Page 23 of Salvage Him
Six
Brooklyn
It hurtmy heart watching Harrisonstormoff.
I hated Paul's fake show of possessiveness. He didn't care what I did as long as it didn'tembarrasshim.
I collected my stuff and headed out the front of the house. The workers had arrived to install the door. Even though we were six months away from moving in, I needed to gettowork.
Paul followed me. His new car sat near the curb in front of mine. He bought himself a silverHummerH3.
"I'll meet you at home," he said as he climbed intohisSUV.
I stifled a laugh as Paul reached over his head and pulled himself up to climbed into the monstertruck.
What did I ever see inthisguy?
All comparisons aside, it was a bad sign when you forgot why you were withsomeone.
When we met, Paul pursued me with the same enthusiasm he did any big development deal. He did his research, spoiled me, and gave me any and everything I wanted to the point I couldn't deny him. I didn't want him to think Iusedhim.
When I stood up in front of a judge on the Brooklyn Bridge and told him I would love him until the day I die, I meant it. Lately, though, I died a little everysingleday.
Since moving to Dallas, it felt like Paul was done with me. It should have made me sad, but itdidn’t.
We arrived at the apartment and rode the elevator up in silence. I unlocked and opened the door. The view from the sixteenth floor was beautiful but bored me after a few days. I dropped my stuff on the table in the living room. I walked over to thewindow.
Paul walked upbehindme.
Iflinched.
"Why are you so jumpy?" he asked with his hands onmyback.
"It's nothing." I shookmyhead.
He nuzzled my neck, reached around, and cupped me between my legs. I wanted to push his hands away, but Ididn't.
"Paul. I have a lot to work to do." I turned away, but he placed his other hand on my hip and pressed me into theglass.
"Me, too," he said as he slid his hands inside my leggings and ran his fingers through my folds. I was surprised to find I was wet. "You are ready for me. That's mylittlegirl."
Icringed.
I hated when he called me little girl. I hated when he called me outsidemyname.
I leaned my head back as his fingers awkwardly rubbed me. When his fingers would skim my clit by accident, it sent a jolt of pleasure through me. Imoaned.
He rubbedharder.
I closed my eyes, and my thoughts went to Harrison. His long fingers, his muscular forearms, and the way his dark blue eyes lookedatme.
As I neared an orgasm, Paul stopped. My throat hitched, and I turned to protest, but Paul grabbed myshoulders.
"Stay right here." He placed a hand behind my neck and pushed me with force into the glass. He fumbled with his slacks. He panted as he stroked himself. It took him a long time to get hard. He didn't want my help or want me to watch. It was partly age andpartlyego.
Paul yanked my leggings down. He pushed his semi-hard cock between my ass cheeks. I squeezed my eyes again andwaited.
When he was hard enough, he bent down and pushed himself into me. If his penis size was any indication, we weren't compatible. He wasn't big enough, or I wasn't tight enough. I grunted when he pushed a finger inside me along with his penis to increase thefriction.
