Have you ever seen something you knew you wanted the moment you saw it? Something so delicious and mouth-watering that you could almost taste it on your tongue? Like your favorite dessert. That was her, and every curve of her body beneath the little black dress was perfection. The more I watched her from across the bar, the harder my cock got. Oh god, I’d watched her for so long, but she never noticed me.
We only met once. One time. She wouldn’t give me the time of day, and I don’t think she even remembered me. I never hid my face, but she never looked at me with a hint of recognition. She came in at seven every Sunday night and ordered a Moscow Mule. She’d wink at the bartender, a man much more attractive than me. She was the love of my life. She just didn’t know it. I knew it, though.
I knew it the moment her hips swayed to that shitty pop song. She knocked the table and spilled my drink on my new slacks. At first, I was pissed. I rose to my feet, dabbing at my wet crotch, ready to yell at her. The moment my eyes locked on hers and she let out a drunk-as-shit laugh, I was hooked. She hardly apologized as she whipped her dark hair over her shoulder and flashed her big green eyes at me. When I think back on it now, it was a real dick move, but I still loved her for it.
I watched her for months, and they were the best months of my life. I even named her. Victoria. She looked like a Victoria. My daytime thoughts of her would spill into the evenings, and I’d dream of her, always waking up in a cold sweat with my dick in one of my hands. I’m ambidextrous.
I went to my car and slipped the key into the ignition. The clock on my dashboard clicked to a minute past midnight. I bit my nails, racked with nerves.
I waited until last call, knowing she’d stumble out of the bar, dangerously drunk, as usual. She’d look so vulnerable out there, wobbling across the dark parking lot alone. Someone could hurt her! The thought of something happening to her shattered my heart.
Right on cue, she teetered outside. While she tried to work her way to her car, the heel of her shoe broke off in a hole in the pavement, and she nearly fell. Oh god, I couldn’t let her get hurt.
I got out of the car and hurried over, coming to her aid. I had to protect her. I was the hero she didn’t know she needed. I was her knight, and my armor was made of gold.
She laughed and leaned on my arm. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she slurred. She flashed her green eyes at me, and that almost derailed me.
Focus.
“Let’s get you home,” I said as I guided her toward my car.
I put her in the passenger seat and leaned over her lap to buckle her seatbelt. Before I could close the door, she spewed vomit onto the ground. I stepped back, narrowly avoiding the chunks of toxic, alcohol-infused stomach acid splattering against the concrete.
I struggled to keep my eyes on the road as I drove her home. I kept stealing peeks of her long legs stretching into the shadows below the dashboard. My perfect girl was safe, and I’d been the one to protect her. Me.
I parked my car at the top of the driveway and carried her drunk ass into my house. I placed her on the couch and brushed the hair away from her sticky, sweaty face. “You beauty,” I cooed as I rubbed her cheek.
Her breath smelled like vomit, but I didn’t care. Even if she breathed fire, I’d still sit in front of her.
The hours ticked by as I sat on the couch beside her, absorbing her presence. The sound of each breath was enough to make me feel high. She was in my house, and now it could be a home.
I caught a glimpse of her pale thighs as she rustled in her sleep, her dress hardly covering her at times. If it rode up just a bit further, I could confirm if she looked how I dreamed she would look.
Just because I didn’t touch her didn’t mean I hadn’t imagined it. Like how electric it would feel if I slipped my hand between her thighs. Like when your favorite food is sold out every time you try to get it, and when you finally do, that first bite is just . . . heavenly. Like nothing else in the world mattered but you and that meal.
If I touched her, I knew I’d make her feel so good. And I wanted to make her feel good. I didn’t care if she touched me. I just wanted to make her come. Her moans would be auditory crack. She was everything I’d ever desired, bundled up in one beautiful package. But I kept my hands to myself. I had to take care of her, but I couldn’t take care of her in that way. Not yet.
She stirred, rolling onto her back with a confused sigh. She groaned and sat up. Her eyes widened at the sight of me, naked and staring at her. Fear raced over her expression, and it made me feel so bad.
She shouldn’t be scared of me. I’m her protector.
She tugged down her dress, making sure I couldn’t steal a glimpse between her legs. Did she think I had sex with her? I would never. At least, not while she was asleep.
“Where am I?” “With me,” I whispered.
She clambered off the couch to try to leave. That couldn’t happen. I waited too long and worked too hard to get her there. I grabbed her by the back of her dress and tugged, pulling her into my arms.
“Victoria, shh, stop!”
“I’m not Vic—”
I squeezed her. “Victoria, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
And I didn’t hurt her. I just zip tied her wrists to stop her from hitting me. All I wanted to do was take care of her, but she kept screaming—a shrill squeal that made me want to give her a quick tap to the head with my fist and knock her out for a little while. She screamed until her voice grew raspy and tired. I stroked her hair as she cried against my shoulder. I comforted her because she needed comforting.
I went to grab a paper bag by the couch, and she jumped to her feet. She ran for the door, rattling the knob wildly and ignoring the deadbolt much too high for her tied wrists. I smiled at her tenacity. My dick hadn’t been soft since I got her home, and I twitched with desire. It made her scream all over again as she slid down the door and cried.
