Every instinct inside of me tells me to leap from the car and sprint across the lawn.
I’ll tackle her into the house and force her up against the wall, staring firmly into her eyes, one hand laid across her ample breasts – breasts that are begging to be freed from that shirt and sucked and bitten until her nipples are hard and needy – and my other hand will work its way up her thigh.
She’ll whimper when I press my hand against her sex.
But then she’ll relax and sit down against my fingers, shifting.
She’ll know that I have to claim her.
She’ll know that she belongs to me.
My head is a furious haze of blotted thoughts. It’s difficult to form anything coherent past all this nascent need.
My balls feel heavy and overfull as if my seed is roaring at me to plunge deep into that tight, wet pussy right now, pull her tights down just enough to get access to her precious hot hole.
I’ll fuck her like a savage, pounding her so that those big ass cheeks bounce for me, gorgeously big, perfectly big.
Fuck, she’s so curvy.
I return my hands to the steering wheel, gripping it hard. It’s the only way I can stop myself from reaching down and grabbing the throbbing base of my manhood, stroking as I watch her turn back to the lawn, her breasts giving an appetizing jiggle.
She walks down the lawn, heading toward Vinnie’s car.
I watch her as she gets closer. Her face comes fully into view. She’s wearing no makeup. Her cheeks are touched with a blossom of red. She looks young, maybe twenty years old, and that just makes my cock twinge with even more urgency.
She’ll be mine, just mine. She won’t be very experienced.
I’ll own her completely.
Then my eyes flit to the duffle bag, to the way she’s holding it.
She keeps her hand laid over the bag, looking up and down the street as she walks over to the car. My instincts flare when I see the protective way she cradles it.
Fuck.
I finally find the woman I want – I need with a bone-aching certainty – and she’s stolen drugs from my property. This means I’ll have to chase her down and take the drugs back.
But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
It gives me an excuse to talk to her.
To dominate her, to take her, to claim her in every way a man can claim a woman.
Whoever she is, she’s mine.
She fucking belongs to me.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
First I have to head inside to check if she left any of the bundles behind. I should’ve asked Maury exactly how many he’d stored here, so I’d know if she’d taken any. But I doubt Maury himself would even have the answer for that. All of this was so damn clumsy on his part.
Not that it matters.
Nothing is going to stop me from paying a visit to this woman.
My woman.
The future mother to my children.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kimberly
I place the bag on the floor when I walk into our apartment, letting Tinkerbell leap out of it and start sniffing around. She likes to sniff everywhere the moment she returns, as though she’s making sure that no other animals have been messing with her things while she’s away. She gives a whine when she realizes that Jackie isn’t home yet.
“I’m sorry, girl,” I say, walking into the kitchen. It’s time to see to those dishes. “She won’t be much longer.”
The open house didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I even got the bald man and his husband to sign up their interest, so hopefully, that will keep Alexis at bay for a little while.
Tinkerbell was the belle of the ball, melting everybody’s hearts.
I feel like an idiot for hiding her in the first place.
I just hope Alexis feels the same.
I start taking dishes out from the sink, laying them on the counter, shaking my head when I see that Jackie has once again forgotten to rinse off her cereal bowl. It’s a constant battle with us, one of those minor wars that make up living together.
I’m just about to start running the faucet when two heavy knocks sound from elsewhere in the apartment.
At first, I think Tinkerbell has fallen or something.
But when I walk into the hallway, they come again, two pounding knocks.
Bang-bang.
Like a giant’s at the door.
I walk toward the apartment door, stifling a sigh.
The only time people knock is when they want to complain about Tinkerbell’s barking. But it makes no sense. She hasn’t been here all freaking day, so what the heck do they have to complain about?
I grip the metal handle and pull the door open slowly, plastering a fake smile onto my face.
Then I let out a quivering sigh from between my tight-clenched lips.
The man fills the doorframe, looming over me in a suit the color of iron. His hair is the same silver shade, swept to the side, and his eyes are a shade of blue so pale they seem almost silver, too. His body throbs from within the prison of his suit, every part of him massive, hulking, the sort of body that could snap me in half and think nothing of it. A subtle smirk plays at his lips. His jaw is square, strong. A steel-colored watch glints from his wrist.
Every part of him screams power.
Every part of him roars control.
“Uh, hello,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He’s an older man, maybe forty, and that sets crazy gears whirring inside of me. My mind goes to impossible places, like this older man laying me down in bed and then leaning over me, his muscles pressing against my body, his hot breath whispering over my neck.
“I’m going to teach you how to please a man,” I imagine him growling. “I’m going to show you how to take a dick, how to bounce, the right noises to make when I suck on your nipples. Can you do what you’re told? Can you do that for me?”
I almost gasp out yes, as if I’ve forgotten that this is all in my head.
“You must be Kimberly,” the man says casually as if he has all the time in the world.
I have to crane my neck to look up at him.
Suddenly, I’m horribly aware of how tight-fitting my realtor clothes are, how they hug onto my belly and my too-big hips. I wish I was wearing a baggy hoodie and sweatpants.
