Lost And Found: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  But I also know her dad won’t want to see it that way.

  Before I was an architect, the kind that designs billion dollar skyscrapers instead of energy-efficient bungalows; I was in college.

  I was on my own, with no family or friends and if it wasn’t for a scholarship I wouldn’t have ever been there in the first place.

  My roommate turned out to be David Beckett, another Architecture student. Like myself, he was from state care and had won a scholarship too.

  Without blowing my own horn, or David’s; we were both very talented young guys with some ideas and designs that even had the senior staff nodding with jealous approval.

  We were going places, and we knew it.

  At least, I did.

  David had this thing, he’d freeze up whenever he had to speak to more than one person.

  Shy, but to the point of being useless as a presentation partner.

  Jesus, I haven’t thought about this for years.

  I used to worry about it. Feel bad even. But once I got my first solo design contract, once I banked that check, I never looked back.

  It’s been over twenty years and I can still see his face. A major project with majority marks from the presentation, not just design.

  A presentation pitched to the entire class, as well as the state moderators who gave a final grade.

  I carried him through it, watching him freeze up every time he had to speak until I just took over. Led the whole presentation and finished to a standing ovation.

  By the time I turned around to share the moment, he was gone.

  By the time I got back to our dorm, his side was empty.

  Cleaned out.

  He never spoke to me again after that day and I only heard second hand the grudge he bore over the whole thing.

  David Beckett still graduated though, became an architect. Last I heard he was working for the city, public housing.

  Me? I was an overnight success in the design world. Sounds corny to some people, but like anything, if you get a few thousand for designing a million dollar house; you get a thousand times that for heading up a team designing a billion dollar skyscraper.

  By the time I was thirty I was picking and choosing contracts, still do.

  I haven’t thought about David Beckett, or even college for a long time.

  Now I can’t think about anything else.

  Truth be told, it’s more his daughter I can’t stop thinking about, but I do feel some sort of responsibility.

  Hearing Valentine stirring, I figure he might need to go outside for a bit.

  I untangle myself from Rachel, and covering her up I slip into the robe she had on to cover myself up from the cold.

  I flick the thermostat remote on the way out, setting it to warm the whole house for a change, not just the room I’m sitting in.

  “No running off either, okay?” I ask Valentine, watching him trot down the back of the yard as I half-close the door. The phone on the wall like a beacon, the reflection in the glass as I strain to keep sight of Valentine.

  May as well get it over with.

  I know this is the real reason I got up, Valentine can let himself out if he really has to go.

  Most nights he sleeps so heavy I’m the one who has to wake him up in the morning.

  I’ve never shied away from phone calls, or people, and even though it’s late I know he’ll be up.

  I would be if she was my-

  I can’t even think it. She is mine, she will be mine.

  Sighing a little before snatching up the receiver, I hit the redial button. Rachel dialed before and now I’m re-dialing.

  It rings twice before he picks up, and I can hear the worry in his voice.

  “Rachel?” he gasps, and I feel it all at once.

  All the pain, worry, and regret a man feels when what he loves suddenly disappears and he has no idea where it is or even when or if it’ll return.

  “Rachel? I’m sorry honey, just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you… Rachel? Rachel!”

  I should say something, at least let him know she’s safe.

  Instead, I watch my hand hang the phone up and I calmly turn to the back door, watching Valentine trotting back in his tail swishing.

  I squat down and run my hands through his now freezing fur, his warm tongue lapping at my face.

  I close the back door and lock it, shutting off the light and only crossing the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge before I head back to Rachel.

  I consider her for a moment, lying there so peacefully on the couch, knowing I should pick her up and carry her to bed.

  Our bed.

  But she’s so calm, so quiet. Like an angel, and Valentine’s already curled up on his new favorite spot.

  Both of them looking like we’ve been doing this for years.

  I feel for David Beckett, I really do. But the swelling I feel in my heart, my own satisfied joy right now at this moment means more.

  Sliding back under the blanket next to her, feeling her warm hands over mine again as they slip back up under her chin before my own sleep overtakes me, I feel at home for the first time in my life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rachel

  With one sexual experience under my belt, even though I’m still a virgin, it’s time for a few more confessions. I’ve never drunk and I’ve never woken up before an alarm.

  I usually sleep like the dead, so when I wake up in a strange place all alone and with a sick feeling of dread in my stomach, I guess I kind of know how it must feel to have a hangover.

  Those few seconds before I open my eyes, it all comes back to me, some of it making me want to keep them shut a little while longer.

  I can still smell Conor on me, but I can’t feel him. I know I’m lying on my back by myself.

  The sweet memory of him pleasuring me and holding me so close afterward once I told him I’m a virgin doesn’t bother me.

  I’m so glad I finally told someone, and I know when the time’s right that I’ll only ever give myself to Conor.

  What’s making me feel so awful is knowing I’ve brushed off my dad for a whole day and a night, not even telling him where I am and we’re supposed to be moving tomorrow.

