Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Early Morning Text
Jack
Isat at my desk contemplating my life decision to do this goddamn building design.
It’s a sophisticated layout for an extremely wealthy customer whom I needed to impress.
An associate recommended me to him, but I knew the job would be tricky because I had heard through the grapevine that Mr. Armani was picky.
Gut instinct yelled at me not to fucking take the job after I had a meeting with Mr. Armani, and he expressed his vision.
I listened but turned him down even though he threw money at me to take the position.
He left my office enraged, with bills littering the floors, and rambled on in some fucking language I couldn’t make out.
I thought I had seen the last of Mr. Armani and his expensive gold rings on every finger.
Nope. Unfortunately, he came back, and I thought he wanted the money he had left behind.
Wrong. He knew I was the best in my skill set, and he was dead set on having me produce his dream while I kept his cold hard cash.
He even promised to pay me triple to complete the project.
Fucker was persistent. I declined again, but Mr. Armani parked his rich ass in my office and refused to leave until I took the job. So, I gave in.
Now?
I deeply regretted my decision.
Being an architect came with its perks. One pro—I could work at home on my time.
The cons were creating a complex design for someone who had to tweak my work.
I had to collaborate with people to construct the ideas dancing in their heads, and construct their dream landscapes while changing the fucking world.
Without someone like me, who possessed a creative mind and the ability to unfold structures, there would be no skyscrapers. No neighborhoods with custom-built homes. There would be no creativity in scenery across the world for everyone to view and be in awe of its beauty.
These blueprints took time to create, and Mr. Armani was not only tenacious, he was impatient as hell. The imagination was an amazing place, but one could get lost in it, and he was adding details to a finished product. Every time we had a conversation, he had a brand-new image for me to design.
Mr. Armani was like a spoiled kid who had never been disciplined and didn’t understand the word no. He expected excellence. I was determined to give him brilliance because he was a high-paying client, but goddamn, I wanted to pull my damn hair out at one o’clock in the morning.
This building should go on the left.
Fuck.
No.
The entrance to the other building was in this exact location and would block the beautiful view of the sunrise to the west. Maybe a tad to the right to give extra space Mr. Armani wanted between each structure.
Shit.
Too far with the fucking fountain he desired. I’d have to put the place up toward the grass he had expressed needed to be the right measurements, but I had to make compromises somewhere. Mr. Armani wouldn’t notice because he wasn’t skilled in math.
Christ! Who was I kidding? Mr. Armani noticed every fucking detail I had changed because he hired people to do the job for him.
“Goddamn it!” I yelled as my voice echoed off the walls, and I banged my forehead against the desk.
Suddenly, my cell phone beeped. I released a loud groan and reached for my cell phone. Crap. Not again.
I couldn’t take any more changes out of that arrogant SOB’s mouth this early on a damn Monday morning. I’d rather crawl into bed and, scream constant profanities into my fucking pillow than hear anymore from him. He tried my patience, and I wanted this fucking job over with.
As grumpy as I might be, I tried hard to work in peace. Tranquility helped me get each project done. Mr. Armani’s constant interference made me want to take a gun and blow my fucking brains out.
The screen lit up. I squinted. My eyes adjusted to the bright illumination in my dimly lit room, and I couldn’t believe it.
The text message wasn’t from Mr. Armani. It was my neighbor who never contacted me. Intrigued, I opened the text message.
Noelle Evergreen: I know it’s early, but I couldn’t sleep.
My heart skipped a beat. Elle couldn’t go to bed because of me? I replied, my fingers typing impatiently.
Me: Why?
I changed her contact name to Little Elle and grinned when her text popped up almost instantly.
Little Elle: I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
My smirk widened.
Me: I don’t blame you, princess.
Elle took a full minute to respond. The three dots kept dancing, then stopping, only to move again.
Little Elle: Gross.
I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Bingo. I hit a nerve. Elle was stalling. I’d get the truth out of her.
Me: I don’t buy the bullshit, Elle. I didn’t disgust you when my mouth made love to your sweet pussy, and now you can’t sleep because of me.
Little Elle: Don’t let your ego inflate your head, old man.
Me: Eating you out has nothing to do with my head but everything to do with my tongue.
I could imagine her pretty mouth forming a perfect O shape, big enough for me to push my dick in and experience her tight wet lips wrapped around my cock. I’d slide into her, deep enough to hit the back of her throat and make her—Ding!
