Page 19 of Soft Tissue Damage
I go to the guest bedroom and put on my pajamas, brush my teeth, and get into bed with a book. I doze off, and the baby monitor app on my phone wakes me just after eleven o’clock. I go into the nursery and hoist a crying Rosie into my arms.
“It’s okay, Rosie. Ah, there, there,” I murmur, pacing up and down with the wailing baby in my arms while I rub her back. I give her a few sips of warm milk from a plastic cup, and slowly, she settles down.
My phone rings in my pocket while I’m cuddling Rosie in the nursery chair, and I pull it out, see the name, and answer it.
“Mr. Grant?”
I expected to hear the rowdy sounds of poker, music, and men talking, but it’s silent wherever Mr. Grant is. I suppose he must have gone outside for some fresh air.
He speaks in a soft murmur. “Elena. Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, thank you. Rosie woke up, but I’m settling her down again.”
“You two look cozy in that chair.”
“We do?” I say, confused for a moment. Of course, one of the baby monitors is pointed right at the nursery chair. I smile at the camera and wave.
I hear a soft chuckle from Mr. Grant.
“How’s the poker game?” I ask.
“Complicated. But nothing I can’t handle.”
I imagine him looking up at the night sky. I glance out the window, and I wonder if he’s looking at the same stars as I am.
“Seeing you two safe in my house makes me happy. I’ll be home in a few hours. Get some sleep.”
“I will,” I tell him, and I hang up. I realize I’m smiling fondly at my phone, and Mr. Grant could still be looking at me through the baby monitor, so I quickly wipe the smile from my face.
Ten minutes later when I’m back in bed, I’m still thinking about the warmth in his voice. Heat blossoms between my legs. Sleepily, my hand drifts down to touch myself over my pajamas as thoughts of Mr. Grant grow more lurid in my mind. His naked, muscular chest. My hands trailing over his tattoos while he pants heavily in my ear. Grasping my wrists and pinning me to the bed. The heat between my legs becomes an ache, and I push my hand inside my pajama shorts. My fingers slide through slippery wetness and find my clit. Mr. Grant touching me here. Mr.Grant pushing my legs apart so he can run his tongue up my sex. Mr. Grant breathing hard with his cock in his hand, about to thrust inside me. The swollen tip of his cock pushing against my inner lips. A moan escapes my lips.
I gasp and yank my hand out of my pants. My eyes open in the dark. What am I doing? I don’t masturbate thinking about Leon. I haven’t even been tempted, but here I am, desperate to climax while thinking about his dad. I think there’s something gravely wrong with me.
I snatch up my phone, notice that Leon is online, and I call him. He answers after just a few rings.
“Hey, babe. You’re up late. Can’t sleep?”
“I’m babysitting your sister.”
“Is my dad still out? Do you want me to come over?” he asks hopefully.
“I just needed to hear your voice.” What I need is reassurance that my affections are still for my boyfriend, and I’m not losing my mind.
“I could still come over.”
“Mr. Grant told me that you had to stay at your mom’s the nights I babysit Rosie.”
“He said that to me too. Fuck his rules.”
“Leon,” I admonish him. “I might be dating you, but he’s my boss. We have to do as he says.”
He sighs gustily. “You’re such a goody-goody.”
“No, I’m not,” I mutter, but I don’t think Leon hears me.
“When are you free for a date?”
I think for a moment, picturing my schedule. “Wednesday. I finish at three.”
