Page 35 of For The Weekend
It’s been like this since Thursday, her smile and laughter haunting me in the best way. Her glassy eyes and hurt expression haunting me in the worst way.
Of course I’d wanted to fix it. I’d do fucking violence for her if she needed me to. Without a second thought. Because she’s mine.
Or at least, that’s how I’ve started to think of her.
Which is ridiculous.
I’ve known her for barely a minute, and already I’m possessive over her. But I can’t help it. There’s something about her that draws me in, makes me want to claim her as my own.
I roll out of bed, my cock hard. Which isn’t unusual, especially lately. I think I’ve beaten off almost every morning since the day I met Eloise, thinking about her.
If she still wants me—hopefully she does, but she seems like the type of woman who might change her mind at the spur of the moment—I know I won’t have a problem pretending to be her boyfriend.
Hell, I won’t be pretending any kind of attraction to her. It’s hot and bright, right there in the middle of my chest. And straining against my underwear every morning.
Mazie’s in the living room, watching her favorite cartoon. The theme song drifts down the hallway, and I know I have a few minutes to myself, so I slip into the bathroom, turning on the shower. But before I even step under the spray, I mindlessly wrap my hand around my cock, too keyed up to wait for the water to heat.
I lean against the counter, eyes closed as I stroke myself. I picture Eloise here with me, her green eyes bright with desire, stripping off her clothes to reveal each and every one of her curves, inch by delicious inch. I bet she’s soft everywhere, her skin smooth and creamy, from her face to her toes and everywhere in between. I imagine her nipples, big and perfect, hardening under my touch. How they’d feel under my tongue. How she’d moan when I sucked on them.
My hand moves faster, my grip tightening as I think about how she would taste, my mouth on her pussy. Definitely not of sugar and cinnamon, but of something better. Something wholly mind-altering. I know I’d crave her every day if I ever had the chance to lick up her sweet little treat.
I imagine her laid out on my bed, messy blond hair spread across my pillow, her legs open and welcoming. I can almost hear her breathy cries as I sink into her, legs wrapped around my waist, tits pressed up against my chest, fingers in my hair. I’d pound into her until all she could do was scream my name.
I come with a groan, my release spilling over my hand, and I clean up quickly, stepping into the shower to wash away the evidence. But even as I soap up, my mind is still on Eloise. But now I remember how she explained to her best friend and a perfect stranger that her family routinely makes her feel like shit. How Clara marched into my shop, informing me that Ianneeded my help with an emergency, only to find my brother wasn’t even there. But yes, there was an emergency.
Eloise crying is a travesty.
I’ve never and would never hit a woman in my life, but I’m not averse to telling her mother, aunt, and cousin to get fucked. It would be my absolute pleasure. Truly give me happiness.
After my shower, I dress and find Mazie still glued to the TV with Steve cuddled in her arms. “Morning, Maze,” I say, ruffling her hair and then between the rabbit’s ears. “You ready for breakfast?”
She lifts her hands, Steve awkwardly dangling between them, feet out, ears down. “You didn’t say good morning to Steve.”
I take him from her and hold him against my chest, murmuring a quiet greeting into his fur. This guy’s great for stress. I bet Eloise would love him.
Mazie stands on the couch, jumping until I glower at her. She immediately falls to her butt. “Can we go to Sweet Cheeks?”
I shake my head. “You can’t eat cinnamon rolls every day.”
She pouts, but only for a second. Then she grins up at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I like Eloise.”
“Yeah?” I put Steve back in his bunny condo.
“I like her ’cause she likes pink like me and let me stay at the table with her. ’Member that? When she let me hand out those cards? And she makes lots and lots andlotsof cimanin rolls.”
“Cinnamon,” I correct, turning back to her.
“And she’s pretty and nice and makes you smile,” she adds, standing from the couch.
I pause mid-step in reaching for her. Mazie’s only six, but sometimes she sees more than I give her credit for. “She does, huh?”
“Uh-huh. You smile at her like you smile at me. Like you’re happy.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I don’t have a lot of time to consider just how much I like Eloise because Mazie starts in on where else I might take her for breakfast. Forever trying to convince me take her out.
I’ve been trying to adjust my schedule to fit Mazie’s and take off as many weekends and evenings as possible. It severely cuts into work hours and, therefore, money, but it’s more important for me to have time to spend with my kid. We went out to eat yesterday and caught a movie, where we shared a refillable popcorn. My daughter can take down a large popcorn like it’s nothing. I refilled that thing twice.
“We’re not going out today,” I tell her.