  Conor’s fault for hanging up the phone, grabbing me, and doing what we both know we wanted from the moment we first met.

  No, I can’t blame him.

  I try not to groan out loud, peeling my lids open as I will myself to think of a way I can have my cake and eat it too.

  I want to keep dad happy, moving with him to support him in his new job, but Conor Fox.

  Is there really a decision to be made there, girl?

  Conor Fox.

  I feel myself sighing out loud at the thought of him, replacing my groans of despair in an instant.

  But where is he, and what time is it?

  I don’t feel like getting up, can’t really. Looking for the robe I had on, I notice it’s gone and there’s no sign of Conor or Valentine.

  The door’s closed and the curtains are drawn, but it feels dark outside even though I can’t see it, early morning. Way too early for me to be getting up.

  I can’t just lie here though. Feeling my worry rising to the same levels that my happy place is at is enough to get me up.

  I use the blanket Conor covered me with as a makeshift gown, wrapping myself up in it once I decide to go find him.

  I don’t have to look too far, the other huge room opposite the sitting room is lit up and the door’s open.

  I poke my head around the thick wooden door and figure this must be his workroom or office space.

  Like the rest of the house, huge room with a high ceiling that has ornate plasterwork and a big old cast iron fireplace that’s been restored. There are framed photos of buildings lining the walls, the same heavy wood framing them that the door’s made of.

  The same heavy wood that runs around the border of the room at floor level, tall and thick skirting that gives sharp lines
to the thick pile carpeting.

  It’s bold, simple but the kind of decorating I love.

  Valentine gives me away before Conor looks up from his work, he lets out his trademark high pitched whine before yawning and flashing me a big doggy smile.

  Conor’s at a huge white drafting desk, perched on an equally tall padded stool that he swivels around in.

  He smiles too, and I feel a shiver run through me.

  He has glasses on, something I know for a fact I’m gonna ask him to wear next time we… Well, needless to say, glasses on Conor are a freaking huge turn on for me.

  Looking over the frames at me, his shining brown eyes move down my body as he scans me with an air of someone who’s appreciating their latest acquisition.

  It doesn’t bother me at all though. I feel self-conscious in my mind every two seconds, but whenever Conor looks at me, I almost want to show him everything.

  I want him to show me everything too.

  “Where’d you go?” I ask, feeling myself pouting. Hoping I don’t sound too juvenile for him.

  “You snored so loud, I figured I’d just get up and do some work,” he quips jokingly, looking down to Valentine for back up.

  “Just kidding,” he adds quietly once he sees my face fall.

  I do snore sometimes, and I hope I didn’t do anything else in my sleep to really put him off.

  “C’mere,” he whispers, holding one of his arms out, opening his legs, and wrapping me in himself. I can see where the robe I was wearing went, and before long I can feel the familiar firmness of his arousal against my belly.

  Against my chest really, he’s perched up so high and making me feel so small.

  I open the blanket covering me just enough so my chest falls out, fingering his robe to release his stiff cock which instantly finds a space between my breasts.

  He lets out such a sound, groaning a deep moan that I feel vibrating all the way down to his fat dick, compelling me to squeeze my chest together and move it up and down over his hot organ.

  His robe falls open all the way, and both his hands grip my shoulders. His head tilts back and I can already feel the slipperiness of his precome as it starts to run freely from his hardness.

  I gasp watching it, wanting him to come all over me. To feel his dick twitch between my tits, but his tone makes me slow down before I have to stop.

  “Rachel,” he demands softly, taking my face in one of his hands.

  “I only want this to come inside you,” he explains calmly. “The first time, when I claim you, I have to fill you with my seed. I can’t waste a drop anywhere else,” he says, suddenly sucking in a breath as I get half my wish.

  I feel his hardness twitch and jerk between my girls all on its own. His jaw clenches and I can see he’s making every effort not to climax.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, glad when he smiles, running his hand through my hair.

  “Don’t be,” he smiles. “I thought coffee was the best way to start the day. You just convinced me otherwise.”

  I wonder if he’ll ever let me do everything I want, the things I automatically feel like doing to explore his body and how a man works down there.

  “There’s plenty of time for everything else,” he explains again, reading my thought.

  “I just want my first time with you to count, it has to be special. I have to come inside you for that.”

  He kisses me gently and holds me close, wrapping his robe around me, and asks me how I slept.

  “Fine, I guess,” I lie, annoyed that I have to pretend I’m not so worried about my dad.

  “I was gonna move you to the bedroom, but you looked so peaceful,” he says tenderly, kissing the top of my head.

  I can see what he’s working on and want to ask a ton of questions, but think better of it.

  “How about some coffee?” I ask instead, meaning I can fix it while he works.

  “Sure,” he says, sliding off his stool and stretching a little, my favorite part of him jutting out like a fifth limb.

  “I can get it,” I say, but he shakes his head.

  “Go back to the couch, or take a seat here,” he says. “It’ll only take me a minute, I brewed a pot when I got up earlier.”

