I makeit about three blocks down from her apartment building before I have to pull over. The engine ticks as I sit in the dark with my hands still wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.
I tried to focus on the road, but I can’t even think straight right now. All I can think about is her. I can still taste her on my lips, and the smell of her skin is everywhere. In my nose. In my head. In my fucking veins. Even my poor cock is suffering. The fucker is still hard as a rock.
I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve ignored the interruption and told her to keep grinding on my dick. Should’ve let her dry-fuck me to the point where her primal need outweighed her logic, and she begged me to fuck her. But I needed to get the hell out of that building.
It’s not like I suddenly grew a conscience. I don’t have one, and even if I did, there’s no line I wouldn’t cross for her.
I left because I knew that once I got a taste of that sweet little cunt of hers, there would be no going back to pretending we’re just friends. And Bambi isn’t ready for what happens when we stop pretending. Not yet, anyway.
I pull out my phone and navigate to the app that accesses the camera in her room. The feed loads and shows her empty bedroom. She’s probably out in the living room with her roommate, an area I still don’t have access to.
I should drive home, get some sleep, and give her space to process what happened. A normal man would. Instead, I recline my seat, settle in, and wait. Because I already know I’m not going anywhere until I see her again.
Six minutes later, Bambi’s door opens, and she slips inside before gently closing it behind her. She stands there for a minute, pressed against the door, staring at her bed as her chest rises and falls in rapid succession.
Is she thinking about me?
Her hand drifts to her mouth, fingers ghosting over lips that are still swollen from my kiss. Then lower, to her neck where I bit and sucked hard enough to leave marks. She closes her eyes and her thighs press tightly together.
Good girl.
You should be thinking about me.
She pushes off the door and moves to her bed, climbing under the covers fully clothed. She thinks she’s going to sleep. That she can just ignore the arousal still thrumming through her body, if she tries hard enough.
Adorable.She doesn’t realize I’ve already ruinedsleeping in that bed for her. And in all fairness, she ruined sleep for me weeks ago.
I’ve never had someone get under my skin like this. Not in a way that makes me rearrange my entire day just to watch her organize paperbacks. Not in a way that makes me check my phone every thirty seconds just to see if she replied.
I kill people for a living, for God’s sakes. My brother and I have maintained our family’s empire with violence and fear, and calculated cruelty. And somehow, this girl. This interesting, impulsive, infuriating girl has me sitting in my car at 10:30 at night, hard as fuck, desperate to see her face.
On screen, Bambi tosses restlessly. The covers twist around her legs as she shifts from her back to her side, then back again.
She’s trying to fight it. I can see it in every frustrated movement. But her body won’t let her forget me.
After five minutes of watching her fail to settle, she throws the covers off with a frustrated groan, most likely directed at me. She sits up, runs her hands through her hair, and stares at the ceiling like she’s searching for strength. Then her hand moves to her nightstand.
My breath hitches as she pulls open the drawer and retrieves a small purple vibrator.
Oh, Bambi.
My cock, which had finally relaxed, goes rock hard in an instant.
This is crossing a line. Not a moral one. I crossed that weeks ago when I started watching her. But this is different. This is intimate in a way that should make me closethe feed and drive away. Butgoddamnit,I can’t look away even if I wanted to.
I should have boundaries with her. Lines that I won’t cross even in the depths of my obsession. But every rule I’ve ever had dissolves the moment she’s involved.
Don’t make things personal? Failed that one in the alley. Don’t create any liabilities? She's been one since the night I let her live. Don’t mix business with pleasure? I’m watching the witness I should’ve killed through an illegally hacked camera. And now this.
Don’t watch her touch herself, you sick fuck.
Even as the thought forms, I’m already unzipping my jeans. My hand wraps around my cock and I hiss at the contact. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.
On screen, she’s sliding her shorts down her legs, and even through the grainy feed I can see how wet her panties are.
