What is she so absorbed with at her laptop?
I try to focus the binoculars on her screen, but whatever she’s viewing is too bright and small for me to make out more than a white blur. Her fingers fly over the keyboard.
She’s typing something, and the deft, rapid strokes of her delicate fingers fascinate me almost as much as the strokes of her paintbrush.
I’m not sure how long I indulge myself in watching her elegant hands before she puts her laptop away. When she stands up from where she was seated on the couch, she turns toward her bedroom rather than her canvas. I can see her in profile now, and her porcelain cheek is flushed a gorgeous shade of pink.
It reminds me of the alluring shade of her blush when we first met at the bar last week.
What was she writing that has her cheeks turning pink?
I’m burning for answers, but all I’m met with is darkness when she turns off the lights. She disappears into her bedroom. I can’t see into it because this window only provides me a view into her living room.
I could prowl around her building to find out what she’s doing now, but that would be even riskier than watching her from this shadowed garden. I’d be out in the open, and one of her neighbors might see me peering into her window.
I force my jaw to unclench and put the binoculars away. I’ll come back tomorrow night. I have to know more.
She’s backat her easel, but the canvas is darker tonight. I had to stay at work later than I would’ve liked, so she’s already deeply absorbed in her art by the time I finally settle into the rickety garden chair.
I’d anticipated watching her storm-tossed sea develop into a towering tempest, but she seems to have a different subject in mind tonight.
Heavy strokes of midnight black darken the edges of the canvas, and all of the light she captures with her paintbrush is focused on the center of her painting. Shadows cling to creamy flesh, as though they’re drawing her subject deeper into their forbidden embrace. They curl around a slender neck like tendrils of smoke, and the distinctly feminine chin is tipped back as though to welcome the dark claim.
The knife at her subject’s throat glints dully, a charcoal gray that’s almost forged from the shadows that caress their victim.
Rosebud lips are parted on a gasp that’s undeniably erotic. And just at the bottom edge of the painting, two peaked, pink nipples beg for attention.
My teeth clench hard enough to make my jaw ache, and my cock stiffens to the point of discomfort in the confines of my jeans.
I was right to think that Abigail’s desires are a perfect match for my own. She secretly fantasizes about being threatened and forced to experience transcendent pleasure.
I’ve never allowed myself to truly frighten a woman. There are certain parameters I have to operate within to fit social norms, even in more deviant subcultures. Those boundarieshave irked me in the past, but now, they feel like the iron bars of a cage that’s far too small to contain me.
What would it be like to throw off those invisible constraints and truly unleash myself upon her? Would she welcome the thrill of this darkest game?
I have no desire to harm Abigail; on the contrary, I’ll do anything to shield her so that she’ll welcome me back into her body again and again.
I know now that a few nights with this woman won’t be enough.
The thought makes something slither down my spine.
Apprehension?
If I allow my mask to drop around her, my secrets will be exposed. I’ll put myself at risk.
If I push her too far, she might scream in horror when I show her my true self. I could lose everything I’ve worked so hard for these last fifteen years: my wealth, my reputation, my freedom.
The temptation to indulge in this most forbidden connection is almost enough to drive me to madness, but I can’t give in. I can’t take on that risk.
Yet.
Until I know for sure that Abigail won’t be repulsed by my crueler advances, I have to be patient. I can watch her. Study her.
And when it comes to my studies, I’ve always excelled. I have an eye for detail and an excellent memory.
I’ve never faced such a thrilling challenge in my life, and the prospect makes intense pleasure gather at the base of my spine. The temptation of her sensual painting is almost enough to make me come undone without her touch.
I take a breath and master the bizarre urge to surrender to the insistent pleasure. I’m not going to come in my pants when Abigail is out of my reach.
