I make sure everything is exactly as I found it, and close the drawer. My hands are shaking slightly now, and I clench them into fists, trying to regain control.
And then I go back to the bed.
I never knew shame and desire could be so intoxicating. I know what I’m doing is wrong, that I’m violating boundaries I’ve never crossed before, but I can’t stop myself. I stare down at the mattress, at the place where Mara sleeps, where she touches herself… where Iwatchedher come, and I reach for the front of my pants, undoing my belt and my zipper.
I’m so hard that my cock springs free instantly, the tip already so wet with pre-cum that the cool air is a shock to my heated flesh. I move to kneel on the bed, the scent of her perfume still in my nostrils, and I stare down at the space in front of me as I take the hand holding her panties and wrap it around my cock.
I’ve never done anything like this before, either. The fabric feels good, slick and cool against my straining length, and I groan aloud as I start to stroke. I imagine her beneath me, spread open and wanting, watching as I tease her by touching myself while making her wait.
Except I’d never be able to make her wait for long.
I lean forward, as if she’s underneath me. I imagine spreading her legs wider, making room for myself betweenthem. I brace on my other forearm, angling my cock as if seeking out her dripping, eager hole, and then I thrust my hips forward, fucking my fist as if I’m fucking her for the first time.
I can only imagine what a picture I would make if someone walked in, stretched over her bed, jerking off with my face close to her pillow, breathing in her scent. It’s forbidden, taboo, so fuckingthrillingthat I know I won’t last long. I knew I wouldn’t, the first time with her. I’m going to come soon, I won’t be able to help it. She’s so tight, so hot, so fucking wet for me…
The orgasm comes hard and fast, my cock spurting with a force that makes me moan aloud as I wrap the panties around my pulsing cockhead and catch the jets of cum. My hips thrust erratically as I fill her panties, as I fillher, and her name escapes my lips on a ragged breath as my head spins with the intensity of the pleasure.
I can still smell her—her perfume, her shampoo, the warmth of her skin. I sink my hips into the bed, fucking the soaked panties as I shudder through the aftershocks, not wanting to pull out of her. Not wanting this to be over.
The clarity that comes with the end of my orgasm is like a cold splash of water. I blink rapidly, sliding off of the bed and shoving the cum-soaked panties into my pocket as I hurriedly tuck myself away and fix my jeans. I need to leave soon.
But there was one more thing.
I walk to where I left my lockpicks, and pick up the flower I brought with me. A black rose that I asked for the thorns to be trimmed from, beautiful and dark, like her, like the silken fall of her hair that I’m aching to touch. I leave it on her pillow, smoothing out her sheets so that the evidence of my transgression is gone. Almost as an afterthought, I go and crack her window, just to make it a little more confusing as to how her admirer made it into her apartment.
I have a feeling that this might prompt her to call the police, whereas the other gifts didn’t. But they won’t find anything amiss.
And although I know this should be the only time I trespass here, I have a feeling I won’t be able to stop myself from doing it again.
—
Two nights later,I give in to the temptation to return.
I watched her close the curtains, watched the lights go out, and I wanted to see her so badly I ached. Not just my cock, which never seems to soften for long, butallof me.
I needed to see her again. Closer this time. As close as I can manage without revealing myself fully just yet.
It’s a step too far. Iknowit is. But I can't stop myself.
That control that I fought so hard to keep is slipping, badly.
It’s after one in the morning when I let myself in again. Her locks were changed, I can see the telltale signs of it, but I pick them just as easily, and slip through her apartment soundlessly, like a ghost. The space is dark except for the streetlight filtering through the windows, casting everything in shadow.
I swear I can hear her breathing when I reach the bedroom door. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure she'll hear it, sure she'll wake up and scream and this will all come crashing down. But I push the door open anyway, slowly and carefully, and I step inside.
She's asleep. The sight of her steals the breath from my lungs.
She's curled on her left side, one hand tucked under her pillow and the other reaching out to hold a second pillow against her chest. Her hair is spread across the pillowcase, stark against the white fabric. Her face is peaceful in sleep, but as I watch, herexpression shifts, her brow furrowing slightly, her lips moving in some silent dream conversation.
She makes a small sound, something between a sigh and a whimper, and my hands clench at my sides with the effort it takes not to go to her. I want to touch her so badly it hurts, a torture more exquisite than anything I’ve ever inflicted on anyone else.
I want to own every part of her, even her dreams.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest. I watch the way her fingers curl and uncurl against the pillow. I watch the small movements of her eyes beneath her lids, the way her breathing changes as she shifts from one dream to another.
She murmurs something I can't quite make out, and I want to lean closer. Possessiveness washes over me, a dark satisfaction at being her, watching her in her sleep, an intimacy I’ve shared with no one else. She shifts again, rolling slightly toward me, and for a heart-stopping moment I think she's waking up. But her eyes stay closed, and after a moment she settles, her breathing evening out again.
I should leave. I've already stayed too long. But I can't make myself move.
