Page 61 of Without Bound
??:
The butterfly symbol is saved instead of her name just in case, and it makes me smile every time I see it. I kick my feet up on my desk and lean back and reply back to her with another song.
Me:
I don’t take my eyes off my screen until I see her text pop up.
??:
I choke on the simple air in my lungs thinking about the words to the song and imagining Anais masterbating in front of the mirror, much like she did on the phone that one night.
Me: Jesus Christ, Anais. I’m at work.
??: And I’m in class. What’s your point?
The wheels on my chair give and I fall back, slamming against the floor but even that doesn’t cause me to blink because,fuck me. This girl. Two can play this game.
Me: I’ll be home by six. Be there waiting. Garage 4492. Alarm 3705
??: Whatever you say, Coach Michaels.
My dick twitches and I adjust myself after righting my chair and composing myself. I focus on work for the next five and a half hours and each and every minute is pure torture.
21
Anais
Bishop’s house is dark as I walk up the stairs to the main living area. I had to use the flashlight on my phone when I was entering the number on the keypad to his garage because the street lamps weren’t on yet and darkness was already setting in. The days are already getting shorter, and his North facing house had only a hint of the setting sun casting a shadow on it.
I reach the second level and bypass it and go directly to the third floor where his bedroom is. I enter the dark room and flip on the light. I look around to find his room pristine. The four poster bed that sits up high is done up like it’s in a home catalog. The leather and metal bench has a blanket stylishly draped over the corner, and his lounge clothes are folded neatly at the corner of his bed.
I walk around, looking at the pictures that sit on his dresser and the art hung on his walls. I admire photos of him with his family, both blood and found, and trace the lines of his face in one where he stands proudly in his uniform with his parents.
He looks younger but just like the Bishop I know. Strong and tall and broad and with a smile that lights up my body. His muscles are much leaner compared tohow he looks now. Back then he was fit but thinner. Now, he’s thick with bulging muscles and a body that says he does more than catch a ball.
I step into his closet and rake my fingers over his shirts and jeans. The entire closet smells of his cologne and laundry detergent and I bury my nose into one of his sweatshirts. My eyes close when I inhale, and I want to be buried in his scent.
I get an idea and start stripping off my clothes. I gingerly step out of my leggings and pull off my crewneck. My bra and underwear come off as well, and I finger through the shirts hanging, looking for the perfect one. I can’t find the right one, but I do come across something even better.
I step back out into his room and open the drawer where I saw him pull out a pair of boxers and grab some. Then I quickly peek in the other drawers and find a pair of socks that will go perfectly. I go back into his closet and put my outfit together.
I take a look at what I have and come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t be too upset to lose a nonessential clothing item, so I go into his bathroom and dig through his drawers until I find a pair of small scissors. They’re a bit difficult to use, but eventually I get the job done.
I finish dressing then quickly step into his room to turn off the light and flick on the lamps on his bedside tables. I play with laying on the bed and sprawling across the bench seductively. I even try to sit on top of his dresser but think better when the items start to jiggle. I go for standing against one of the poster bed rails, my hands behind my back and gripping on to the steel.
I steady my breath and wait to hear the beeping of the alarm as Bishop told me to reset the alarm once I was in. It only takes a few more minutes to hear the repetitive beeping of the alarm. The house falls silent only to be disturbed by a booming voice.
“Anais,” he bellows.
“In your room,” I call out as loud as I can.
The faint footsteps turn heavier as they draw closer and my heart begins pounding to the beat of his steps. I chew on my lip nervously as I wait for him to enter. I start to rethink this whole scenario, wondering if it’s childish or if he’ll think I’m being immature.
Unfortunately, there is no time to change anything about this setup because just as I think I should run into his closet and change, the door swings open. A large brooding body stands in the doorway.
“Heaven help,” I hear him groan, and my nerves quickly turn to anxious energy.
“Hey Coach Michaels. I’m here for tryouts,” I tell him, my voice extra sugary sweet.
