Chapter Seventeen
MONROE
Iwake from my sleep slowly, but my body feels alert. I feel it before I can explain it. The back of my neck tingles, the air itself leaning closer, as if it, too, is holding its breath. That same feeling that’s been haunting me for weeks, so strong it steals the breath from my lungs.
I don’t dare open my eyes, my ears listening for footsteps, breathing, anything. But it’s the same room, the same quiet that comforts me every night, even if it feels different.
The silence thickens around me, and I open my eyes, letting them adjust to the heavy darkness that blankets the room.
My swallow is as loud as a drum beat, but I still don’t hear anything out of the ordinary, even if my body is convinced otherwise.
I don’t know how to explain it. Intuition? My conscience? I know I’m not alone.
My eyes dart around the room, looking for shadows in the dark corners. With shaky hands, I quickly push myself up to sit, facing forward, my eyes tracing over every inch of my studio. The house is the same, nothing out of place, and no one here but me and my plants.
I can’t explain it, but I could swear I’m not alone. Even now, I can see that I am, but my body and mind refuse to submit to the facts. I feel it. Feel a presence.
I flick on my end table lamp, the dim light illuminating the space around me in a warm glow.
My eyes focus on the chair sitting in the corner of the room, and I gasp, scurrying back against my headboard.
I blink away the blurriness, my eyes adjusting further, making out the bright blond of his hair, the way the light reflects off his skin, and my heart sinks into my stomach.
Crew is in my bedroom, sitting there like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world.
My heart pounds in my chest, blood rushing between my ears as I sway slightly.
“Crew?”
“Monroe.”
Understanding washes over me. Oh my God.
It’s been Crew all along. Of course it’s him.
The familiarity, the scent, the way I welcomed it like an old friend.
It all started after I met Crew that day at the mortuary.
How did I not put that together on my own?
He’s been watching me, leaving me flowers.
Anyone else would have felt wrong, terrifying.
But from the moment I met him, I’ve been enamored.
“What are you doing?” I ask when he doesn’t look up from his lap.
“Reading.” I scoot forward, looking at what he could possibly be doing in my room, reading, when it hits me.
“Crew . . . is that my journal?”
“It is.”
“That’s an invasion of privacy.”
“So is me being in your room every night to watch you sleep.”
My mouth falls open. “You-you do that?”
He just hums his agreement, and I don’t know what to do with that fact. How can he think this is normal and acceptable behavior, and why does the idea of it turn me on? But then he starts reading out loud, and my face heats with fire.
“‘Crew brings out a different side of me I’ve never experienced before. I always play it safe, careful, but when I look at him, I start to unravel. Heat pools low in my belly, my heart rate skyrocketing, my hands shaky. He affects me in a way I’ve never felt before.
I wonder what it would feel like to be touched by him.
To feel him moving above, to feel him inside me.
I want him. All his dangerously dark, sharp edges.
So instead of going after what I want, because I don’t know how to ask for it, I resort to touching myself.
Touching myself to thoughts of him doing it for me, of him pleasuring me.
But I can never seem to get myself there.
It’s frustrating, and I don’t know what to do about it.
’ Dirty pixie. Is that what you do when you’re all alone here at night?
Touch your pussy to thoughts of me? I’ve only ever seen you do it once, and it looked like you didn’t get what you wanted. ”
My face is burning, a flaming heat I’ve never felt before. I want to hide my face in my hands, but every fiber of my being is telling me not to. My heart is racing, and I can’t get enough air into my lungs.
“Tell me. I really want to know.”
I nod my head without looking away from him.
“Words, pixie.”
I look down at my hands twisting in the fabric of my sheets. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I touch myself to thoughts of you.”
“Mmm. Show me.”
My eyes snap to his. “Wh-what?”
“Take off your panties, Monroe. Show me how you touch yourself when you’re dreaming of me.”
“Crew . . .” I plead. But even as I say his name, I’m not sure if I’m begging for him to stop this before it starts, or never let it end. I can feel how wet my panties are already. I know I want this, want everything he has to offer me.
“Show me. Let me see.” His eyes are dark orbs staring at me with all the focus in the world.
He toys with his tongue ring between his teeth as he relaxes back in the chair, his long legs spread apart casually, his arms draped over the back like he has all the time in the world to wait for me to give him what he so desperately desires.
