Lost And Found: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  I should start by asking who the hell she is, how she got in, but in these few seconds, before she’s even aware of me, I feel like it’s my only chance to see a little more of her.

  She’s younger than me. Beautiful is what she is too, I can tell from her smooth skin and shapely curves, even though she’s turned away from me.

  It looks like she’s tangled up in that robe, which is way too big for her.

  It is my robe and seeing her body start to move underneath it, the thin line of her panties, and the partial view I get of her thick chest heaving underneath the thin fabric is enough to finally draw a sound from me.

  She gasps as she turns to face me, my eyes flashing to meet hers, crystal blue pools that are filled with apprehension, but not fear.

  Apprehension, and something else.

  She gnaws at her lip and I hear myself groan, softly but with intensity as her eyes shift from mine long enough to take in the effect she’s having on my cock, which I feel bobbing to life under my drenched track pants.

  Her long hair looks dark, with a little still stuck to her face but the parts that are dry enough tell me she’s all blond.

  Her round face is flushed, red circles for cheeks that both dimple when she tries to look away but settles only for another glance at my now obvious arousal.

  Moving from all fours to a kind of half-sitting position, I can see she’s trembling. Having trouble holding herself up.

  Her legs squeeze together and I notice her eyes almost roll back as they narrow, another sound escaping her.

  A sound I’ve never heard a woman make in my company.

  “You’re all wet,” I observe, feeling my dick start to twitch as I become aware from her scent that she’s just as turned on as I am right now.

  We don’t know each other, she’s an intruder in my house, but I know right away that I want her.

  I must have her, and there’s something in her eyes, her whole body that’s broadcasting the same thing.

  She tries to speak, but only makes another sound, almost whimpering now.

  I hear Valentine whining too but focus on her, and my dick feels like I want to take it out, want to show her.

  I want her to touch it and run a finger over the swollen head, touching the hot bead of precome I can already feel brimming and bring it up to those sweet lips.

  “I… I-” she finally stammers, sitting up and wincing from her shoulder but flashing me a scene of her slick valley through pure white panties that make me clench my jaw, helpless as I shamelessly stare at her until I can finally move again.

  In a moment, I’m on my knees, at her side and helping her up until I remember just how fucking hard I am.

  She winces in pain and we both decide silently that the floor is good for now.

  “I’m Conor,” I tell her, wanting to brush her hair away from her face. Wanting to hold her close to me.

  “Rachel,” she gasps, her eyes pleading with me now, begging me for something.

  My hand reaches out for her face, I feel my whole body leaning into her like neither of us can stop this sudden and magical thing between us.

  But right before I get too close, before I can even touch her, she shivers and pulls back.

  “I-I found Valentine,” she says suddenly, looking down, struggling to get all the words out.

  “He was just there in the street and then he led me back here… I tried calling out but there was no one home… I was trying to get warm… To get dry...” she adds, her voice trailing off.

  I do reach for her this time, just touching her chin with my thumb and forefinger to lift her eyes to mine.

  “Thank you,” I tell her honestly. “I thought I’d lost him for good. He never goes anywhere without me,” I tell her, trying not to let my emotions show.

  I can’t help but give her a questioning look though.

  The kind that wants to ask just what she’s doing in my robe in my bedroom, with a framed photo of me on the floor beside her.

  I feel my brow lift in time with the breath I take to ask her, but who am I kidding?

  Who cares?

  She’s here. She’s real, she found Valentine.

  And she’s not going anywhere.

  Not until I give her the reward I know she deserves.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rachel

  I can hear him coming in the front door, and I can hear Valentine getting excited.

  Both of them sounding like long lost friends reunited, both sounding so familiar to me even though I’ve never met them before.

  I should be embarrassed, at least try to get up and explain myself.

  But something about all of this, this house, his dog. His fine robe and this room.

  I want him to find me like this, to see me half-naked in his room. A part of me wants to let go of everything and abandon myself to him, the man I know somehow I already belong to.

  I’m panting by the time I hear his heavy steps on the stairs, and almost moaning when I feel him in the doorway.

  This is supposed to be the part where I try to go for sexy, tossing a mane of perfect hair and pouting my flawlessly made up lips as I invite him to join me on the floor in my best seductive, husky voice.

  But I don’t.

  I can’t even speak, I feel frozen solid under his gaze. His eyes, those same eyes from his photo are moving over me.

  I can feel them like those thick fingers I craved moments ago, feel them boring into me and touching me inside.

  I’m almost afraid to look suddenly. Not because of how perfect I know he’ll be, not even because of how mad he might be that I’m in his house.

  I’m suddenly frozen because he’s the one part of my fantasy that’s real.

  I’m the odd one out here.

  There’s no size six model under his robe here. There’s a big chest, sure. But there’s a big everything else that goes with it, and I suddenly feel more self-conscious than anything else. Knowing he’s looking right at my ass.

  The ass so many other people have made fun of.

  The ass that’s changed a yes to a date over the phone to a ‘sorry I forgot I had other plans’ excuse as the guy can’t wait to run a mile.

