I can take her back to her apartment —scratch that, it’s not an option, I’ll follow her. Watch her undress and talk to those cats.
Then what? Break in, done. Watch her, done.
It’s time I moved on to the next step.
Petal stops, gripping her purse tight. “What are you waiting for?”
I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. Is she expecting a farewell party?
She glances back at me, it’s quick and barely lasts a second. “You drove me here.”
“If I drive you back, I demand payment.”
I can hear her gulp, even though the restaurant is busy.
“I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.” And with that, she’s out.
I don’t count the bills as I put them on the table, grab my jacket and head outside.
My little Petal waits by the passenger door, fidgeting with her purse’s strap and something tells me it’s not because of the wind or the cold.
She’s nervous. Good. Nervousness will keep her in line.
My little Petal doesn’t take men home on her first date. She’s too safe for that. However, something is making her adventurous today. Something like me being honest about wanting to fuck her.
Poor girl. She has no idea about who she invited into her world, front door key and all that.
I don’t say a word as I climb into the car and I drive back to her apartment. Aside from asking her about directions I already know, silence occupies the car.
“I live around this area, too,” I say with mock surprise.
“You do?”
“Yes, what a coincidence.”
“Yeah, it is.” A smile breaks on her lips.
My little Petal doesn’t question coincidences. She should. All disasters start with a harmless coincidence.
We arrive at her apartment and her shoulders stiffen, like she’s thinking about changing her mind and asking me to leave.
The door opens as she inserts the key in her lock and she stops for a moment. The battle is visible through her rigid face and shifty eyes. When she finally meets my gaze, I expect her to tell me she changed her mind, but she whispers a simple, “Come in.”
She disappears inside and I follow her, through the front door —without breaking in.
No idea what people call this, but from my side, it’s progress.
The cats barge in front of us like starved little demons, mewing and demanding food or attention or whatever demons need.
The fat orange cat hisses at me. I wink at him behind Petal’s back.
“Mr. Bingley. Stop it.” She gives me an awkward smile. “He’s not usually this aggressive.”
We have history.
And what type of name is Mr. Bingley anyway? I can imagine an old fat British man with that name. Which would suit the cat, now that I think about it.
“Come here, Mrs. Hudson.” Petal’s tone changes to soft and pleading as she calls her other lazy cat.
I try to focus on the hideous name, but I fail. My cock gets rock fucking hard at that tone. She’s not speaking to me with it, but she will soon.
After she gives her cats food, they eat without paying her attention and she busies herself behind the counter.
She’s only in her blue dress and the medium heels. The line of her back from this angle is begging for my hands on her waist then her hips as I slam inside her wet cunt over and over again.
“I have tea and some snacks.” She fusses with something over her head. “What do you want to eat —”
Her voice dies when I grab her hand and spin her around so abruptly, she gasps. Her eyes widen with surprise, but her cheeks heat with unmistakable want. It’s so fervent, I can feel it on my tongue, rip it against my teeth, carve it with my knife.
“You,” I answer her question.
Her chest rises and falls so rapidly, her tits strain against the dress and in my face, begging for my hands on them.
Judging by the small peak in the fabric, I'd guess she's not wearing a bra.
One way to find out.
I grab her dress’s straps and rip it off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to her waist.
Her bare tits bounce gently, they’re bigger than I saw from the window the other day, firmer, too.
Her squeal matches the sound of the tearing clothes before she crosses her arms over her nipples like some lingerie model.
“Drop your arms.”
“W-what?” Her face has turned a deep shade of red.
I push back and stare down at her. “You heard me. Drop your arms.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Her voice is barely a whisper, the defiance almost non-existent.
She wants this, she just doesn’t know how to surrender to it.
“It was good knowing you, Georgina.” I spin around.
“W-wait.”
I stop but I don’t face her.
“You’re leaving? Just like that?”
“Just like that. Unless…” I whirl around and find her in the same position, her chest rising and falling harder, faster, almost out of control.