Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
But no. I heard more footsteps and the bathroom door close behind him.
“Goodnight,” I said to no one, feeling like the biggest fool on earth.
Chapter Seven
Julian
Some promises to yourself are hard to keep, even while bearing a huge, foul cross on your back. The snakes had been awakening and twisting in my stomach, and my pulse had been desperate as I’d shoved her clothes into the washer dryer. Clothes that smelled of her sweetness. If she’d have been close enough, I’m certain Rosie would have felt the heat from me. Being in a room next to a barely clothed little angel was almost more than an addict like me could take.
I repeated my confession to myself.
I, Julian Lockley, am a sex addict, who likes the degradation of barely legal girls.
Rosie was sweeter and much more innocent than any of the others. A girl from a broken home, with a mother struggling with her own self-hating battle and a man who couldn’t be trusted with his fists. Sweet Rosie didn’t need a sexual deviant adding to her burdens. I told myself she was vulnerable. I could never take advantage of that.
Even so, I almost crumbled.
She’d been in the bedroom for a few long minutes by the time my senses began to consume me. Her nipples had been tiny bullets under the damp cling of my shirt on her. I’d seen the shape of her pert little tits and the soft slope of her stomach, and I knew there was a perfect little pussy under there, waiting. The look in her searching eyes showed the ubiquitous kind of curiosity I’d been taking advantage of for years. I could almost taste the intrigue there, as though she was actually sensing the dark needs in my psyche. Spirit meets soul – the archetypal myth of romantic legends. But my spirit was seedy and disgusting, Rosie’s soul was pure and innocent, fit for a storybook princess. She really was a Cinderella. Shame I wasn’t a Prince Charming.
My version of the story wouldn’t be fit for schoolyard reading, that was for certain.
Who knew? Maybe if I’d have written erotic fairytales of sweet little virgins back in my 80s heyday, I’d be a bestseller by now. Agents may have leapt all over it, as opposed to my overdramatised historical thrillers.
I imagined Rosie under the covers in my bedroom, contemplating what kind of sicko lived under the surface of a man like me. It was so tempting to show her. So tempting to ease the door open for a glance. The craving called. Teasing. My feet moved slowly, responding. I knew she’d invite me in there if I showed my interest.
I paused outside the bedroom, fighting my demons with my hand on the handle. It would be so easy to press down and push it open. So, so, so fucking easy. My fingers gripped, and my cock ached, and I could feel my filthy pulse in my temples. The thought of her untouched skin was enough to scorch me, and my world was filling with her.
Infatuation is very dangerous territory, and I’d been battling it for weeks now, ever since she’d knocked on my door – a desperate victim. A girl needing a saviour.
But Rosie needed a true hero, not a dirty, filthy villain like me. I was hammering that truth into my brain over and over, praying the weight of morality held at least a shred of power.
That was the thought that made me wrench my hand away from the doorhandle and veer away into the bathroom. The girl was not mine to play with. She was not mine to use. She was nothing more than an innocent little flower, curious in her nasty world of hurt. This godawful place didn’t deserve her presence, and neither did I.
I needed to get the lust out of my system.
I was frantic as I worked my cock at the sink, desperately whizzing through memories of other young girls I’d fucked through the years. Grace’s friends, and the first few little flings I’d had with pretty princesses at college. So many memories used to drive me insane, but they were now nothing more than masturbation fodder. They’d all began to merge into one long stream of debauchery, only there was one vision I couldn’t keep out of them tonight…
The poor little creature in my bedroom kept spearing my senses. It was her I was thinking about when my cum spurted from my dick in three long streams. Her pert little tits I was marking as I came. Her tight little pussy I was pounding as I whacked hell out my cock and spurted every last drop. Fuck, it was divine.
She was divine.
The release brought me a little closer to my senses. I calmed myself down and talked some logic into myself. I was back. In the bathroom. In this cesspit, refocusing on my reason for being there.