“So what do we do while we wait?” This sounds like torture.
“You usually watch Brigit,” he offers the obvious answer. “And I do my part of searching through anything I can find on the computer.”
Watchingher is far less entertaining now that I can actually spend time with her.
This, almost being within her vicinity, isn’t even close to enough anymore.
I spend way too much time wondering when I’ll get to see her again, what I can take her to do. I’m determined to find her a sparkling drink she enjoys.
It’s like having a new muse.
Pulling up the cameras at my house, I get my eyes on my prettylittle muse. I may have been nice enough to keep cameras fromherbedroom, but that’s to say nothing of mine.
My heart flutters at the thought of all the fantastic footage they would have captured this morning and this afternoon.Fuck,I’m gonna be watching those over and over again when I’m alone.
The second I finally slid inside her warmth, the moment she cried out from the fullness and clung to me, her sharp nails digging into my back, recorded for me to see over and over again.
Can’t exactly watch those with Sky right beside me, but they’ll definitely be getting a few watch-throughs with Brigit over the coming weeks. She can see how fucking beautiful her face is when she comeswhileI bury my tongue between her thighs.
For now, I’ll have to make do with simply watching her sleep. Passed out inmybed. Inmyclothes. Smelling likemyshampoo and soap.
I feel like a fucking caveman, possessive pride swelling in my chest as I see how sleepy and content she is in the safety of my home.
“She out?” he asks absentmindedly, doing something on his laptop that I’m not even going to try to decipher.
“Yeah.”
“Good,” he breathes out. “It’s better that she’s been fucked into a coma. You don’t want her up worrying about all this.”
“Should she be worried?” I ask.
His fingers click away for a few seconds.
Then, “Nah.”
But there’s an undercurrent of hidden nerves in his voice. Even he’s not sure I’m capable of doing this without something going terribly wrong.
“Oh, by the way,” he adds, grabbing his phone and holding it up for me. “This is the name of the guy you killed in her apartment.”
“Aidan Foley,” I repeat the name out loud, wishing there was a fucking grave for me to piss on. “Is there something significant about him?”
“Nope. His record is spotless, he works—well,worked—for a private security company, he’s been to Mingle a few times, and he died in your girls apartment a few days ago,” he spells out the past of the man we disposed of with the same nonchalance I’ve seen him use to order extra fries. “But Brigy wanted the name, so I got it for her.”
“Should I text her?” What a stupid question, but something about navigating our new relationship makes me nervous. I have no idea how to go about this. She’s asleep in my bed, for fuck’s sake, and I’m not sure if I’m allowed to text her or not.
“I don’t see why not,” he replies, continuing whatever he’s doing on the computer. “No one is tapping into either of your phone’s and I can have them corrupted and wiped within seconds if I need to.”
“Right now?”
His typing stops.
“Yeah, right now. I installed an app on her phone when I had it the other night,” he shrugs. “Her computer, too.”
“And mine?”
“Weinstalled it on yours before you got picked up,” he explains. “The only shit left behind were useless contacts and a few phone calls so it wasn’t obvious that it was scrubbed.”
I honestly don’t understand how he continues to do all of this and stay a step ahead of everything. If it weren’t for him operating, there’s no way I could do all of this.