Or a sheet.
Anything so he didn’t have to stare at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, regaining some semblance of balance now. I force my voice to be artificially bright, the same way it is when I’m at work. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
His smirk twitches at the corners. “No, I don’t believe we have either,” he says.
His voice is cool and calm, and yet beneath it lingers a growl, as though he could erupt into beast like roaring at any moment. Something like rage flares in his eyes.
Is he angry at me?
“Can I help you?” I say, unable to repress a moaning noise.
God, he must think I’m a dork.
“Oh, Kimberly,” he smirks. “There are many things you can do for me. But first, you need to tell me something.”
“What?” I whisper.
“Where is the rest of my product?” he says.
Something drops in my belly and twists.
I’ve tried to force the packaged white bundles from my mind all morning, refusing to acknowledge them. Let them be Alexis’ or Tina’s problem. I don’t want anything to do with it.
“I didn’t take any,” I tell him. “I swear I didn’t.”
“No?” he says, eyes flashing as though he’s enjoying watching me squirm.
I want to squirm for him in other ways, writhing my body against his, my soaked sex grinding up and down his thigh. I image those large, powerful-looking hands gliding up my thighs and gripping my ass cheeks.
I imagine him doing it hard, squeezing until I let out a whimper that’s half fear and half maddening desire.
But no.
He’
d never want that, not from me.
He’s tall and handsome and experienced.
And I’m … me.
“No, I didn’t take any of your drugs,” I snap, more fire in my voice than I intend.
I guess it’s partly fueled by the rage that surges up inside of me when I think about how impossible my hungry fantasies are. They swarm in me and multiply, a never-ending stream of them, cascading through me so that all I can think about is this man’s smirking lips pressing down on my sex, licking, tasting, teasing.
But that could never happen. He’d never want it to happen.
So yeah, maybe that pisses me off a little bit.
“Are we done here?” I go on, when he just stands there, smirking, seeming utterly at ease.
“No,” he says casually, “we are not even close to done, Kimberly.”
His words hang in there, hot and taut, and full of suggestion. I imagine him saying the same thing when he’s got me bent over, his hand smoothing over my ass cheeks, skirting close to my sex and then down my thighs.
I can feel the way my skin would tingle at the contact, up and down my calves, making my toes curl as he inches closer and closer to my wet, needy hole.
Oh, God, I’m wet right now.
There’s no way he can tell, is there?
“I swear I didn’t,” I say, staring up at him, trying to make my face as brave as possible.
His smirk never leaves his face. His eyes dance with even more light. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was enjoying the sight of my anger.
Maybe he is enjoying it.
Just not in the way I wish he would.
“Then why was the partition shredded to pieces?” he growls. “And why did you look so suspicious when you left the property, cradling that duffel bag?”
I laugh. It comes out suddenly, like a reflex. Worst of all, I make the goofy honking noise that people use to tease me about in high school. I really freaking hate it and I’ve mostly trained myself out of it now, but when somebody makes me laugh unexpectedly, sometimes the noise just comes out.
I cover my mouth instinctively, turning away slightly as if that will turn down the volume of the noise.
“Care to share the joke?” the silver-haired man says, his smirk still fixed to his lips.
“Care to share your name?” I shoot back, masking my shame with forced sass.
“Kristian Cameno,” he says. “And you’re Kimberly Grayson.”
“Kristian …”
I trail off, trying to work out where I recognize that name from.
Then it clicks into place.
“You own the new homes,” I say.
“That’s right,” he says. “And you still haven’t told me what’s so funny.”
I throw my hands up. “Listen, I didn’t take any of your stuff. The reason I looked so shifty when I was leaving the house is that I had my sister’s Chihuahua in the bag. My supervisor is a real witch and she’d freak if she knew I’d taken her to work. Sometimes she likes to swing by when we’re working just to check up on us—spy on us, basically. So if I looked suspicious, that’s why.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, Kimberly, would you?” he says, his voice husky as he stalks forward.
I take instinctive steps back, aware that he’s crossing the threshold and entering the apartment. He has to duck his head under the door. And then he’s inside.
He reaches back and closes the door behind him.
I’m almost certain I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, so hot it’s a wonder his suit doesn’t erupt into flames. He walks forward until he’s standing inches from me. His cologne and his manly scent wash over me. My throat goes tight.
My heart hammers.
My sex gives a pulse and something deep inside of me lets out a scream of celebration, as though just standing this close to him is a victory in itself.
“I’m not lying,” I whimper, staring up into his eyes.
I should be scared, and yet my body is buzzing with want.
This is so wrong.
He’s clearly a drug dealer or at least involved in that life. He didn’t deny it when I called the bundles drugs.
He came here to intimidate and threaten me.
But the more we stare at each other – his pale wolfish eyes glinting, pinning me in place – the more intense the fireworks shimmering across my skin become.
“Tinkerbell,” I call, almost stammering.
