6. Colin
Colin
Much to my simultaneous relief and dismay, the cameras are working.
Chloe’s life behind closed doors is surprisingly uneventful.
With no one else around, I’d been expecting her to grow fangs or for her eyes to turn from their usual honey brown color to a bright yellow.
Maybe for her to open a secret door in the back of her closet and haul a handcuffed captive out and torture him with lashes and beatings until the sun rose.
When she first came into the house, it almost seemed like she sensed someone had been there. She paused at the threshold, tilting her head as she studied the room. She did a sweep of the house before doing dishes in the expensive looking outfit she wore to the bowling alley.
I’d spotted her back there almost immediately.
She’s hard to miss, with her long, blonde hair and long legs.
Her over-the-top outfits and the sound of her laughter cascading from her lips.
She wasn’t laughing, but I heard it nonetheless.
Her laughter had haunted my dreams while I’d been away.
A beckoning from the back of my mind. A threat and a tease wrapped up in a dangerous, pretty little bow.
I wasn’t exactly lying to my captain when I said I didn’t plan to go near her.
I hadn’t planned on it, at least not so soon.
But when I recognized the person pointing in my direction and the back of Chloe’s head as she sat on the couch next to her, I was blind again.
Blind to anything in the world but Chloe Stark.
After her dishes were done, I watched from the angle of the entertainment center as she sat on the couch with a letter in her hand for over an hour.
Multiple times I thought the cameras had stopped working as she sat unmoving.
Obviously, the letter was unintelligible for me, but I did wonder what it was and who it was from.
Finally, she carried herself upstairs, disappearing into the bathroom and emerging again a minute later in a matching set of silk pajamas. If I’ve learned anything about Chloe Stark so far, it’s that’s she’s hiding something, and she’s bougie as fuck.
The video feed is small but surprisingly sharp. As she moves toward her bed, the silk fabric flowing against her body looks designer and very expensive.
My entire body tenses when she crawls up the length of her mattress like she’s a cougar on the prowl for its next meal, the curve of her ass cheeks exposed at the bottom of her shorts.
She clearly didn’t bring one of those bowling guys home with her, so no one is in danger of losing their life—at least tonight—yet I can’t take my eyes from the camera feed as she flops onto her back and reaches for that vibrator on her bed, her fingers moving to the buttons on her top.
With one hand, she pushes each button through its hole with a tantalizingly slow and familiar precision. So slowly that each button is another opportunity for me to turn the fucking camera off.
But when the silky material holding her tits captive falls to either side of her body, I’m a fucking goner.
My dick is so painfully hard between my legs that I fear I will come without even touching it—which obviously I cannot have—so I reach into the band of my sweatpants, fisting my cock and watching Chloe as she drags the vibrator down her body and pushes it between her legs.
I slowly stroke the length of my dick as she pinches her nipple between her painted fingernails, her hips slowly wiggling up against the purple vibrator that’s annoyingly unseen beneath her shorts.
Her pace varies between intentional movement and chaotic rhythm.
It takes me a minute to realize she’s edging herself, but when I do, it’s all I can think about.
I mimic her body’s movement, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back, squeezing the head of my cock and then slowly stroking down to the base, matching my own pace with the sounds of the whines and moans that leave Chloe’s lips as she tortures herself.
Bringing myself close to orgasm with each squeeze of the tip, I vividly imagine edging Chloe myself.
Curling my fingers inside her until she’s on the brink of release and then pulling away.
Lapping my tongue against her wet pussy, only to push her toward the edge again.
Her thighs on either side of my face, her cunt weeping for me.
My hand begins to feel like Chloe’s tongue, and as her sinful mews continue from the camera in the background, I allow myself to pretend that her pretty mouth is wrapped around my cock, slobbering my dick up and gagging as it hits the back of her throat.
Hot ropes of come begin covering my hand, and my moans begin to match the sound of Chloe’s as she brings herself to release, as well.
And then I clean my pathetic ass up and watch her fall asleep with the most venomous smile of relaxation on her face.
As I take myself to bed, I promise myself tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will go back to treating Chloe like the devil she is.
***
Chloe’s entire weekend was an extension of that first night I’d finally been able to watch her in her house.
By all accounts, absolutely mundane. She makes the same exact breakfast every morning: avocado toast with scrambled eggs and cheese.
Then she does yoga in her backyard next to the pool.
I was able to see this thanks to the last-minute idea I had to place the last camera I had with me near the doorframe of her French doors.
Because you never know who she might drag through her backyard, right?
Not because I had any need or desire to see her in a bikini.
Each day after yoga, she re-read the letter she’d opened on Friday night, and I realized I should probably go back when she’s out and read it myself.
I know she and her mother have stayed in touch since her sentencing, and Chloe doesn’t seem to meaningfully interact with anyone outside her little friend group, so who else would it be?
Every day around noon she leaves to pick up lunch at Peak Salad Co., which I know thanks to the GPS I placed on her Bug. She has multiple phone calls with Maeve and Stella, rehashing the bowling win, referencing someone named Stone, and talking about what their week ahead looks like.
I don’t know what Maeve and Stella plan to do, but Chloe mentioned going ‘hunting’ more than once, in addition to a few volunteer shifts at some place I didn’t catch the name of.
I was not at all surprised to hear she was going hunting, but I was very, very interested in following her on that outing.
I was surprised to hear that she’d be volunteering, because either this is a new project of hers, or I totally missed it when I was trailing her last time. Or perhaps it was code for something else.
Chloe ended each evening with a date with her purple vibrator—which I’m slowly developing envy for.
Saturday, I did not allow myself to coordinate our masturbation schedules again.
But after watching her do yoga in the backyard for two straight mornings and then come with my name on her lips Saturday night, I decided to indulge myself on Sunday because what’s the harm?
Masturbation is normal, Chloe is gorgeous, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard my name fall from a woman’s lips with such tenacity and ownership.
It sparked a wild charge in my body that simply could not be dulled without release.
As long as I’m engaging like this from afar, while we’re in two totally separate buildings, everything will be fine.
Regardless of her boring routine, I’m positive watching her will eventually bring me closer to solid evidence that she is up to something. I just don’t know what yet.
I watch the little green dot move away from Peak Salad Co.
and back in the direction of Chloe’s house, right on track with her normal schedule.
She doesn’t have to work, and as far as I know she never has, because her mom was a millionaire when she went to prison after she invested all the money she made from the trafficking ring she unearthed.
“We found Richard Soffett.” Alex’s hurried voice snaps my attention off the green dot representing Chloe.
He’s buzzing past me to grab his jacket off the back of his chair, and his urgency pulls me out of my chair, as well.
I follow him toward the elevator that will take us from the fourth floor to the ground level.
“Where?” I ask when we enter the elevator and he jabs his finger into the button marked L.
“Washed up at Devil’s Landing.” Fitting, since he was killed by the devil herself.
Devil’s Landing is about an hour drive from here.
Would Richard have driven himself an hour away for a hike near Devil’s Landing?
Is that normal? I wouldn’t know, because I’ve never gone on a hike in my life and I have no idea how far people are willing to go to engage in their recreational activities.
On the drive to Devil’s Landing Recreational Area, I find myself more focused on the fact that I have zero concept of fun and adventure, more than I wonder about what Richard’s cause of death is going to be.