I roll her over, and her brows pinch, an unhappy groan leaving her parted lips. I let my eyes rake over her face for just a second, reveling in the softness of her features when they're not scrunched in anger. Her dark brown lashes sweep acrossher cheeks, casting long shadows. The ultra-defined cupid's bowisevident even with her mouth open.
It's the perfect punishment for me that she's so beautiful. That someone so gorgeous is so inexplicably, infuriatingly stubborn and vicious.
I run a palm down my face as if I could wipe away the thoughts plaguing me of all the ways I could touch her before she would notice. She might not even wake if I run my fingers across her body, half naked in those tiny silk pajamas.
It's more likely that Cas or Fritz will notice me here, and that thought spurs me into action, grabbingher phone fromwhere it had beenunderneath her sleeping form. It only takes seconds to use her code— her birthday— and install the spyware app, connecting it to my phone and removing it from her home screen.
Breathing a sigh of relief that my job is done, I consider tossing the phone where I found it and raising the least amount of suspicion. But somewhere inside me, I just know that if she awakes to a dead phone and any missed calls or emails from work, she'll be pissed. So I plug the silly little device in and, against my better judgment, ease her blanket over her. It might be the middle of the desert, but it's still winter, and she will get cold.
With a final glance, I step into the Aether and back home, where I can watch her from a distance that's safe for both of us.
That was how I knew where they'd be every night, using her microphone and texts between her and Bel to track their every move. By the time New Year's rolled around, watching from afar had gotten so fucking boring that I had to invite myself along to their party, dropping a few hundred dollars with the hostess to add me to their table.
It was easier and more effective to keep an eye on them up close. If it made Isla so fuckingmadshe wouldn't even touch her favorite tequila, that was just a bonus.
And now, between that and the handful of cameras and microphones planted throughout her apartment, I've had 15 days of uninterrupted eyes on Isla.
Which brings us to the text.
Are you free?
With me watching in real time, her phone opens the text, and she starts typing some generic excuse. Halfway through the sentence, she deletes the whole thing and tries again, only to delete it again, swipe out of the messaging app, and lock her phone completely.
It's a Friday night, and the only thing she's done is order some sushi, drink a bottle of sake, and take an ungodly amount of time in the shower. The bathroom is the only room in her apartment we chose not to bug because that's just fucking nasty, and I'm not going to invade her privacy that way.
Once again, she's walking around in pajamas that can barely be considered clothing at all, the silk drifting against her skin as she paces her apartment, clearly going out of her mind with boredom. Why she's not going out, I can only guess.
Within a few weeks, her entire view of the world was flipped on its head, followed by the only person she considers family moving a whole state away. An adjustment period is warranted, but I can't help the pit in my stomach, watching her exist in this world, drifting through it just as alone as I feel.
Not that I don't have my team. I confide in themalmosteverything. But the loneliness, the longing for something more than this, that is my burden and mine alone to carry while they all keep each other company during the quiet days and loud nights.
A buzzing sound reaches my ears, and I think someone must be trying to contact Isla again. I reach for my phone, wondering how many other possible suitors she's willing to turn down before she gives someone a chance to stave off her aching isolation.
Jesus Christ.
Not her phone.
A vibrator.
Somehow, between the time it took me to stop looking at her and start feeling fucking sorry for myself, she managed to strip, sink below her blanket, and start up that fucking thing again. It's not the first time she's brought it out since I've been watching, but it is the first time that it's been at a time when I have nowhere else to be and nothing else to focus my attention on.
I should walk away. Should stick to my whole "not invading privacy" thing.
But I can't. Isla's covered up by the blanket, so it's not like I can see what she's doing anyway. The camera nearest her bed, hidden within the massive collection of plants she's amassed, keeps her partially hidden from my view, protecting her modesty.
But that doesn't stop the stirring of my cock, the way it twitches and aches for a better look at how she pleasures herself. From here, all I see is the blanket as it lifts and falls, her hand dragging the toy up and down her midriff and chest as she breathes heavily, easing her body into the sensations.
I will my body to calm, to stop watching her and imagining how warm her body is, how it felt when I had her trapped in my grip, taking exactly what I wanted from her and giving her what she was too scared to wish for.
She teases herself for what might behours, not letting the toy travel between her legs until she and I are panting for it. She's takingforever, and I'm the fucking sucker sitting here withmy dick trapped uselessly behind my zipper. No matter what happens, I'm not taking it out. I'mnot.This isn't about how fucking hot she is, how much her body tempts me. This is about keeping her safe, and if that means watching her even when she's working herself into a frenzy, that's what I'll have to do.
Finally, a desperate, quiet noise drifts out of her mouth, like she can't hold it back any longer, the buzz quieting as the toy finds purchase between her legs. Whether it's against her clit or inside her body, I have no idea, but the vision destroys my sense of self all the same. Her hips rock, one hand trapping the toy right where she needs it, the other right at her breasts, playing with them as she loses herself to the sensations.
Her moans and sighs grow, as does the pain in my groin as I watch her. The need wins out, and I palm myself through my jeans, shame, and relief filling my body with heat.
She lets out a frustrated almost shriek, struggling to come with all the alcohol slowing her system. Even as tipsy as she is, I know I could make her come over and over again. Find every spot she doesn't know exists inside her body, fill her with pleasure she's only dreamed of. If I were there, nothing would stop me from making her scream for me, bend for me, break for me and only me.
But as it is, all I can do is watch and grip my painful hard-on. Isla's hand reappears from the blanket, wrapping around her own throat, and I almost finish in my pants from the sight alone. Her fingers flex around her delicate throat, pressing against where her blood pumps furiously, a light-headed groan escaping her lips as she does.
