Page 15 of Text Me, Take Me

I look at the first photo of her workbench, stunned by what I see. Scattered next to her tools are several impressively intricate and beautiful rings and necklaces. “She made these?”

“Yeah. Tash said Evie’s addicted to her hobby.”

“She’s got serious talent. This is impressive.” I pause as Rafe smirks at me. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s the truth.”

“I’m not some relationship guru, but if you want this girl to like you, you might want to think about how complicated it could get, you know, with her being your prisoner’n all.”

“Remind yourself of that with Tasha Lin, Rafe.”

In return, all I get is a patented Rafe Torres shrug at my words.

“I have said nothing about a relationship,” I add. “She has talent. That’s a fact.”

I flick through the rest of the photos, seeing a snap of Evie and her mother on the wall. Her mother has the same eyes, the kind that penetrate.

“How did her mother die?”

“Car crash. The police report was vague. Seems like an accident, though.”

I nod. “Thanks, Rafe. Keep me posted.”

He stands, finishing his whiskey. “We’ll find The Vultures and make them see sense. Then you’ll be free to let Evie go… and maybe ask her for a date, eh?”

“I don’t date.”

“It’s never too late to start.”

Once Rafe has left, I set into the living room, admiring her jewelry again.

I take out the burner cellphone that’s paired with the one I gave Evie and send her a text.

Dom: Is everything okay down there?

Evie: Define ‘okay’.

Dom: You’re healthy and safe.

Evie: If that’s your definition, then yes, everything is ‘okay’. But it’s a very flimsy definition.

Dom: Rafe told me that your friend is safe.

Evie: Great. Now, do me a favor and leave me alone.

This stings more than it has any right to.

Dom: You weren’t saying that earlier.

I type, but then delete the message.

She’s safe and protected. That’s all that matters.

I hit the gym for a workout, then take a shower. As the hot water slips down my body, my thoughts return to the garage, tothe sensation of her warm, welcoming sex, her needy nub, the wetness of her entrance.

Closing my eyes, I relive the moment, remembering her panting breaths. The hottest part is the way her hips moved like she was chasing the pleasure, even if we both knew it was wrong. She couldn’t help herself; neither could I.

I can’t stop myself now either. My hand wraps around my dick, my tip aching as seed rushes up my firm shaft. I quickly grind my hand up and down, imagining it’s the warmth of her tunnel caressing me.

My mind combines memories: the way she bit her lip in the interview, her breathing as I touched her in the garage, her hips rocking. I imagine her on her back, my staff buried in her curvaceousness, her hips bucking as she shifts against me, as consumed with pleasure as I am.

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