Lost And Found: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  But I’m overreacting, I know I am.

  Like a proud parent, I’m just worried about my boy.

  I tell myself over and over that I’ll catch up to him any second, we’ll have our run and then we’ll go home.

  I’ll spoil him and make sure he gets more exercise from now on.

  I promise.

  Once I lose his tracks I’m guessing. It’s a big city and he could’ve gone anywhere and in any direction.

  He has road sense, and knows where home is, so why is he running? It doesn’t make any sense.

  It’s like something is pulling him away from me, and I feel lost because I don’t know which way it’s pulled him.

  Eventually, I feel lost because I am.

  I’ve run and run, right through my stitch and my burning legs.

  I’m on the other side of the part of town I usually keep to.

  I hate to admit it, but it’s the safer side.

  The wealthy side.

  Hey. I can afford to live in a nice area, no crime in that.

  There’s little traffic too, and despite myself I start to call out for him, bellowing his name in the end as I realize just how hopeless this is starting to feel.

  It’s not long before a car passes, a patrol car. Probably someone reporting a lunatic in a tracksuit screaming Valentine.

  “Sir, why are yelling, and why are you running?” The cop asks, only cracking his window enough so I can hear him.

  I explain the situation, and although I’m beat I ask him to help me find Valentine.

  Before the window goes up for good, he cautions me about disturbing the peace and says it’s not his job to track down runaway dogs.

  “If he’s chipped you’ll hear from the city once they pick him up,” he adds thoughtfully, trying not to sound like a complete ass and failing before he slowly cruises off, keeping his eyes on me until he has to turn a corner.

  I turn for home, maybe the cop’s right. If he won’t come back on his own, I can at least be there when I get the call from the pound to say they have him.

  But he’s too smart for that shit. Valentine would never go with anyone but me. He’d never let anyone even see him unless he wanted them to.

  I growl loudly, kicking the sidewalk with the sole of my shoe before I feel my heart lift.

  I hear him, barking.

  He’s far away, but nothing sounds like my Valentine. I’d know his bark anywhere.

  I sprint in the direction I think it’s coming from, ignoring the road as I crane my neck to listen.

  The blast of a horn and my hands flat on the hood of a skidding car grabs my attention fully.

  “Jesus, what are you fucking crazy? Get outta the road asshole!”

  I wince an apology, then feel my own anger rise when the driver has another go, shouting at me to get my filthy hands off his car.

  Feeling my eyes narrow to slits and my hands curling up again, I forget everything the cop just said about not disturbing the peace.

  By the time I get to ass wipes window, he’s squealed off, not wanting to carry on his little discourse any further once he sees me as I straighten up and walk toward the driver’s side.

  Getting onto the sidewalk again, I close my eyes, straining to hear something again.

  Anything.

  But there’s only the sound of distant traffic, the cold wind gusting and the sound of my own heartbeat singing in my ears.

  I won’t go back though, not yet.

  Making for what I have to tell myself is the direction I heard him barking from, I start to jog again once I feel my side stop burning.

  Whatever it is that’s made him run off like this, it must be a one in a million, once in a lifetime thing.

  One in a trillion.

  I just hope I can find him and just see for myself what all the fuss is about.

  If I don’t die from a broken heart first.

  The worry is making me sick already, and all I can do to try and stop it from consuming me is to keep going.

  To keep searching for my Valentine.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rachel

  Following this huge dog or wolf or whatever he is, I can easily see how he managed to follow me for so long without me noticing.

  He keeps looking back, making sure I’ve taken the bait and am now following him in return, but he always manages to duck and weave out of sight of other people or cars for several blocks.

  I can keep up, but I have to walk briskly, reminding myself with every step I’m getting further away from home, and probably into more trouble than anything else.

  Once he knows I’m hooked, he sits down by the entrance to a side street and I cautiously get as close as I dare.

  His collar has a silver tag showing through his white-gray fur and before I can even think about putting my hands on a strange dog, I’m holding it in my fingers so I can see it better.

  It’s a solid disc, feels like something expensive.

  “Ha!” I exclaim, making myself snort a laugh as his ears prick up and he cocks his head to one side.

  “Valentine, huh?”

  There’s his name and an address. A pretty swanky part of town too.

  Not that far, but plenty far for a dog like this to be wandering around on his own.

  Feeling the warmth of his breath and finally, his muzzle resting against my wrist, I can see at once that Valentine is no wolf, nor is he a dangerous dog.

  He whines in agreement before licking my hand, sealing the deal I’d never agree to if it wasn’t for that faint cologne scent and his piercing blue eyes.

  Sighing loudly, I run my hands through his thick fur, marveling at how soft he feels.

  Lightly squeezing one of his huge ears, I resign myself to fate.

  “I guess I have to take you home now, don’t I?” I ask him, sure his mouth peels back to reveal the closest thing to a smile I’ve seen on any dog.

  He licks my face and lets out one of those trademark barks of his before spinning around and trotting off again, looking back long enough to make sure I’m still playing his game.

  Before long I can see what he’s up to.