Another text interrupted my fantasy.
Little Elle: Yesterday you called me your wife. Why?
Shit. My heart hammered in my ears, my ego popped, and my smirk dropped. I had hoped Elle had forgotten about my mishap, but she hadn’t.
Me: Yeah. So?
I sounded like an immature teenager with an attitude after he didn’t get a blowjob.
This was what Elle did to me. She made me react out of goddamn impulse, with the stubborn need to be right and flawless.
Even though lately all of my blemishes were showing.
My insecurities revealed themselves through the cracks she had made in my walls, and she kept attempting to break them down.
Little Elle: Quit dragging out the inevitable, old man. Why did you say I was yours?
Because I want you. Fuck. I need you badly my dick throbs inside my gray sweatpants, pitching a damn tent as we speak.
Christ, little Elle, if you could only see me right now, you’d know how much I desire you.
How I want to hold you in my arms, kiss those delicious lips, and hear you moan into my goddamn mouth.
To hear you whimper for me and no one else—because that was all I longed for, even when I shouldn’t.
Me: You can’t handle the truth, little Elle.
Little Elle: Try me.
God. I loved when Elle got sassy. The brat flew out of her, and my balls tightened up against me.
Me: I want you. Bad. More than any other woman I’ve ever encountered before.
There was a long pause. An entire five minutes passed while I stared at the screen of my cell phone and awaited her witty comeback. Those three dots didn’t dance. I should’ve kept the truth to myself—Elle was making me sweat.
“Shit,” I cursed.
As I got up, the leather desk chair flew backward and hit the wall.
I paced back and forth in front of my desk, contemplating my poor decision-making.
I should’ve left the text message alone and made Elle be the one to stir until sunrise.
My hand ran down my face after another sixty seconds passed, and there was another text.
Little Elle: You crossed the line, Jack.
I was pissed. This woman had the audacity to act as if I was alone in spreading her thighs wide and making her whimper out into the cold winter air. Elle had wanted me too, and I wouldn’t let her dismiss me.
Me: You willingly went over the boundary with me, princess. Do I need to refresh your memory?
Little Elle: No.
Me: Too damn bad.
Little Elle: Jack, stop.
I couldn’t quit.
Me: You begged me not to stop and whimpered when my tongue licked where it shouldn’t.
The temptation of letting an older man bury his face in your pussy was too much, and you practically threw your legs open for me.
Your cunt dripped for a man you shouldn’t desire.
All fucking soaking wet while completely unable to help yourself.
But let’s not forget about those ripped panties.
I ordered you a new pair. The delivery will be at your door by noon.
Again, Elle left me hanging. Silence had become my new enemy, with her lingering on the sidelines while a clock ticked away in the background.
Birds chirped their morning song with the sunrise on the way.
The anticipation of her response killed me, and I flew down the stairs, heading straight for the door.
With my boots on and the doorknob in hand, I prepared to go outside shirtless into the bitter cold.
Until the ding of a new text caught my attention.
Little Elle: I’ll be waiting.
Shit. How was I supposed to respond to that?
The answer was simple: I shouldn’t.
My hand shook against the doorknob, and sweat beads pooled on my forehead.
I was tempted to open the door and march over the property line, crossing into enemy territory, where the lines blurred, and I couldn’t see fucking straight anymore.
I craved to knock on my neighbor’s door and wait for Elle to answer and entice me some more, but I couldn’t give in to her.
Elle had left the ball in my court, and I had to resist her, but God help me, withstanding my best friend’s daughter was so dang hard. As much as I wanted to rush next door and kiss her as soon as she let me inside, I couldn’t cross the line again.
I did what I should’ve done the first time my cell phone had made a sound. I ignored Elle’s text. She’d see I had read her message, and I’d leave her mind to spin at the possibilities.
Why?
I was the grumpy old guy next door who should stay far away from Elle Evergreen. Even though she texted me one more time to remind me that Faith was expecting me to come by after school to practice for her Christmas concert.
Christ, you’ve got to be shitting me.
I had made a promise to Faith that I intended to keep. Her mother better not get in my way with those damn blushing rosy cheeks, her full mouth begging me to kiss her, or her teeth biting at her damn lip. Goddamn. This visit would be a challenge, but I’d have to accept it.