My head falls back, breath ragged. I explode with a groan, cum streaking her image.
“You want obsession?” I say, voice rough with release. “You’ll get it.”
I wipe sweat from my jaw and glance down at the photo. It’s ruined.
Probably won’t be the last time.
I dress with purpose.Black hoodie and dark joggers. Sneakers that grip pavement without a sound.
The note’s already written. Intimate. Laced with promise.
I can’t get you out of my fucking head.
See you soon, Laurette.
—B
I fold the note, linen and monogrammed with a subtle black B, and slip it into a crisp envelope. I don’t seal it. No spit. No glue. Only clean edges and quiet control. Then I tuck it into the front pocket of my hoodie. Not quite over my heart but close enough.
Outside, the night is humid and still as I cross town. Streetlights smear gold across the windshield. The city’s noise and neon fade behind me as I slip into Laurette’s neighborhood.
A hush hangs over the Garden District. Spanish moss trembles in the live oaks. A breeze rustles through the iron balconies like breath caught between clenched teeth.
I drive slowly and park two doors down. Her house is dark, the curtains drawn. She’s sleeping. Or pretending to.
I move through the dark, a shadow stretched thinly across the sidewalk. I stop at her mailbox and slide the note in. But I don’t leave. Not yet. I want to feel her nearness.
I study the windows, the slope of the porch, the lines of the house, searching for her bedroom. I think it would be on the ground floor, toward the rear.
“I’m coming, Laurette—not to hurt or scare you—but to be the very thing you’ve been waiting for.”
I’m gone in an instant, as though I were never there. But she’ll know.
My car door shuts with a soft click. One deep breath, and I dial Matthieu. He picks up before the third ring.
“What do you want, fucker? I’m busy.”
Neither of us bothers with greetings. Never have.
He knows I don’t call without a reason. “I need your help.”
“Of course you do. What now?”
“Security cameras. Garden District.”
“Hold up.” A pause. “Next time you call, wait till I’m not balls deep. I was mid-thrust and you cost me a finish.”
I huff a laugh. “My bad. How was I supposed to know you had company?”
He clicks his tongue. “It’s Friday night, asshole. I always have company.”
“You really wanna go there? I’ve seen your company.”
“Yeah? And she was still too good for you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
A beat.
