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His Hostage(8)

By:Willow Winters



"You want to be a biologist, or a teacher?" I ask her, knowing she’d be too polite to talk over me. She blinks a few times, proving me right. "I just ask 'cause my brother went to school, but he decided to teach." I take a deep breath, then sit back in my seat as I run a hand through my hair. "Seems like a shit deal, though. That degree cost a lot, but teaching doesn’t pay dick."

My jaw tics as I realize I let a bit of profanity slip. I don't know why it bothers me. It's who I am, and this is how I talk. All I'm looking for is a quick fuck, and I think she'd enjoy my filthy mouth. Or at the very least, she'd enjoy it on her pussy. But something about cussing in front of her seems off. She's too sweet to taint.

"I have no fucking clue, to be honest," she says, and I smirk at her response. I love her blasé attitude and that her sweet little mouth can say naughty things. I’ve always wondered why people spend so much of their lives doing things that don’t thrill them. I need the high I get from my line of work. I don’t get people who work themselves to the bone for something their heart isn’t into.

"Then why do it?" I ask, and I honestly want to know. Her hesitation makes me think she doesn’t know how to answer. Then her eyes fall to the table, and her lips tug down into a frown.

Damn. That's not what I was expecting. I feel like an asshole for putting that sad look on her face. "Didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart." She shakes her head and looks back at me with a pained expression. She swallows and takes a deep breath. She’s so easy to read, and the only thing coming off of her right now is sorrow. I don’t like it. It’s not the read I got on her when she walked in.

"I'm just tired," she says. Her lips press into a sad smile. It's a lie. She may be tired, but that's not what's eating her. This is where I usually steer the conversation back to the direction of my dick, or just leave. But the fucking words come out of my unfiltered mouth with concern. "Tell me what's wrong," I say imperiously. I demand, rather than ask her for an answer, because I don’t want to give her the option not to confide in me. I want to know. Some sick, twisted part of me feels like I could fix it all.

Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t want me prying. I get that. To be honest, I’m surprised the question popped out of my mouth. Finally, she answers, "I'm just not happy with the decisions I've made for people who don't appreciate them." Vague answer, but a bit of relief washes over her. Like she’s happy just to get it off her chest. Surprisingly enough, she continues opening up.

"I keep moving my life around for my mother, who only seems to date shitty assholes who take, take, take until she's spent. And then she runs to me when she has nothing."

My heart fucking hurts for this broad. She's intelligent, beautiful, and sweet, yet she's hurting like this over her own mother? That's a damn shame. "Why do you do it?" I ask her. I sure as shit wouldn’t. Not that Ma would ever put me in that position.

She shakes her head and just like that, the walls come up. My fingers itch to touch her. I want to soothe that bit of sadness. I've never felt something like this before, like I could make her life better. Like I want to make her life better. It makes me feel uneasy. But I can't fucking stop it.

"Because she's my mother." She gives me a tight smile and reaches for the drink I didn't even see on the table. At least Brant’s good at keeping a low profile.

I’m really out of my fucking element here. I'm an expert on getting laid, but this sure as shit isn’t it.

I raise my eyebrows and take a deep breath. "I can see wanting to help your mom, I guess." I should give her some time to study and get out of this shit mood. "You want me to leave you alone so you can study?"

I feel like an ass, asking like a little bitch. I'd rather she didn't waste her time doing shit that makes her unhappy when I could have her bent over moaning in ecstasy. I should just drag her to the back room and give her what she needs. My dick is so fucking hard for her. I haven't had any ass for a while now, and the barest hint of her breasts is peeking out through her tank top, taunting me.

But, if she wants to bury herself in her work to forget about that shit, I can wait until she's done and then make sure she gets what she really needs. That, and I know she can read me like the back of her hand. She’s smart. If I pull a move now, then she'll know what’s up and just push me away. If I give her this, there's a better chance of me getting that ass later. I can wait. Usually I don't have to, but I'm willing to deal with a bit of blue balls, for a little while at least.

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry to be such a downer.” Her words drip with disappointment and sarcasm. What the hell? She’s blowing me off? Nope, not gonna fucking happen. I look like a bad influence, because I am a bad influence. It's real cute that she thinks I'll just go ahead and leave her to do her work after that smartass answer. I'm not that kind of guy though.

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