Then I flee.
7
KANE
Lily practically runs from my office.
Did I frighten her? How?
I thought I did well. I didn’t order her to her knees and use her mouth. Neither did I demand she strip, bend her over the desk, and fuck her little pussy until she moaned like a whore. On balance, I was an exemplar of professionalism.
An hour of her company and I’ve been hard for sixty minutes. I rearrange my aching cock and balls. I’m desperate for release, but I don’t give in to the need to touch myself. Nope, I open my phone and check the app that tells me exactly where she is, to within a couple of feet.
It will also show me what she’s looking at on screen.
I watch the dot go to our penthouse, and sigh with relief when I see the notification as she opens the phone.
“Good girl,” I say under my breath.
I switch to watching her screen live.
Then my heart stutters as the first thing she does is open an internet browser, and search for Kane Anderson.
She’s searchingme.
All the customary things appear. My businesses—the legal ones anyway—and a gossip page detailing my rise to power through Croydon. My nickname too. She flips through, seemingly looking for something specific. Then she goes to images. It’s mainly public, paparazzi photographs from galas I’ve attended with other London mafia bosses, women on my arm. Then she finds what she’s searching for. A promotional shot I don’t even remember doing. It’s head and shoulders, and I’m staring right into the camera, my eyes appearing more violet than usual, stark against a dark background. The photo was taken partially in profile, my hand raised.
It remains on that image for so long, I’d think that she’d put the phone down. But no. There are movements. She zooms in and out, shifting around.
I’m as held by her actions as though she were in the room with me.
At last, she closes the tab and moves to more humdrum things, and I’m left wondering what that was about. She’s half my age, and I’ve just become her boss. It’s probably nothing more than that.
Yet.
She’s meant to be mine. It’ll take some time, wary creature that she is. She might be looking at my photograph, but she was clearly overwhelmed. And until then, I’ll discover everything I can about my Lily.
Next, she logs into her email and fills in the forms for her new employment.
It’s the work of a second to access her password for an online store, log in, and find the registered address. I almost send it directly to my head of enforcement, but instead copy it to my notes app. Sometimes it’s best to deal with personal business personally.
I peruse her Wishlist, relishing getting to know her through it. Mostly they’re modest little things. Paperback books, music, eBooks, some clothes. It’s only about a hundred items and the wordwishdrags at me.
She re-opens her email account, and I can almost feel her confusion as the store shows a new login notification.
Her suspicion grips me by the throat, until I realise this is anopportunity. I grin as I transfer all the items across, and click.
There’s no time to be smug though, as her location dot is on the move.
I don’t think. I’m on my feet and walking out, immediately. If she’s going somewhere, I’m following.
At first I think I’m doing a decent job of this whole stalking thing. I stay at a reasonable distance, watching her in the reflections of windows. I could, and probably should, keep a bigger gap and only track her phone. But the desire to see her and be nearby is insatiable.
But it’s like she senses me. Time and time again I have to slow or turn away as she stops, looking around her.
She walks into the main commercial area of Croydon and I’m a bit confused about where she’s going and why. It’s only when she heads into the bank that I finally get it.
Sweet, honest little thing. I’m so used to lies, or extracting the truth along with a chunk of flesh, it didn’t occur to me she might genuinely need to go to the bank.
