Page 5 of Putting Out
“That’s what I thought you would say. Okay, you can come to the farm. But you have to stay in the guest bedroom and if you’re caught sneaking around, Pop has a gun.”
“He’d shoot me?”
“No,” Reilly replied as if that was the most ridiculous conclusion ever. “He’d make you get hitched. It is Nebraska we’re talking about.”
Erica stopped short. “Oh. So that’s how you ended up married all those times.”
Reilly shot her an evil glare. “Whore.”
“Bitch.”
* * *
Looking downat the ball in his hand, he raised it so he could study it. It was obviously fate she’d thrown it to him. Like he had picked her, she had picked him.
He held the ball pinched between his finger and thumb, and with his other hand he caressed each tiny indent along the dimpled surface paying special attention to the mark she’d made on it.
Her mark. One black dot, one red dot in a red circle, one black dot. Three dots, one circled, it was symbolic on many levels. He’d have to think about what it all meant.
When they were together he could ask her if his theories were right.
He breathed deeply and rejoiced in the profound happiness he felt. This was going to work. This wouldn’t be like the other time. Reilly would understand him.
She was beautiful and talented and strong. Special enough for him. Worthy, where no one else had been before.
Bringing the ball closer to his nose he inhaled, trying to extract the essence of her scent from where she had touched it. Her fingers had touched the ball. Her skin had connected with the surface. Her fingerprints. The delicate oils from her body. The brush of her lips.
Glancing around to confirm he was unobserved by the dispersing crowd, he lowered the ball to his crotch and stroked it along his thickening penis.
Yessss.
She’d told the reporter she was going home. To her grandparents. He would learn where that was. He would find out where she was going and he would join her there.
Yes, this time he knew it would work.