  Running to tell all his friends so they can have a laugh at my expense.

  That is until I hear him make his own low sound.

  A sound of satisfied pleasure.

  The sound of a man who knows what he wants.

  He’s not laughing, and he’s not making any excuses. If anything, I can feel the electricity between us in his room, like a single movement from either of us could spark an inferno.

  It’s enough to make me look at him, finally.

  My shoulder is stinging with pain but it’s nothing compared to the flush of heat between my legs. The insane ache inside me that this man is creating just by existing.

  God, I need him to touch me. I need those hands down there, all over me.

  I try to speak, but the sight of him in the flesh is too much. It almost feels like I’ve wet myself and I gasp loudly when I feel my swollen pussy gliding against my panties as I try to turn, try to act natural.

  He’s huge and far more handsome in real life than any photo could do justice.

  Ah, Christ! The photo… I’m in his damned robe…

  He doesn’t seem to mind.

  I’ve never seen a guy’s...thing. Not in real life anyway, but I know it’s not my imagination when my eyes focus on his cock starting to swell right before my eyes.

  It sets my heart racing, making the palpitations I had a second ago feel like low blood pressure.

  My breathing is coming so fast I can’t even swallow.

  I can’t take my eyes off his dick either. I want him to show it to me, I want him to order me to touch it, to bring him off right here, right now.

  But he doesn’t, and I move my eyes away, worried if I see it again I’ll just burst. This pressure inside me is unbearable now, it feels like the slightest thing could set me off.

 
Oh god, please let him touch me.

  He announces that I’m wet, making me flush harder. Like he can read my mind. Like he already knows everything about me.

  I am wet, I’m so freaking wet it feels like I’m about to slide right across the floor.

  I hear myself trying to explain myself like my voice is coming from far away. We both hear Valentine whimpering but he ignores him, and I notice his breathing is just as hard as mine.

  The sharp pain in my shoulder aches again, and in a second he’s kneeling on the floor right in front of me.

  “Conor,” he tells me, introducing himself.

  “Rachel,” I gasp. I want to tell him who I am and what I’m doing in his house, about how I found Valentine.

  But really, it was Valentine who found me.

  It’s Valentine that’s made all this happen.

  But I see the look in Conor’s eyes the second I have the same thought.

  He leans in closer.

  I know this is it, this is the moment I’ve always dreamed of, when the perfect man gives me the perfect kiss and everything that follows is just, well… perfect.

  It feels like I’m looking over the edge of something, into something terribly deep and terrifyingly beautiful.

  I feel that part of me wanting to let go again, feel myself giving in to the urge to jump, or just let myself glide over the edge.

  Half-closing my eyes, I lean forward too, feeling the warmth of his breath as it almost touches my lips.

  But I panic. It’s too perfect, and I’ve spent my whole adult life telling myself that stuff like this just never happens.

  I recoil and hear myself babbling loudly, recounting how I found Valentine. How I ended up in Conor’s perfect house, in his perfect robe.

  How someone like me came to be in his perfect world.

  He looks almost amused. Disappointed I wouldn’t kiss him maybe, but then again, who kisses a complete stranger within moments of meeting them?

  He thanks me profusely for finding Valentine, and for bringing him home, even though we both know it was the other way around.

  His hands and arms reach out for me, but he holds back because of my shyness.

  Or is it because of my thigh-ness?

  I figure I’ve no real chance with someone like Conor anyway, that maybe I just caught a cold out in the rain and all this is just some fever dream.

  But I almost faint when I feel his thumb on my chin. It’s the slightest touch, but I know we can both feel it. We both feel what it really means.

  It’s like a live current running straight from his thumb, through my chest, and down to my now twitching pussy.

  I can feel my clit straining against the fabric of my panties, my nipples like bullets.

  But I also just want him to hold me, to tell me everything’s gonna be alright. That he doesn’t mind any of this, and maybe that he wants me to stick around a little longer.

  I feel like I’ve known Conor forever somehow, like we’ve spent our whole lives just waiting for this moment, to pick up where we might have left off in a dream we shared.

  He goes quiet, and I feel a little more at ease, but still like I should’ve kissed him.

  Truth is though, I haven’t even kissed a boy, not properly anyway. Not since grade school.

  And I’ve certainly never kissed or been kissed by a real man like Conor.

  My eyes stray down again, and it’s my turn to raise my brow as I feel myself gnawing my lip again.

  It’s nothing else but his huge cock I’m seeing through his track pants, and once he moves just a little, I know that he knows it’s the only thing I’m focused on for now.

  He smiles to himself, almost relieved and I watch his eyes take in a little more of my chest that feels like there’s suddenly not enough robe to hide how horny I am now either.

  “I think we should try all this again,” he says, suddenly blushing as we both feel that familiar electricity starting to threaten to short circuit us both.

  “I’ll go downstairs and put your clothes in the dryer, and you can use the bathroom to have a warm shower if you want,” he adds, telling me rather than asking me how it’s gonna be.

