Mr. Halloway's Pet

Chapter Eight

After studying every inch I can possibly see of his house, I decide that there's not a doubt in my mind of his relationship status.

There is not a touch of love here.

No family pictures hang on the walls, just 3 photographs of probably the cutest baby I've ever seen. Charlie, I'm assuming. She looks to be getting into her late stages of 1 and early stages of 2 in each picture. They all seem to be recent.

In most pictures she has some sort of bow in her hair, paired with her curly brown locks and blue eyes, she's a doll.

Aside from the Charlie decor, a vase of plastic flowers sit atop a dining room table, which is the first thing I see when I walk in.

The entrance to the living room is to the right but we take the little hall straight to the dimly-illuminated dining room. The hardwood floor is stained a dark color, matching the table. A chandelier hangs above said table, casting light in various directions with each tiny bulb attached to its golden chained bars.

Through the dining room and to the right is the kitchen.

"You can make yourself comfortable, kick your shoes off if you'd like. I'll finish everything up." He invites me through the kitchen, which is also attached to the living room like one big circle.

I accept his invitation toward the living room, taking my shoes off and leaving them to the side where the hardwood meets the milky colored carpet—which is soft and cushioned, even through the fabric of my socks.

Similar to the hall at the entrance of the house, the walls are all but barren of any decoration. Aside from the matching brown couch and recliner set, and a TV with a stand to match it, there is little to look at. However, I do see a bin of toys hiding behind the recliner.

The TV is turned onto Fairly Odd Parents, which does ignite a small spark of happiness in me. Definitely a childhood favorite.

It only takes about five minutes of sitting in the cozy recliner before Mr. Halloway calls me back into the kitchen.

"That was fast." I comment, all but skipping my way into the dining room where he pulls a chair out for me.

I couldn't identify the smell earlier, however I could point out garlic amongst the mixture of other seasons.

I'm not left guessing for long. Upon his return, he has two plates of lightly breaded chicken with a cheesy-looking drizzle. The sides consist of asparagus, mashed potatoes, and creamed corn.

It almost feels like I'm being served at a 5-star restaurant as he places it in front of me, and the other right across.

He disappears again and returns with salad and rolls.

Dear lord, how much does this man think I can consume? Because he's absolutely correct. I could eat my weight in food if given the chance.

Especially with food that smells and looks this good.

About 20 minutes and a little bit of small talk later, both of our plates are empty for the most part. I feel bad leaving my mashed potatoes untouched, but I've just never been into potatoes all that much...especially mashed.

I nibble on my roll while he clears our dishes, impressively grabbing them all in one go. I want to offer to help clean up, but before I can do so, he's back and offering me a hand.

I take it and stand from my sitting position before letting him lead me to the living room. His touch is same as always; warm, firm, and exciting.

My body burns in anticipation of what I can only assume is up next for our list of activities for the evening.

I loosen my grip on his hand and slide it up his arm in a slow caress. With my choice of gesture, I try to gouge his reaction but before I can, he sits on the very plush sofa and pulls me into his lap.

I smile to myself, confirming my assumption before adjusting on his body. And by adjusting, I mean brushing up against every intimate part of him I can reach.

I let my fingers trail across his cheekbones, lingering at the crook of his neck and down his chest.

"So," I begin, "I think I might have an idea for dessert."

My finger is light on his skin, but I'm victorious when goosebumps appear as a result.

"What would that be?" He asks with a small smile and a sparkle in his eye.

I giggle and turn so I'm straddling his hips. I take both of his hands and run them up my outter thighs, hips, and to rest right at my waist. "I was hoping you'd have a good idea of what it was."

He wastes no time taking control and digging his fingers into my skin.

"I think I do." His voice is seductive, and definitely a bit hypnotic. His hands move on their own accord now.

Similar to what I'd done previously, he retracts his fingers, takes my hands in his own, and with his guidance, places each palm to the exposed skin right beneath my hiked up shirt.

I allow him to trail my own fingers across my body, starting at the waist, slowly over my ass, and around to greet the curve between thighs.

Never has a man had me touch myself for them.

I'd prefer him to be touching me, but I didn't realize how much of a turn on it'd be.

I take control of my hands again and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a hard kiss.

His lips are prepared, already moving in sync with my own. So perfect and soft, another thing I find irresistible. His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me further into him.

With our bodies pressed together, I feel a closeness I've been craving. I do feel touch deprived only having limited time with him. I think of him more than I see him.

But I've finally broken a barrier tonight. He's never invited me over before, though I now understand why.

I can mark this off the list either way.