Page 46 of Run For Me
I open and close the door a few times to make sure it’s secure, and when I’m satisfied, I go to close it for good when my eyes land on exactly what I’m looking for—a backpack. I snatch it up, finding it empty and grin. I turn back to her room and look for the rest of what I came here for—preparation.
From her journal, I know this house wasn’t meant to be her home forever. When her mother died, she moved in with her grandparents and took over this tiny bedroom that was hers from when she was a baby. They were in the process of houseshopping, wanting to get something bigger to fit her, but they died before it happened. Since they left her this house, Sailor decided to stay. She didn’t need anything else, and has no plans on going anywhere.
Well, that’ll change soon enough.
When I’m finished gathering everything I need, I drop the bag by the door and lie down on her bed, turning my head so I can breathe in the scent of her that’s lingering on the pillow. A mix of honey, something flowery, and the smallest hint of musk, like she gets hot and sweaty when she sleeps. The thought of her hot and sweaty on my dick has it turning to steel. I reach for my pants to undo the button and free myself.
I rest my arm beneath my head and stroke my dick, closing my eyes and focusing on the smell, the soft mattress beneath me, the fact my little dove was touching herself for me—right in this very spot—while thinking of me. I picture her full lips wrapped around the head of my cock, her eyes flickering with fear as she gazes up at me, waiting for approval because the poor girl has never had a cock in her mouth before.
“My sweet, innocent girl,” I coo, teasing her.
I hold her hair snuggly, guiding her along just the way I like, easing my dick to the back of her throat and when she gags, I groan over the throb of her throat around my thick tip. When I pull her head back, her eyes shine with tears and her lips are soaked with drool. When I’m close, I pull her up my body and she sinks onto my cock, her head falling back in pleasure and moaning loudly.
Her small hands rest on my chest as she rocks her hips, but it’s not enough. I grip her waist and thrust upwards. She cries out, the sound telling me it’s borderline painful, but she loves it. Fuck, does she love it.
I jerk my dick faster.
She loves it so damn much that her pussy oozes with arousal, and seconds later flutters around me, sending me spiraling through an orgasm just as she comes with me, her already tight pussy choking the fuck out of my dick as I fill her with cum.
And when I open my eyes, I find I’ve made a fucking mess. Thick cum all over my hand, my jeans, and my fucking shirt. And shit, I think there’s some on her bed.
I look around for something to clean up and find a pair of shorts on the floor. I pick them up, certain they’re hers, and after giving them a deep sniff just to make sure, the scent of her pussy filling my lungs and stirring my dick again, I use them to clean everything up before tossing them back to the floor where they were. When I spot a bright blue pair of panties, I stuff them in my pocket before fixing my pants, gathering my shit, and leaving.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sailor
It’s dark when I get home and I curse myself for not turning on the porch light before I left. I should leave it on all the time so I don’t forget. Now that I have some sort of social life, it would make sense since I don’t know when I’ll be home some days. I should be more cautious, considering I live alone, and JT has proven how easy it is to get my information. Meaning, anyone could find me. I trust him with it, though. For some sick and crazy reason, I trust him. Something inside me tells me he wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do… but what about someone else?
Once I’m inside the house, a faint, unfamiliar scent hits me and I stop and turn around, sniffing the air, but it’s gone. I take a few steps trying to find it again, but it’s lost.
Hmm… maybe Sam’s smell lingering? Or the echo of someone who lived here before? It’s not the first time I’ve felt echoes in this old house. Every now and then I hear footsteps or smell smoke, feel like someone’s watching me. When I was little, it scared the crap out of me. As I got older, my view on deathchanged after dealing with it so often, and I no longer feared the ghosts, but welcomed them, hoping maybe it was my parents coming back to visit me. To tell me they miss me and love me.
This smell though, this isn’t my parents. It also didn’t smell like anything old. It was musky and new—expensive.
Knowing there isn’t anything I can do about it, I put my stuff down and go to the fridge for some water. The last thing I need to worry about are ghosts hanging around.
I sit on the sofa with my bottle of water and turn on the TV. I have homework to do, and I should go to the dining table. I glance at it and cringe. It’s so uncomfortable. I should get a desk, but there’s nowhere to put it. Not unless I get rid of some furniture and I really don’t want to do that. Or take on the giant task of cleaning out the guest room, which I should do at some point.
Instead, I open my phone and search for couch tables and find one I like, so I order it. There, the perfect solution. I’ll be able to sit comfortably on the couch while doing homework. For now, I spread my books out on the coffee table and sit on the floor with my back against the sofa and do a mix of studying and taking notes for a test I have tomorrow.
Before I know it, it’s midnight. My eyes are burning and I’m getting a headache from staring at the small letters and glossy pages for so long. I toss my pen down and lean back, rubbing my eyes and taking a few breaths. I get up and go to the fridge, looking for a snack. It’s still pretty full from when Sam went grocery shopping. Most of this will go bad soon if I don’t eat it. Problem is, everything that’s in here is nothing I want to eat. I go through the freezer and find triple chocolate fudge ice cream and grin as I grab the whole carton, snatch up the can of whipped cream, take a spoon from the strainer, and go back to the couch. I can never say no to ice cream.
An Avengers movie is on, and I sit back, enjoying some Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth while I eat my snack. Of course, if I had to choose between the brothers, I’d go for Loki. I’ve always been one for the villains. In every movie I’ve watched, the bad guys steal my heart. Instead of Hercules it was Hades. Instead of Batman it was Joker. Kylo Ren. Tyler Durden. Joe Goldberg, specifically.
I could go on.
I was born into the dark side, I guess.
I’d started doing some research on the internet, about the stuff I think about, and it seems it’s more common than people let on, and it’s finally starting to normalize thanks to a few social media sites. I’d never wanted to join Tik Tok before, but after seeing some videos showcasing how people learned about their kinks, I’d considered it. I didn’t do it, but I’d thought about it, if only to watch that stuff.
I eat half the container of ice cream, squirting some whipped cream over each layer as I go. My lips are numb, and my stomach is full, so I replace the cover and put it back in the freezer, saving the other half for another day. Eating half a carton of ice cream isn’t smart, but after my father died, my mother always spoke of how important it is to live for the day because you never know when it’ll be your last. Instead of following those words for all these years, I’ve done the opposite and hid myself away out of fear.
It may be dramatic, but I feel as if I’ve been reborn in a sense. Like I’ve been given a chance to start over. Each day that passes, I feel better and better… with everything, but especially with who I am.
Not holding on to secrets is much easier than fighting with myself to pretend to be someone I’m not.
I just need to be me.
