Page 30 of Too Late

I pull the covers down, careful not to wake her. Sometimes I just like to look at her while she sleeps. I like to think she’s dreaming about me. Sometimes I touch her, just soft enough not to wake her, but enough to make her moan in her sleep.

Her T-shirt is bunched up around her waist. I lift it, slowly, inch by inch until her breasts are exposed. And then I lean back, reaching under the covers and into my boxers. I grip myself and begin stroking as I watch her sleep—watch her soft breasts move up and down with each slow breath she inhales.

She’s so fucking beautiful. All that long, dark hair. Those lashes. That mouth. I’ve honestly never seen another girl as beautiful as her in real life. I knew she’d be mine the first time I laid eyes on her. I couldn’t allow something this perfect to be with anyone else.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to pursue her right away, because I liked the way she looked at me. I could see the innocence in her eyes as she would stare at me in class. I made her curious. And even though I pretended not to notice her, she mademecurious. I could tell she was different from any girl I’d ever been with.

Nothing scares me—not since I was a kid. But the way I obsessed over the thought of her came pretty damn close to scary. The thought of being able to corrupt something that sweet made me think about her more than anything else in my life.

Before Sloan, I wasn’t the type of guy who loved girls. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I used them for what the majority of them are good for—a quick late-night fuck, sometimes a pre-breakfast fuck, but never anything after 8:00 a.m. or before 8:00 p.m. Guys who allow girls in their life between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. have shit for brains.

That’s a direct quote from my father.

I used to remind myself of this every time I’d look at Sloan, before she was mine. Every time I’d catch her staring at me in class. Every time my dick would jerk in my pants when I thought about her.

Shit for brains.

The more I observed her, the more I started to question my father and whether or not he even knew what the hell he was talking about when I was younger. He probably never experienced a girl like Sloan. A girl who had yet to be corrupted by another man. A girl who was too timid to know how to flirt with a guy. A girl who hadn’t had the chance to become a whore yet.

I told myself I’d test her out. See if she was the exception to the rule. I caught up with her after class one day and asked her if she wanted to go to lunch. It was the first time I’d ever asked a girl on a date, come to think of it. I expected her to smile and shyly agree, but instead she looked me over, turned away, and kept walking.

That’s when I realized I was wrong about her. She wasn’t shy. She wasn’t unfamiliar with how cruel people could be. She knewexactlyhow cruel the world was and that’s why she kept her distance from everyone.

Little did she know, her fake disinterest made me want her even more. It made me want to pursue her until she wanted every part of me … even the cruelty. It made me want her tobegfor it.

It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. It’s amazing how far good looks and humor can get you.

And … manners.Who knew?

You hold a fucking door open for a girl, she automatically thinks you’re a gentleman. She thinks you’re the type of guy who would treat his mother like a queen. Girls see guys with manners and think there’s no way they could be dangerous.

I held every fucking door open for Sloan that I could find.

I even held an umbrella for her once.

That was a long time ago, though. That was back when she used to sleep on her stomach.Naked.

Sometimes I wonder if she’s not as happy as she used to be. She left me once and I fucking hated it. Every second she was gone, I felt like I had turned into every single thing my father feared I’d grow up to be.A lovesick fool. Shit for brains.

But I do love her. Fuck him and his idiotic bullshit philosophies on love. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and when she left me, I knew that.

I knew if she left for good, she’d eventually find someone else. I couldn’t bear the thought of another man’s mouth on hers. His hands on her. His fucking disgusting dick inside of her, when she’d only ever had me there. She was mine.

And I did what I needed to do to get her back—even if she doesn’t realize it had anything to do with me. I did it for her benefit—because I love her. And I know she loves me. When she came back to me and asked for my help, it was the proudest I’ve ever been of myself. Because I knew at that point it was a done deal. She was mine forever.

But there’s still that one tiny flaw in our relationship that makes me question the permanence of it. She refuses to accept my lifestyle—always makes me promise her I’ll get out someday. We both know that’ll never happen, though. I’m good at what I do. But I guess maybe I need to prove to her that I can do both. Be what she needs without it compromising my lifestyle.

I need to ensure she never goes anywhere. I need to make her part of my life permanently.

I could marry her. I could buy her a house—one where just the two of us lived. Of course I’d be inthishouse between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m., since I seem to be the only one who knows how to properly operate things around here.

But Sloan could be at the home we would share together, growing babies. When I came home at night, she could feed me, we’d make love, I’d sleep with her by my side. And she’d sleep on her stomach.

I’ve never thought about marriage before. I wonder why this brilliant idea is just now coming to me.

She’s never brought up marriage, though. I’m not even sure she’d agree to it. But if she got pregnant, she wouldn’t have a choice. Unfortunately, she uses birth control with more routine than I get my dick sucked. Not that her birth control isn’t something I couldn’t tamper with. But on top of that, she also forces me to use a goddamn condom every time I have sex with her.

But … condoms are something else I could tamper with.

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