  “I’ll go downstairs and do the same, then we can have a late breakfast and you can tell me again just how you managed to get in my house half-naked with my dog, wearing my robe.”

  I want to protest, tell him it’s not what it looks like, but his cheeky smile as he spins on his knee before getting up to leave and taking my clothes with him says it all.

  He’s not showing me any more of what I want to see on his way out, but it’s left me hungry for more and the idea of a hot shower followed by a hot meal is equally interesting to me right now.

  A part of me wishes he really was a little old lady who’d had a fall.

  Because this is going to be more complicated than I ever imagined.

  I can just feel it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Conor

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I warn Valentine with a smile, bending down to let him lick my nose before I kiss his neck and rub his fur with both hands.

  “I never asked you to run out and find me, anyone,” I add, and leaning in closer I whisper the thanks I know he’s waiting for into his ear.

  He barks loudly, making my own ears ring and I laugh, his own doggy smile is infectious.

  Straining to hear the upstairs shower, I sigh with satisfaction, stripping naked myself at the dryer in the laundry just off the kitchen.

  Holding my clothes and hers, I want to smell them but tell myself that’s too weird.

  Feeling both bundles of them together in my hands is enough, isn’t it?

  No. Of course, I smell her clothes, I want to do more than just smell her too.

  Inhaling deeply, I can sense all of her, helpless once I mix it with the recent memory of the sight of her near nakedness.

  My dick’s twitching, aching to be relieved, but I know it would do no good to do it myself.

  I’ve seen what I want and there’s only one place my seed’s going from now on.

  There’s a bathroom in the hallway with a shower I usually use after jogging, so I distract myself by running the water until it’s hot enough.

  But today isn’t usual, not by any standard.

  Valentine never goes AWOL and he never brings home angels from heaven either.

  Having lived just me and Valentine alone for so long, it should feel weird to having someone else suddenly in the house.

  I can sense her upstairs, feel her in the shower as I’m having mine.

  But the only weird thing about it is we’re in separate parts of the house.

  Every instinct of mine is to have her here with me, her naked body pressed up against mine.

  I don’t spend too long warming up from the hot water before I realize how dangerous it is, standing naked with my dick bobbing out in front of me, screaming for release with every tiny movement.

  I dry off quickly, and wrapping a towel around myself I head back upstairs to get changed.

  The water’s still running and my heart skips a beat when I see the hallway bathroom door ajar, steam pouring out from behind it.

  I gulp hard, and looking down I make straight for my bedroom and lean on the door until it closes behind me.

  I can hardly concentrate on picking out some jeans and a sweatshirt. Once it’s time to decide which socks to wear, I realize how much this girl has unraveled me already.

  Finally dressed, I check myself in the mirror as I brush my hair with my fingers.

  I look better than I have in years. I feel better than I have in ages. I’m grinning like a madman and if it wasn’t for my perpetual hard on, I’d almost pass for someone who’s just found something they’ve been missing out on for most of their life.

  Happiness. Optimism.

  A reason to go on.

  I can’t hide in my room all day, and before I hear the shower shut off, I grab a different robe from the linen press, one that’s
more her size.

  The house is full of stuff like that, things I keep in case of guests.

  Things that never get used.

  Clutching the robe in both hands, I move to the bathroom door and put it on the counter through the steaming gap.

  Telling myself not to look either, I find myself staring through the opening, her flesh-toned shape moving behind the steamed up shower screen.

  Her head is thrown back like she’s rinsing her hair.

  But once I see the shapes of both her hands start to circle that large chest of hers, I’m done.

  I moan loudly, my hand quickly covering my mouth before I remind myself that it’s my house. That I actually want her to see what she’s doing to me now.

  “Conor?” I hear her ask, startled but not scared.

  “Uh, just left a fresh robe by the door for you,” I reply. Trying to sound cheerful but hearing the edge of need in my voice.

  “Oh, okay. Thanks!” she chimes, and I see her hands again.

  One circling her breast, the other sliding between her legs as she washes.

  I could stay and watch her all day, nearly decide to but she shuts off the water and as much as it pains me, I give her the privacy she expects.

  Once she knows how I feel, she can make up her mind about just how much I can watch over her.

  But how do I feel?

  What if she has a boyfriend? A husband even?

  Fuck, I never even considered that for a second.

  I stop on the stairs halfway down, a sudden sharp pain in my chest at the thought of it. At the very idea, she could ever be with anyone else.

  Well, if there is anyone else, I feel for him. Because he’s about to lose her to me.

  It shouldn’t eat at me, but until I can ask her about it, I find it just as hard to focus on making some food for us both as I did to even get dressed.

  It all disappears though, the moment she comes down into the kitchen.

  Valentine greets her at the door and she kneels down to pat his head. I watch in amusement as he licks her nose and paws at her like he’s a puppy all over again.

  “He really likes you,” I observe, not jealous at all. In fact, if he didn’t like her it would probably make it easier because I wouldn’t like her either.