I dug around in the bag, pulling out handfuls of red, white, and pink rose petals. They felt like silk in my hands. I tossed a handful at her, and they rained down and spread on the floor around her. I kept throwing Hansel-and-Gretel handfuls which led toward the bedroom. I dumped some on the bed and tossed a final handful into the empty tub.
I turned on the water, and the petals glided through a fog of steam. They floated on the surface like beautiful little boats. I poured in an intoxicating mixture of lavender and rosemary. Bubbles rose to the surface, capturing the petals in their frothy masses.
I went back to the living room and grabbed her off the floor. Thick black lines of makeup ran down her pale cheeks while she continued to sob. I licked my finger and wiped at her skin. It did nothing to clean her sweet face. And it was sweet, even as swear words poured from her mouth like a faucet.
I scooped her up, and she fought against me, kicking her legs like a spoiled child. I probably should have tied those too.
“Let go of me, you psycho!” she yelled.
Her words offended me. I wasn’t a psychopath. “Actually, I’m a sociopath.”
I breathed in her scent—vomit and the barroom floor. I put her down, letting her stand on her feet.
She writhed in my grasp as I reached my arm around her and pulled the zipper down her back. My fingers grazed her skin.
“Please, please don’t,” she begged.
“Let me bathe you,” I said with adoration.
I pushed the fabric past her hips and to the ground. Twitch. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which I already knew. There was nowhere for the straps to go, and at the bar, I’d witnessed the excited mounds beneath the silken fabric of her dress. White panties wrapped around her waist, the thin material revealing almost everything beneath them. Twitch.
Rarely were things better in real life than in your dreams, but there she was—something more than better. Somehow, she trumped the ideal image I created in my mind. My heart melted into a gooey mess in my chest.
I scooped her up and put her in the bathtub. She fought against me, splashing water everywhere. Waves of bubbles washed over the sides of the tub and gathered on my hardwood floors.
I leaned over and breathed in the aroma within her hair. She smelled like oily scalp and hairspray. She was delicious. She cried, screamed, and pleaded with me as I grabbed a washcloth and began to bathe her. With soft strokes, I wiped her cheeks. Black stains transferred onto the cloth. I washed down the beautiful curve of her back, her skin feeling so familiar beneath my touch. I ran the cloth along her chest and through the incredible arches of her breasts. Twitch.
She was . . . everything.
A happy little song buzzed within my throat. I was so overjoyed, I couldn’t help it. She screamed over my humming, which made my cheeks pulse. Could she not shut up for a moment and enjoy my tune? I was singing it for her!
“Don’t be inconsiderate,” I scolded as I washed her hair.
She stopped screaming. Her lip trembled as I lathered the shampoo into her scalp. The strands were like the rose petals—silky and soft. The scent of her and the flowery smells floated to my nose, and I let out a groan.
I grabbed the showerhead and turned it on, making sure it was the perfect temperature. Not so hot that it would burn her skin, but not so cold that it would make her shiver. My hand guarded her eyes from the soap as I rinsed her hair. As the suds rolled down her body, she panted with fear. I lifted her out of the tub by her arms.
“Please,” she begged again.
“Shh.” I kissed her forehead.
She flailed against my lips, trying to pull away from me. She was being incredibly rude.
I wrapped a towel around her. A big fluffy cotton one. I pulled her trembling body into me, trying to soothe her. She dropped her head in defeat, as if she thought I would kill her after all that. Why would I kill her? She was the love of my life. You only met people like her once in your lifetime, so you had to snatch them up. You couldn’t let love walk out the damn door. Even if she hit you and kicked you or deafened your eardrums, you couldn’t let someone like her leave.
I guided her toward the bed. She dug in her heels, but I was much stronger. A final tug was all I needed to land her in the pile of rose petals. I stared at her as she struggled to scoot off the bed.
“Stop it,” I said as I grabbed her arm.
I got into bed beside her, making her the smallest of spoons. She cried. She smelled like heaven, and I buried my nose in her wet hair. My fingers grazed the arch of her shoulder blade while she cried hard enough to send snot from her nose. It was so cute.
I leaned into the crook of her neck and inhaled. I lifted my mouth to her perfect little ear and moved her hair away. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I whispered. “I love you.”
The clock on my car’s dashboard drifted to a quarter past midnight. The bar’s metal side-entrance door slammed shut, the sound echoing against the brick buildings. My dear Victoria finally appeared from the bar, alone and stumbling drunk. Oh god, I couldn’t let her get in her car and drive. What if something happened to her?
I got out of the car and ran toward her. I grabbed
her arm to stop her, and she laughed at me, doubling over and vomiting near my feet. It smelled like pure vodka. If I licked it off the concrete, I’d get drunk. I had half a mind to go tell that bartender off. How dare he serve her to the point of this. What if I hadn’t been there waiting for her? Thank God I was.
I rubbed her arm with a reassuring touch. “Hey, let’s get you home, okay?”
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