  He’s not lost, he’s going home but making sure I go with him the whole way for some reason.

  My mind starts to race in time with my heartbeat as I try to keep up with him once he breaks into a full trot.

  Maybe his owner’s in trouble?

  Some rich old lady who’s had a fall or needs help and I can save the day.

  I can return her dog and rescue her at the same time. The reward could be enormous…

  My daydreaming means I lose sight of Valentine, bringing me to a complete halt at a crossroads. There’s a little more traffic in this part of town, mostly cars driven by guys in hats and gloves.

  The poor side of town it ain’t, and I suddenly feel more lost than that darn dog.

  As if on cue, and just when I’m feeling hot enough to want to take my coat off, it starts to rain.

  Two quick barks from Valentine tell me he’s not far off, and after dodging an oncoming limo but getting sprayed with a sheet of filthy water, I swear he’s smiling again by the time I find him, waiting under the cover of a huge oak tree out front of an equally enormous three-story townhouse.

  There’s a short frontage, which is mostly all fence and an arcing driveway with an immaculate hedge garden. One half of the gate’s open and as soon as he spots me, Valentine bounds up to the house and disappears around the side.

  If only to get out of the rain, I make my way to the front portico, which feels bigger than our whole house somehow.

  I press the electronic security buzzer and wait. A black disc I know has a camera behind it shows me my distorted reflection.

  I look and feel like a drowned rat. More foolish now because I’m about to announce I’ve found someone’s dog who just walked itself back home.

  No answer.

  I ring again but hearing Valentine whining again, I decide to go investigate down the side of the
house.

  There’s another huge gate, solid timber. It must be eight feet high.

  I hear a scratch and a rattle and it opens, Valentine looking pleased with himself once he shows me how he can open the gate from the inside as easily as he can jump over it.

  I feel like I’m trespassing already, but I remind myself that maybe someone is in trouble, maybe the dog’s brought me here to help.

  I follow him to the back part of the house, marveling at the ornate Japanese style garden complete with a pond and tiny wooden bridge. There are Maples and low shrubs, white gravel walkways, and a real sense of peace and uniformity to it.

  The house itself is old sandstone but fully restored, with gleaming white panes and French doors in the back, a set of thick oak steps leading up to what looks like a kitchen.

  Valentine lets himself in, pawing the ornate brass handle as easily and delicately as anyone else who lives here would.

  He makes straight for a large blue mat on the tiled floor I can tell at a glance is his spot.

  Sitting like a sphinx, he pants and smiles again, nuzzling his nose into his paws before he starts to set to work on cleaning himself up and drying himself off.

  I poke my head inside just enough to feel my knees go weak.

  The whole place is infused with that wonderful scent. That heavenly, manly smell that makes me want to get down on all fours like Valentine and beg for more.

  It’s so subtle though, not a strong scent at all, more of a feeling that triggers something inside me.

  Soft but strong. It’s pointless to try and understand it, especially when I’m obviously so helplessly under its spell.

  The mental image of a helpless old lady is quickly replaced by something more in line with my earlier daytime fantasy.

  The older man who has his way with me.

  I call out, timidly at first but then having found myself stepping all the way in I close the door to keep out the cold, relieved by the feeling of warmth and some more of that subtle, manly scent.

  I hear my jacket slipping off and as if in a trance or a dream, I ease my boots off too, starting straight for the nearest hallway as I gently reach out for the doorway for support.

  I feel like something inside me is about to come loose, like I need to lay down or something.

  That strange feeling is pretty obvious, pretty quickly.

  I inhale sharply, shivering a breath once I feel my hand straying between my legs, aching to have my pussy touched.

  But not by my hand.

  No.

  I need his hands on me.

  Gasping a moan, I almost collapse once I see it.

  A framed photo of the man himself, on one knee next to his beloved Valentine.

  The same dog that’s just brought me here.

  A man that makes my fantasy seem childish.

  This man has gotta be at least six four, with shoulders that look like mountains, straining under his sweater.

  His huge hands grip Valentine’s fur. Thick, strong fingers. Immaculate nails. A Rolex I know costs more than our whole house.

  Tight denim reveals the man’s no slouch in the pant bulge department either, and it’s clear he’s never skipped leg day either.

  But taking all of this in, as if an afterthought or at the same time, it’s his eyes and that smile that makes me melt.

  Dark, penetrating eyes that are firm but also full of mischief I can tell Valentine has picked up from his master.

  His dark hair is trim, with just a hint of silver at the temples, making him looked distinguished.

  Powerful.

  The perfect man of the world I just know is a success in more ways than just looking like he’s god’s gift to women.

  The single, deep cleft in his chin supports a winning smile. Rows of perfectly white, straight teeth and a chiseled jaw that sees me walking closer to the frame.

  I pick it up unconsciously and watching my finger run down its edge, I hear myself shuddering another breath again, not sure if I need the bathroom or to just touch myself so I can unravel this knot that’s forming inside me so suddenly.

  That jaw though. That hair.

