Homewrecker (18+)

Chapter 4

"I don't mess up." I said simply, locking eyes with her. "You can trust me."

"I know," Teresa responded. She looked around at the girls. "What do you guys want for snacks?"

After literally writing a list of snacks I were to bring back upstairs, I exited the bedroom and quickly shut myself in the bathroom.

Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I quickly rummaged around in my suitcase for my pajamas and proceeded to undress.

Slipping on my pink shorts, which so happens to be slightly undersized and perhaps a bit provocative, I threw my dress off, unhooked my bra, and slipped on my white t-shirt, which reached just above my navel. Surely Mr. Rossi won't mind that I accidentally forgot to bring a sports bra to wear to bed.

After perfecting myself until I liked what was staring back at me, I zipped my suitcase back up and left it next to Teresa's bedroom door.

Quietly padding down the staircase, the wood of the steps feeling cold against my bare feet, my hands clutching the thin railings, I observed my surroundings with completely no idea as to where his office was.

I peeked into the room next to the foyer, where an all-black love seat was placed in front of a marble fireplace, with two bookshelves on each side, the shelves bulging with so much literature that a book-worm would twinge with envy.

Letting my curiosity disseminate my conscience, I walked over to one of the shelves and let my hand graze against the spines of the books, dust decorating my fingertips.

"Looking for something?" A deep, husky and irresistibly divine voice sounded from the archway of the room.

My body froze, my hand unable to move any further. I froze not with fear of getting caught, but with lust- so much of it that my body seemed to lack the knowledge of how to deal with such a pulsating heart. Taking a deep and shaky breath, I turned around and mustered as much confidence as I possibly could.

I wore a mellow smile and slowly intertwined my fingers with my blond curls, twisting and twirling my hair around my finger. "I was just browsing. You have quite the collection. I see you're a fan of H.P Lovecraft?" I asked delicately.

Almost cautiously, he stepped into the room. I let myself take in his features- dark blue jeans that hung loosely on his hips, button down black shirt, no socks. Two of his buttons were undone, revealing a minuscule tease of chest hair.

His eyes, which were so dark and brown like rich and melting chocolate, grazed over my body as mine had done to his. And when they stopped at my chest, although for a few seconds, I still knew they were acknowledging my breasts, which were perky and completely in desperate need of large hands to grope on to, such as his own.

"Yes, I am a fan. I assume you are as well?" he responded, inching closer, although not close enough.

I slid out a thick and dusty book and read the spine out loud. "Edgar Allan Poe." I held it up to him. "H.P Lovecraft is more modern, but I prefer Poe. Such a wonderful book should be better taken care of, sir," I said as I purposely blew the dust off, letting the specks float to the hardwood floor.

"Indeed it should," he responded, glancing again at my breasts, which caused my breathing to rapidly increase. Placing the book back in its spot, I slowly sauntered past him and stopped midway, his elbow now almost touching the side of my hip.

I arched my neck and turned so that I was facing him, my mouth dangerously close to the side of his neck. Being so close to his jaw made it horribly difficult to not smell his wonderful aftershave, which only caused my insides to clench and a warm blush to explode on my cheeks. A shaky sigh escaped my lips.

He was staring ahead, and being this close made his heavy breaths more than obvious. He was struggling. His fists clenched at his sides, which caused my face to flush even more, if possible.

I refused to look down at his manhood, for I have already fantasized about his erotic body part, and I would never be able to control the beast that was aching to explode out of me. Not yet, anyways.

"You have a marvelous taste, Mr. Rossi." I hummed breathlessly, my warm breath against his neck, my words slow and tantalizing coming from my mouth that was craving something quite sinful. Clearly, we were talking about his taste in literature.

Reluctantly, I backed away from him and exited the room, but I could swear I still heard his heavy breathing, or perhaps that was just my own.

I was downstairs for alcohol and food. Nothing else. Nothing else at all.