“Tinkerbell?” Kristian says, with a dark chuckle.
“Yeah—look.”
I turn and gesture at the hallway, expecting Tinkerbell to be standing there. I’m shocked that she isn’t already barking and making a fuss about this unexpected visitor. Usually, when people come over – whether they’re friends or strangers – she lets them know who’s boss with some preliminary barking.
I narrow my eyes at the empty hallway, searching the part of the living room I can see for any sign of her.
“Hmm, strange,” I murmur. “Tinkerbell, come here, girl. Tinkerbell?”
“Are you playing games with me, Kimberly?” Kristian snarls, stalking even closer.
His suit brushes up against my arm and I gasp. I can feel the solid mass of his muscles beneath the material. His breath whispers across my face, my forehead, my hair.
He moves closer still, and then he’s pushed right up against me.
For a crazy second, I think I can feel the solid mass of his manhood against my belly, but I must be imagining that.
Maybe it’s his phone or something. It’s not as if I have much experience in that area.
“I need to find her,” I say, walking toward the living room.
“Sure,” Kristian says. His voice is full of irony like he doesn’t believe that the dog is real. “Why don’t I help?”
I freeze and glance at him, heart pounding, throat getting tight.
“Are you going to hurt me, Mr. Cameno?” I murmur.
He flinches like I’ve slapped him.
“No,” he snarls. “Only scumbags hurt women. Jesus.”
“Well, excuse me for asking the question,” I snap. “You’re the seven-foot giant who’s come in here asking about drugs. What the heck am I supposed to think, huh?”
“Are you always this feisty?” he smirks.
“Maybe you just bring it out in me,” I snap.
I walk deeper into the apartment, scanning the small living room and then walking toward Jackie’s bedroom door. She’s left it ajar and I’m hoping that Tinkerbell has found her way in there. My belly swirls and becomes taut when I think about something happening to her. She’s had too much of an eventful day as it is.
Kristian follows me across the room, his presence flooding my mind with a thousand things that could never happen.
I stop at Jackie’s threshold, letting out a sigh of relief.
Tinkerbell is curled up on the bed with her chin resting on a chicken treat, her eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. She must’ve hidden one in here a while ago – it’s got little pieces of fluff sticking to it – so that she could pull it out later when she’s stressed or hungry.
“See,” I whisper, gesturing into the room.
Kristian stands over me, leaning forward. He’s so close I could turn and kiss him if I suddenly turned insane. My nipples tingle at the proximity of him, my skin burning.
“So you have a dog,” he says. “That doesn’t prove your point.”
I huff and pace away from the bedroom, not wanting to disturb Tinkerbell. I walk to the front door and gesture meaningfully at it.
Kristian folds his arms and leans against the wall, watching me the same way someone might watch a pet who’s just done a new trick. That should send waves of fury flaring through me, but instead, I find myself wanting to perform for him.
I imagine him leaning like that at the end of my bed, his eyes fixated on me, captivated.
“You’re going to do what I say, when I say it,” I imagine him growling. “Now strip—slowly. I want to savo
r every moment.”
“Kristian,” I say.
“Yes?”
“I think you should go now.”
“We’re not done here,” he says.
“So you’re refusing to go?”
He pushes away from the wall and moves close to me. For a man of such impressive size, he moves with the fluidity of a dancer or a cage fighter. He stops a bare inch from me, staring down, his jaw tight.
“If you wanted me to go,” he snarls, “if you really wanted me to, then I’d leave. But you don’t, Kimberly. That’s the problem. Every single part of you is desperate for me to stay. You’re not exactly sure what’s happening. You’re struggling to believe that this is happening. But you want me here.”
My mouth falls open stupidly. I can’t help it.
His words are so pinpoint accurate, it’s like he’s read my mind.
I try to think of something to say – something clever, witty, sassy, anything – but all that comes out is a shivering moan.
He stares at me for a long time.
After what feels like forever, I manage to summon some words.
“I don’t … You’re a drug dealer.”
His lips twist into a grimace.
“No,” he says flatly. “I’ve never dealt drugs in my life. Nor would I. That’s why I’m here, to make sure that those drugs don’t make it to the streets.”
“Oh, so you’re a good guy, are you?”
He takes another short step forward. He’s looming so far above me now. I have to bend myself backward just to meet his gaze.
His eyes flit down. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s checking out my breasts.
“No,” he says. “I’d never claim to be a good guy. I just don’t happen to be a drug dealer. Now, are you going to bring me the drugs or am I going to have to turn this place upside down?”
“You think you know me,” I say.
“What?” he grins, wolfishly, seemingly enjoying the back and forth.
“I said you think you know me,” I murmur, having to work hard to keep my voice steady.
His closeness sets my belly alight, sends swirling and multiplying flames dancing all through me. My clit buzzes and pulses and my lips grow wet and tingly, grinding together in my panties every time I so much as breathe. My nipples are so freaking hard right now, I’m sure they must be poking through my bra.
Claiming His Forever: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 3