I don’t know where the courage comes from, but ever so slowly, I lift my nightgown above my hips and hook my fingers into the string of my panties.
Crew freezes his ministrations, his tongue retreating back into his mouth, instead leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his knees, waiting, watching.
I drag them down my thighs and over my knees before they fall to my ankles.
Once the first foot is free, I kick the fabric off, where it lands on the floor.
Crew reaches forward, picking up my black lace panties and holding them to his face. My mouth parts, watching in shock as he takes a long inhale, breathing in my scent, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Jesus Christ, he’s breathing in my dirty panties. Why is that so hot?
“Fuck, you smell so good. So sweet. So perfect.” Crew pockets my panties before leaning back down against his thighs. “Show me. Make yourself feel good.”
I take a slow, stuttering breath and open my legs.
The room is shrouded in darkness, my light spilling in just enough around me to illuminate things.
I know he can see all of me, and there’s something about it that gives me a boost of confidence, that makes me feel powerful.
This dangerous, strong man is begging to watch me touch myself for him.
Me. Of all the places he could be, of all the women he could be with, he’s here with me.
The moment my legs fall completely open, a deep, primal growl fills the room. It’s more animalistic than human and should have me screaming for help. But I feel my core clench in response, my pussy dripping with need.
“Damn, that’s a pretty pussy,” he growls.
I slip my fingers through my lips, finding myself just as wet as I knew I was. I press a single finger inside me, rubbing the heel of my palm against my aching clit.
“Look at my pretty little pixie girl being so dirty for the big bad Heathen.”
“Oh, god.”
“There’s no such thing as God. There’s only a Heathen here. Make yourself come, show me what you look like when you let go.”
I squeeze in a second finger, but it’s tight, pumping into myself several times before dragging my wetness up to swirl around my aching clit. Crew doesn’t say anything, and the only noise filling the room is our heavy breathing.
I want him to come touch me, to use his fingers or his mouth. I almost beg him, tell him that I need him. But I don’t want to break the moment.
Pleasure spirals out from my core, spreading through my body. My knees start to shake slightly, but just as I start to feel that climb, it starts to ebb.
“Come for me, Monroe.”
“I-I can’t,” I whine in frustration.
“Yes, you can. Relax and let go. Don’t think, just feel. That pretty pussy wants to come for me so bad. I can see you dripping from here.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, capturing it between my teeth while I focus on Crew.
His eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen them, practically black and soulless as they watch me.
His fingertips stroke up and down his bare chest mindlessly, and I wonder if he’s hard right now under those jeans.
He’s cocooned among the shadows like a ghost, sitting in the corner, stretched out like the king of the underworld.
I press down on my swollen clit, swirling my fingers in a circle around it. Pleasure starts to climb again, and I grip the sheets with my free hand, a small moan escaping my lips.
“That’s it. Just like that. Now dip a finger back inside and go back up to that needy clit.”
His mouth. I didn’t know men actually spoke like this to their women. Their women. Is that what I am to him? It sure has felt like it since the very first moment I met him. Crew is all-consuming.
Tension coils tighter and tighter, and knowing Crew is right there, his dark obsidian eyes watching me, knowing that those eyes are the same eyes that have stalked me, who have been with me for weeks now, threatens to snap that tension into oblivion.
My hips start to move of their own accord, and I keep my eyes focused on him, watching how he plays with his tongue ring, how his fists clench and unclench at his sides. He watches me touch myself like an addict staring at his next hit, like he’s desperate for it, like he’d do anything to have it.
“That’s my good pixie. You’re so close. Come for your Heathen.”
And then, just like that, I’m coming. I scream out as my back arches, my legs shake uncontrollably, and my stomach clenches.
Wave after wave thrashes me with pleasure I’ve never felt before.
My core clenches as my fingers slip through my wetness.
I’m completely gone to the sensations, and even though I don’t want to, even though I fight against it, my eyes flutter closed as my body heats and vibrations roll through me.
When the last wave ebbs, I let my hand fall away to the side, my knees falling shut as I try to regain my ability to breathe normally.
Just as I open my eyes, I realize Crew is gone, and my heart plummets.
I can’t help but wonder if it was all a figment of my imagination, or if Crew was really here with me at all.
If it weren’t for the lingering scent of fire and rain, I’d almost believe he wasn’t.