Some cities already recognize us as common law.”

Not exactly, but close enough.

Lifting her hand, I stroke her ring finger to estimate the size and best material. She’s so small compared to me, my hand engulfing hers as I hold her delicately.

The laptop screen sleeps, but neither of us spares it a glance.

“More like an outlaw,” she refutes with mischief wielding her stern tone.

“I pay my taxes.”

Isa shakes her head, hair curtaining her face as she squeezes my hand. Moments like these are cherished, wistfully craving for more and more until my name is etched on the rib closest to her heart.

Her lashes flutter with a glare. “But you ate my fries before I did.”

“It was three in the morning,” I prompt, like the devilish youth in me wants. “No witness, no crime.”

She whips to the side, mindful of our distance, and pouts prettily. A fire glosses over her eyes, lapping at the tension in our mingled breaths, and burns my name beautifully on her tongue.

“I watched you put your grubby hand in my bag while we were still in the drive-thru lane.”

We used to sneak out of my family's home for a breezy night ride and come home with food in our stomachs. It didn’t stop when we moved into the penthouse as she started her first term in college.

The fries occasion happened on the first night, starting our new chapter with salted potatoes and loaded burgers. No more fine dining and posh manners. It would forever be us laughing with the stars.

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