Just to check on her. Just to see.
The feed flickers alive and her bedroom glows faint in the dark.
She’s curled on her side, facing the wall. Tossing. Turning.
Good.
She can’t sleep.
She shifts again, huffs. Then her hand reaches under the pillow, then the drawer, and I freeze.
Is that—
A fucking pink dildo?
Oh fuck no.
Her hands disappear under the covers, and I see the way her hips twitch, the way her breath hitches, her thighs parting.
Her head tips back, lips parted.
That plastic piece of shit between her legs is doing what I should be.
I lean closer to the screen, every muscle tensed, jaw locked.
That’s not what you need, hellcat.
She moves faster. Whimpers. Her back arches a little.
You need my hand. My cock. My fucking teeth.
I slam the laptop shut so hard it rattles the mirror.
I’m going to break that silicone piece of shit in two.
Her lights are off, I check the cameras, she’s fast asleep. It’s past four in the morning, and it’s quiet as death out here.
I cross the lot, the cold biting through my cargos, and slip inside the building with the spare key I lifted from her idiot neighbor. Stairs creak under my boots as I climb to her floor. The lock on her door is laughable; I’ll get her a better one. Just one twist, one click, and I’m in.
Shitty building.
The door shuts behind me with a low thud, the wood floors groan at my weight. She shifts in bed, turns over, and bolts upright with another fucking knife in her hand before she’s even awake.
“What the hell?!” she yells, pointing the knife at me.
“Shhh, hellcat.” My arms fold across my chest, calm as stone. “You really want the neighbors calling the cops?”
Her eyes widen. Her hand trembles just enough for me to notice, and that sheer little shirt she’s wearing does nothing to hide the stiff peaks pressing through. The hem barely covers the tops of her thighs. My cock reacts instantly to the tantalizing sight.
“Are you insane? Do you enjoy being stabbed or something?” she demands, circling the bed with that sad excuse for a blade aimed at my ribs.
“Maybe I do, Tamsin.” I draw her name out, watching the way her lips part, the way her chest lifts and falls faster.
“How do you know my name?” she hisses, stopping close enough for me to touch.
“I know everything. Your cousin. Your targets. The little hideout where you prep your kills.” I smirk under the mask as her gaze flicks toward the door.
She can try to get past me, but I won’t let her.