  I decide to take the huge leather chair next to where Valentine’s lying, dozing again, his eyes rapidly dancing under his lids.

  “Be right back,” Conor adds and creeps out so as not to wake his dog.

  My eyes move from Valentine to Conor’s behind, to the pictures on the walls before they finally rest on a phone on a desk opposite.

  The digital clock on the same desk tells me it’s six ten a.m.

  My dad should be awake.

  I could just call him quickly. Let him know I’m okay at least. Then I could have at least a few hours with Conor to try and decide what to do next.

  I never did get to charge my own phone either. No charger here that I can see.

  I know Conor won’t mind. Probably even expects me to call my dad.

  In a few seconds, I’ve shimmied past Valentine quietly and sat down at Conor’s big oak desk, and dialed home.

  My dad picks up on the first ring.

  “Rachel?” he gasps, and I can tell he’s been up all night. Been crying too.

  I just know he’s worried half to death.

  “Oh, daddy,” I rasp, feeling my own tears coming. “I got cut off last night… I’m okay, just calling to-”

  “You called late last night, didn’t you? Hung up again or did your phone drop out? Honey, I don’t care about anything anymore. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you,” he says, speaking so fast but sounding better already now that he’s heard my voice.

  “I called you?” I hear myself ask just as Conor comes back into the room with a tray of coffee and some sweet rolls.

  His face looks pained as soon as he sees me on the phone, and those shoulders of his start to sag again, telling me something’s wrong.

  “Rachel?” I hear my dad repeating, his tone begging me to still be there.

  Begging me to tell him what’s going on.

  I wish I knew myself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Conor

  As soon as I hear her before I even walk back into my office, I know who she’s calling.

  I know who it is.

  She’s doing exactly what I told myself I’d ask her to do this morning, call up her dad and let him know she’s okay.

  At least, that’s what I told myself earlier.

  What I really did was get up and bury myself in work so I didn’t even have to think about it for a few hours, so I wouldn’t have to even consider the moment she speaks to her dad and have him tell her to come home.

  I wanted to talk things through with Rachel once she got up after we’d had some breakfast.

  Nothing’s set in stone but I wanted to ask her to stay here with me, just for a while. See if I couldn’t make her see how much better her life could be if she stayed here, just the three of us.

  Her, Valentine, and me.

  But I can see the questions in her misty eyes, the tone in her voice when it’s clear her old man’s telling her he got a call last night.

  I didn’t say anything, but he must think it was her.

  Now Rachel’s gonna want to know and I can’t lie to her. I’ll always tell the truth where Rachel’s concerned.

  I just wish I’d had a few more hours to bring it all up in a better way. Tell her everything about her dad and me too.

  Trying to act natural, I pour Rachel a coffee and put a sweet roll on a little plate for her, setting them both next to her while she sits at my desk.

  I move to leave again, give her some privacy for her call but she waves me to stay with her hand.

  Valentine wakes up and stretches out his front legs, his tail shooting up in the air as he gives me another one of his looks which I ignore.

  Turning to my work, I sip my coffee, pretending to focus on superstructure mathematics instead of what I can hear R
achel talking about just a few feet away.

  Plus side is, her dad’s not shouting.

  The downside is she’s telling him she’ll be home soon.

  I feel my hand ball into a fist at the thought of her leaving, and force myself to move back from my work so I don’t damage it.

  “I’m just at a friend’s dad… Yes, I do… I’ll be home as soon as I can… I know, I know…”

  It’s like a hot knife in my belly. Thinking about her being so calm about leaving, so carefree about just walking away.

  I can’t even hear the rest of what she says and the memory of anything I told myself I owe her father dies in a second too.

  I feel stupid like I should have spelled out just how I feel a lot sooner.

  Maybe it’s too late now. Maybe she’s had time to rethink it and doesn’t want an older guy after all.

  A million things spin around in my head until I can’t even see straight anymore, let alone think.

  Her hand on my shoulder breaks my mood, reminds me just how good she feels against me.

  I turn in my seat, and seeing the tears in her eyes I want to hold her, but her question holds me back.

  “Did you call my dad last night?” she asks plainly.

  I take a breath in but can’t answer. If I tell her one part, I have to explain everything.

  If she’s leaving, won’t it just make it harder for both of us by bringing her dad into this?

  “Well, did you?” she asks again.

  I can’t lie if she asks me a direct question though, and I feel my head nodding slowly.

  I reach out for her hand, but she pulls it away.

  “What is it with you and hanging up on my dad, Conor? What’s really going on here?” she asks, sounding more hurt than anything.

  More hurt than I ever want to see her feel.

  What am I supposed to say? That yeah, I know her dad from way back. That he blames my success on me stealing it all from him.

  Should I explain how her dad even tried to sue me for ten million dollars once he found out I’d made my first million without him?

  Accused me of stealing his ideas from that college presentation and basing my whole design career on them.

  The only thing that stopped him was another college buddy, explaining to him calmly that he had no case and any litigation would only ruin him and make him look even more foolish than he was already acting.