She's Too Young

By: Jessa Kane

My throat is dry, but I can’t swallow. “Time is only as important as the day you’re living in.”

Her forehead wrinkles as she ponders my words. “So live for tomorrow.”

I’m suddenly so anxious to get off the ledge, I can’t stand that I’ve put myself up there in the first place. When I jump back down onto the roof, I land in a pool of white light and the girl backs up, away from me. Behind her, reflected back in the glass doors leading into the building, I glimpse my appearance. To myself, I resemble a wolf approaching prey, but thankfully, I look quite different to her. Regal is the word most often used to describe me in publications. Striking, yet remote.

I can read between the lines, though. They think I’m an asshole.

Fair enough.

“Oh,” the girl breathes. “The way you spoke…I thought you were older.”

“Really.” I’m wondering just how ancient I sounded and that train of thought distracts me, allowing a dose of honesty to slip free. “I wouldn’t mind you being older, too.” I can’t stop myself from devouring the length of her long legs, the turn of her hips and slim waist. She’s not dressed appropriately for a girl her age—she can’t even be eighteen yet—and I want to whip off my coat, hide her away in its folds. Who let her walk out of the house with so much leg showing? “What are you doing out here alone? I could have been anyone.”

“You aren’t, though. You’re someone,” she whispers. “Thank you for not killing yourself. I probably never would have danced again.”

“That would have been a damn shame.”

Her tongue slides out, wetting the seam of her lips and my cock grows, stretching the cotton of my briefs. “I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it to sound as if my never dancing again would have been the real tragedy.”

“I promise you, angel, it would have.” I mean every word of that, too. My father passed on his legacy to me, his portrait hangs in the lobby, and the people who pass it every day don’t give a shit about his investment strategies. But if they had an ounce of blood running through their veins, they would stop and watch this girl dance in awe.

I go toward her, because she’s fucking magnetic and I want to know her scent. Everything about my behavior makes me unrecognizable to myself. People come to me. Furthermore, I’ve never given a thought to what someone else smells like. Not in my entire damn life. “Did you come from the party?”

She nods and a lock of long, blonde hair trails over her shoulder, disappearing into the neckline of her dress, where a simple gold locket lays just above her cleavage. We both watch it happen, but she has no idea the effect the mere existence of her breasts are having on my cock. “Yes, I’m here with my dad.” The girl moves past me to rest her arms on the very ledge where I’d been standing. “He works on the forty-third floor.”

It takes me no time at all to remember what takes place on forty-three. I know every nook and cranny of my business—my teeth were mercilessly cut within its walls—and everything that makes it tick. This girl’s father is a member of my accounting department—probably in his mid-forties, based on his daughter’s age—and likely earns a decent salary, if not an exorbitant one.

Filing that information away, I move up behind the girl and following impulse, lean in and take a deep inhale near the crown of her head. When the unmistakable scent of bubble gum hits me, I actually laugh out loud. The only way she could be more innocent is if she had a mouth full of braces, for chrissake.

That’s definitely not the case, though, I see, as she turns to me, a little startled. No, she’s nothing but pure perfection, with translucent skin and a full, almost puffy, mouth. Big, sky-blue eyes. She must drive boys out of their damn minds. Hell, she’s got me wrapped around her little finger and I’ve only spent a handful of minutes in her company.

“Were you really going to jump, sir? I need to know.” She faces me and leans back against the wall, tilting her chin up. Defiant and sweet, all at once. “I wouldn’t judge or anything, but I couldn’t spend another minute with you, either. It’s nothing personal, but if we have a conversation, it’ll hurt more when you’re gone.”

“I wasn’t going to jump.” I say it fast, because there’s a serious rebellion in my stomach at the idea of her leaving. “Although, a man ought to be able to jump off his own building without being interrupted. Technically you’re trespassing.”

Worrying her lip between two rows of white teeth, she gives me a once over, looking completely unimpressed that I own jack shit. “Are you going to take me prisoner?”

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