9. Damiano
A towel-dried Paige comes into the room. She got home from work an hour ago, did her make-believe doctor rounds, then took a shower after the rabbit pissed all over her.
Now she’s in another pair of tiny shorts. Buttercup yellow this time, with a dark-blue T-shirt that says ‘Navy’ in faded gold letters.
She picks up her turtle from its cage and plops herself down on the floor, leaning back against the couch I’m on. Her wet hair presses cool against my side. I glance around the room and realize the couch is the only place to sit besides the two mismatched chairs at her tiny dining table.
She lets the turtle walk under and around her legs. It takes a few steps, then stops, another few steps. “Go on, get your steps in, T.”
Paige sets her iPad up against some books so it’s standing up in front of her. “All right, Toms, what trouble are you up to tonight?” she asks the screen as she starts a show.
For fuck’s sake. I’d give Salvo’s left nut to never watch reality TV. A few of the Cat girls constantly talk about different shows they’re obsessed with. It would be rude to cut them off just so they can blow me, so I smile and nod and watch how pretty they are when they’re excited about something. Then I let them blow me.
Paige’s phone lights up on the coffee table. From this angle, I can read it right over her shoulder.
Spencer
Hey
She glances over at me, then turns back to her phone.
Paige
Hi
Up for company?
And there’s the boyfriend. Figures. No way this girl doesn’t have guys all over her.
But, then again, the Paige giving me a sponge bath? That Paige didn’t seem like she had a man. So maybe not a boyfriend. Plus I don’t know many boyfriends that would let their girl have a complete stranger sleep on her couch.
Tonight won’t work. Sry!
Come on
She taps her lip a few times before responding, hesitating. She nods to herself, then types.
How about tmrw? I could come to your place
You know my roommate is weird about company. Your place.
She huffs.
Doesn’t invite her to his place? Definitely not the boyfriend. Kind of surprised, I’d think most guys would give their firstborn to call this girl theirs.
My apartment is out
Y?
She looks over at me again. It’s dark enough in here with the lights off that I don’t think she can tell I’m watching her. She stares off into space for a few seconds before she responds.
I’m rehabbing a cute little fox and he needs it quiet
A fox, huh? I can live with that. And I can live with cute—I can be absolutely adorable at times. But ‘little’? Maybe she needs to take another peek into my boxers.
We can be quiet. You’re already quiet. I can be quiet too.
Can’t we be quiet at your place?
Babe
“Give me a break,” she mutters, then puts her phone down, face down. She restarts the show on her iPad.
After a few minutes pass, she picks it up again to find his response waiting.
Come on, I’m 2 blocks away. Invite me up. Your fox won’t even know I’m there
We could meet for dinner somewhere?
She stares at the screen, waiting for an answer. There aren’t even bubbles. I don’t know this guy, but I know exactly what his answer will be.
Five minutes later, her phone lights up again.
IDK it’s getting late.
“Whatever.” Paige tosses the phone down and picks her turtle up, stands. “I’m telling you, Tango,” she carries him back to his tank, “guys are so frickin’ confusing.”
What are you confused about, angel? Your boy wants to fuck you—can’t say I blame him—and he’s either got a live-in girlfriend or he’s afraid you won’t leave after he nuts, so he doesn’t want you at his place. It’s crystal fucking clear, angel. Open your eyes and you’ll see it too.
I actually feel bad for the guy having to work so hard to get some. But I do completely agree with him on not bringing girls back to his place. I’ve never brought one to mine.
Paige mopes into her kitchen, then comes back with an overpoured glass of wine. She restarts her show.
As mindless as the show is, I’ll admit that the girls are smoking hot and the bitchy blonde one is fucking hilarious. She’s also absolutely terrifying—and I think that as someone who tortures and kills people for a living.
Fifteen minutes later, Paige gets up and pours herself a refill. She plops back onto the floor hard, hitting the couch and bouncing my hand onto her shoulder. “Oh, hello, you.” Her cool fingers wrap around my hand. She turns it over, traces a circle in my palm with her thumb, barely touching. “Would you invite me to your place?“ She lightly scrapes her nails up and down all my fingers at the same time. “Take me out to dinner? Introduce me to your friends?”
She twines her thin fingers with my thick ones and squeezes, like we’re holding hands.
I should squeeze her hand back—seems like she could use that right now—but I’m not going to blow my cover.
“You’d take me out on an actual date, wouldn’t you?”
I haven’t been on an actual date in a decade. Back then, I was still living in Rome, right before I left for the Navy. Violetta, with the big brown eyes and the pouty bottom lip and the short skirt that fluttered in the breeze.
She offered to wait for me until my enlistment was over, wrote to me every few days. But when I was recruited into GOI, I broke it off. Being unattached was a requirement for enrollment in special forces. We had to commit to putting country first. Wives, girlfriends, the possibility of having a kid, those were all distractions and vulnerabilities.