  I suddenly crave that between my legs, those huge hands running up the inside of my thighs and then squeezing my ass once he’s buried his face and his whole tongue inside my drenched, quivering hole.

  I can hear Valentine whining with curiosity, but it looks like he only goes into the main house when his master’s home.

  He’s not bothered by me being here though, and before I know it, I’ve found his master’s bedroom, upstairs.

  Still clutching the framed photo, I press it to my heart as I walk into his room, feeling the man’s energy as I take in the huge four poster bed and heavy wood furniture.

  It oozes power, confidence, and best of all, some more of that cologne.

  Maybe this is what people who’ve lost their minds feel like, but I really don’t have a conscious thought of my own anymore.

  I’ve started to undress, suddenly cold up here and feeling a hot shiver inside me at the same time.

  I see a Japanese style robe and want to put it on, want it to be him, want those hands guiding my pussy lips open for him to-

  Click.

  Holy fuck!

  I dropping the framed photo, and scramble to get dressed again. Falling over in the process and calling out in pain when I hit my shoulder on the corner of the bed.

  Someone’s in the house and I can hear Valentine going crazy with excitement, along with someone else.

  Guess whose home?

  Please god, let it be him.

  Let him find me like this.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Conor

  It feels like time’s stood still. Like the whole world has somehow hit pause and it’s just me and the strangely empty streets.

  Looking for something that feels suddenly lost forever.

  Not just my best buddy, but that part of me that used to believe there was still time, that I’d find the one thing money can’t buy.

  The life I’ve only ever seen other people living.

  Living with the one, my queen. Together as a couple, forever.

  I’m not in bad shape, could still out jog and out lift most guys half my age, so why’d I never settle down earlier?

  Why not ever at all?

  I just never found her, or she never found me. Sure, I’ve had plenty of wannabe options. Those plastic Malibu Barbie types. The kind of new money divorcees I used to keep as clients.

  Nah. They’re as fake as the goop holding their chests up, and most of ‘em look like they need a three course meal.

  I want a real woman, someone I can hang out with as well as spoil rotten when I feel like it. Someone I don’t have to pretend with, and someone I can actually grab a hold of and spend the day in bed with together when the weather’s like this.

  All right, Romeo. Pack away the violin. We’ve got to find Valentine first and then maybe you can gouge your heart out and pin it to your sleeve.

  I swear I hear him barking, but I also know there’s more than one dog in the world. It seems like every second house these days has a dog of some kind.

  The weather does little to lift my mood, and once it starts to rain I decide maybe it really is best to start delegating the search from home instead of looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack, or the lone wolf-dog in an entire city.

  Orienting myself back towards home, I resist the temptation a couple of times to go darting down streets or turn back when I think I hear him.

  By the time I do reach the familiar sight of home, I’m beat. Emotionally and physically.

  I’m also soaked through, hearing my feet squelch underneath me as I make my way up the driveway.

  I groan once I realize I’ll have to go through the front of the house all wet but reason I can strip once inside, heading straight for the shower.

  I hold my thumb against the scanner, my iris level with the security camera which tells the front door i
t’s really me.

  At the same time, I hear the electronic lock click, I can hear Valentine, whinnying with excitement.

  Pushing the door hard, I forget all about anything being or getting wet.

  Seeing my boy dancing on all fours at the end of the hallway in the kitchen is a sight for sore eyes.

  Holding out my arms as I race towards him, I know he won’t budge from his spot unless I say so and I give him his command to come to me.

  He’s never felt so good, and he leaps right up into my arms, licking my face I know is wet with more than just the rain by now.

  But how did he-?

  I spot the puffy coat and boots by the back door, and clutching Valentine closer I start to walk slowly towards the kitchen.

  Not a man’s boots. Unless he’s got small feet and likes pink coats.

  Then I hear her, a thud from upstairs followed by a cry of pain.

  Valentine’s wriggling to get free, not in the least bit bothered by the intruder, which is weird.

  Anyone comes within twenty feet without my letting him know it’s okay, and he protects me as much as I protect him.

  He seems so… happy.

  I set him down and he whines, wanting to run upstairs, but I signal him to stay.

  I don’t creep in my own house, and whoever it is has more than the law to worry about too.

  Taking three at a time, I scale the stairs and draw myself up as I loom toward my bedroom door.

  And there she is, like an angel that’s been superimposed over my life in a single moment.

  Just like Valentine that day all those years ago.

  She’s just appeared.

  I feel my jaw drop, I’m stuck to the spot as my eyes scan her body from behind.

  She’s on all fours, favoring one of her shoulders.

  She’s fallen over by the looks, trying to dress or undress, I can’t quite tell.

  Is that my robe?

  But none of that matters right now, I don’t know who she is or how she got into my house either.

  But the one thing I do know, the only thing I feel right now is that she’s hurt and she’s not going anywhere.

  Not as long as I’m in charge.

  My mind wills me to move, but my feet feel like cinder blocks. The whole roof of my mouth is suddenly dry and the cold clothes sticking to me suddenly feel like they’re burning up as I flush with heat.