Page 75 of Isolation
Raven's warmth has once more filled our home. And it has also filled my body with a goddamn soul.
All of which just makes me want her more. Itfeels like fucking death will take over unless I can touch her.
I stay out on the terrace for as long as I can. When I finally come back inside, Raven is in my bedroom, on my fucking bed.
This torture never ends.
She is sitting at the edge of my bed, looking at the swatch book again.
My nostrils flare the moment her smell hits my senses. No matter how many times she showers, that smell never comes off her. It’s innate to her.
I am so fucked, and so is she.
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Raven
Milo has been taking refuge in the terrace for what seems like hours. To keep myself occupied, I grab the color swatch book and try to examine the colors again. I have barely opened the page when I find Milo strolling back to the room.
He comes near me, then moves back and starts pacing the room like a maniac.
Neither of us have still spoken a damn word to the other. I can’t take it for a minute longer. I will just walk back to the Upper West Side on a handicapped leg.
It’s only what, two hours?
Worth it!
The less dramatic approach might be to simply call an Uber. I just can’t think straight while he is fucking shirtless. Why is he still shirtless?
I get it dude. You have a good body.
At this point, I am considering giving him my shirt to cover him up. The sight alone keeps riling me up. I am fucking soaked between my legs with no damn underwear on. When was the last time I felt this out of control? As a teenager? Jesus!
Milo stops pacing and turns to me. He has to know what I am thinking. It’s obvious with my cheeks heating up, and the rapid rise and fall of my chest. He hasn’t done a single thing but arousal around him has become an automated response now.
I am also aware of the lining in his jeans, with his cock about to burst out of it. We are both thinking the same fucking thing.
Do something!
How do you even facilitate this? This is not something you can Google. There isn’t a book called,Changing your relationship from non-consent to consent for Dummies.
Luckily, I don’t have to worry about it. Milo’s facial expression finally changes, as if he has come to a conclusion and that decision has lust written all over it.
In a pure Milo move, he doesn’t wait a second longer after making a decision.
He strolls closer, drops on the floor in front of me, grabs both of my thighs, and yanks them apart. His eyes are on me. Milo is watching… I think he is waiting for a reaction.
Am I supposed to give him a sign? They really should have a book about the step by step process.
I'd open my legs wider but his grip on my thighs is ironclad. Looking down at him I try to communicate that protests are nowhere near my thought process. In fact, adifferent thought is on my mind.
The tech-mogul, the all powerful CEO, Milo Sinclair is kneeling on the floor between my knees. The same man who is listed onForbes 30 Under 30as one of the thirty most impressive entrepreneurs under thirty years of age.
A man identified as one of the most impressive men in the world is shoving my shirt up, and staring at every inch of me as if his next breath is impossible without me. As if he is my willing slave.
Pride doesn’t begin to describe what I feel for him, but right now something more than pride for his success is rushing through me. It’s making me feel powerful and worshipped to know that everyone in our vicinity caters to this man while he only caters to me. The world kneels in front of this man and he willingly kneels for me. In fact, he treats it as a privilege.
I have no idea why I haven’t looked at him this way before, but it’s a turn-on like no other.