I haven’t even thought about dating since then. I bang it out most days with a Cat girl or two. But dating? Relationships?
Paige places my hand flat over her collar bone, like I’m holding her. Like she’s mine to hold. She goes back to watching another episode of her show with my arm draped across her.
The show is playing, but all my attention is focused on her skin against my fingers. Smooth and soft. Her pulse racing against the tip of my finger. Her long blonde hair is in a big floppy bun on the top of her head, leaving an ear, her delicate jawline, her thin neck exposed.
Paige is the complete opposite of the Cat girls. She’s easily as hot as any of them, hotter than most of them. But she’s perfectly at ease with no makeup, messy hair. She spends her time trying to help broken animals. Was willing to help a complete stranger without asking anything in return.
The Cat girls aren’t exactly asking for anything in exchange for fucking around, but they all know that after Salvo, I rank next highest. Rob makes his appreciation crystal fucking clear when the Cat girls keep his senior guys satisfied and completely uninterested in getting tied down. And the girls do a mighty fine job of it.
Paige shifts her position, and my hand slides down, resting on the top of her tit over her shirt.
No bra.
My pinky is resting on her stiff nipple. Her firm gumdrop nipple.
She isn’t moving my hand away. She might even be leaning into it?
Don’t squeeze.
Don’t caress.
Don’t pinch.
Don’t do it, man. She’s tipsy as fuck, but not drunk enough to believe you’re squeezing her tit while passed out.
Yeah, she’s definitely leaning into my hand, my hand that would perfectly cup this glorious tit if I flexed. Jesus fuck, what’s she trying to do to me?
This is definitely all-natural. Natural and perfect. Making my cock throb.
I need some fucking relief. I very slowly move my right hand from next to me on the couch to my dick to give it a slow, firm squeeze. He’s dripping, and it’s just enough lube for a few much-needed strokes, except that it simultaneously causes stabs of pain in my right shoulder.
Fuck you, shoulder, you don’t matter right now.
Paige reaches forward a little and picks up her iPad. I can’t help but throw in a little tit squeeze as she does, hoping her movement hides mine. So fucking firm.
She leans back into place, my hand snugly tucked into her shirt.
This is complete torture. Her tit’s in one hand, my cock’s in the other, and I can’t move either without her knowing I’m awake. I should add some version of this to my ‘enhanced interrogation’ routine to get motherfuckers to talk, ’cause honestly, I’d tell her all my secrets right now for her to rub her tits all over my cock, let me jizz all over her.
She must be done watching her show because she’s typing a new website address.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, angel. She’s putting on porn.
She types ‘stranger on my couch’ into the porn site’s search bar, but that results in a bunch of ‘stepsister anal’ hits. I mean, we can watch those. I don’t watch much porn, given that the Cat girls are like live-action porn I get to touch, but some of the thumbnails on her screen look good.
Some look really fucking good. That third one—that third one down looks unbelievably good. Pick that third one. Or, maybe, bookmark it for when you’re at work tomorrow and I’m here all day long with nothing to do but think about this perfect tit that’s still in my hand.
Paige must not like the options though. She enters a new search. ‘Sexy patient.’
I have to give my dick another squeeze. Pretty sure this girl’s about to play with herself right here next to me, with my hand on her tit , watching porn, and not just any porn, but porn that sounds a hell of a lot like she’ll be thinking about me while she does it.
Maybe my hand can slip down lower, slip into those tiny shorts. Then she can grind against it, riding it till she explodes.
‘Sexy patient’ loads a screen full of girls in tiny panties with male doctors about to give them a hot beef injection. Paige changes her search to ‘sexy male patient.’
She’s trying to kill me. That’s it. This girl brought me here to save me, but really, she’s trying to kill me.
Kill me or work her voodoo magic on me, voodoo magic that’s messing with my head, making me think that maybe I can ‘wake up’ a little, fool around with her some, then ‘pass back out’ after I blow my load without her getting too suspicious.
Like sleepwalking, but fucking instead. Maybe she’s tipsy enough to believe that’s a thing?
I mean, I don’t know for sure that it’s not a thing, so maybe I can pull it off. And she’s buying the coma act, so maybe it’s worth a try.
She scrolls halfway down the page. “Bingo.” She clicks on a thumbnail of a guy with dark hair lying in a hospital bed, his arm in a sling, a blonde nurse standing next to him, holding a clipboard. The girl’s wearing a nurse cap and a white thong and nothing else. For fuck’s sake , that could be us.
Paige moves my hand off of her. Places it back onto the couch.
No.
She stands up with a drunken wobble.
No.
She picks up her glass of wine.
Don’t go, angel.
“Nighty-night, my loves.” She blows kisses to the animal cages, then drops a warm, lingering kiss on my cheek.
Her magnificent ass and those phenomenal tiny shorts disappear into her room. With wine and porn.
And the drawer full of vibrators I found when I was looking for my gun.
Fuu-uu-uuuck.