Sasha
Ican’tbelievetheguys followed me. That they admitted they’re not ready for this to be over, but not just in a sexual way. Well, I mean, the sexual way will continue for sure, but they want more.
We all want more.
My inherited house is the perfect option for privacy.
After dropping my shoes by the door, I head to the kitchen out of habit and toss my phone and keys onto the counter.
That’s it for habits as I rush upstairs to the room I’ve claimed as my own. The room that was supposed to be the big revelation spot for my boyfriend, which is why I’ve loaded a few dresser drawers and put white satin sheets on the bed. The patchwork quilt bedspread is draped over an upholstered chair so as not to kill the mood.
Silly me. Or is that prophetic me? The current mood is far better than anything I imagined.
I pull open the heavy wooden drawer that has the pristine red and white lingerie I’d planned to wear for John. At least I have something sexy to slip into—although I’m not sure it will bemore comfortable, as they say.
Hurriedly peeling off my dress, bra, and underwear, I lift the sexy garment.
A shudder overtakes me.
My guys are fresh and exciting. This slip of fabric is somehow tainted. And likely to bring up questions. Do all virgins keep lingerie lying around…or only the bad virgins?
I chuckle at my term. It’s amazing Tank didn’t run for the hills.
To the contrary…he’s about to be running up these stairs.
Naked, I plop on the bed and glance around the room, trying to think of anything else I can wear. Sweats, t-shirts, and threadbare pajamas, the only other items I have here, leave me convinced naked is the best option.
Slipping on the silky sheet as I attempt to stand, an idea hits me.
I pull the top sheet off and quickly wrap it around myself in toga fashion. The fabric is decidedly uncooperative compared to the cotton sheets I’ve used as togas, but with a little work, I manage to get the ends tucked in just right.
From the top of the stairs, I’ll be able to see the guys open the door and come in, but they won’t know about the back stairwell, so I’ll have a running start by the time the chase ensues.
My heart pounds and my sweaty palms are no help in gathering the slick fabric that tangles around my feet. If I’m going to have any chance of keeping a lead, I have to be able to do more than trip on the sheet.
I won’t have much time when they see me. They’re on the porch, probably gripping the door handle, ready to burst in. How have my five minutes not passed? It seems like an eternity.
Purge’s yell answers my unspoken question. “Time’s up. Ready or not, here we come.”
Do I imagine that he emphasizes the last word? Well, they’re not coming yet, but I’m sure they will be soon, and so will I, over and over again. Thankfully, there are no neighbors.
The door flies open.
The three of them storm in, their eyes barely initiate a scan of the house, which is completely unfamiliar to them. The many dark corners, and old green and gold furniture are a stark contrast to my brand-new white satin sheets.
And it’s the shiny white that catches their attention.
All three of them lift their gaze at the same time. Tank is the first to break into a full sprint, scaling the stairs two to three at a time, before I can even register that he’s moving my direction.
My breath has stopped. I’m frozen. I’m kind of terrified. Then I snap out of it. Thank god for the long, formal stairwell. I have time to get away.
My heart’s beating a million miles an hour, providing blood flow and energy for the fight or flight response that carries me down the hallway. Shoving an arm out to keep from slamming into the wall, I round the corner faster than I ever have before.
The quick whooshes of the sheet as my feet navigate my path, highlight how much it impedes me. I tug the fabric higher.
I have my lead, but the harsh stomp of Tank’s boots as he lands on the second floor keeps my adrenaline surging.
Another corner.