Chapter 7
Sasha
Fuck me.
The sight of Cyn leaving her dorm building while wearing the dress I’d asked her to wear is a rush I hadn’t been expecting. I wasn’t sure if she’d do it, but seeing that she’s obeyed me, that she wanted to please me like this, excites me in a strange new way.
I don’t understand what I feel for her, but I know it’s not ever going to go away.
Ever since the night I found her scared and pressed against the wall by some fucker who was planning on hurting her, it’s like something clicked in my brain, like some part of me reached out and latched onto her.
And now she’s everywhere—in my every thought, in my dreams, and I swear she’s even in the air I breathe.
I have no idea what the fuck she did to me, but she did something.
Even now, I can’t stop watching her. My eyes take in every movement she makes, every step, every turn of her head, every nervous fidget.
I drink it in, savoring every second of it.
While she walks to her first class of the day, I trail behind her, always staying far enough away so she won’t see me.
It’s so fucking cute how she tries to spot me, though.
Every once in a while, she jerks her head quickly to the side like she’s hoping to catch me before I can jump back into the bushes or scoot behind a tree.
God, she’s adorable. This thought, like many I’ve had over the last few weeks, surprises and confuses me in equal measure.
It’s not the only shock I’ve had, though.
I’m still waking up hard every fucking morning, and it’s not because I’ve just woken up from a dream where I’m killing someone.
Instead of feeling a blade sink into someone’s skin, I’m dreaming about the way she’d looked with blood smeared on her face.
Big green eyes staring up at me, mouth slightly open from fear and panic, and that fucking gorgeous red hair I’m obsessed with.
Every morning I wake up rock-hard with her face in my head.
It doesn’t help that I’ve been sneaking into her room almost every night to watch her sleep.
I’ve got it fucking bad, and I don’t even know what the hell it is. I just know she’s mine, and I’m done keeping my distance.
When she walks up the stairs on her way to her English class, I run my eyes over her body as I slip my hand in my pocket.
My fingers quickly find the lock of hair I’d cut from her head last night.
Chort had licked her face, almost giving us away, but she’d just sighed and curled onto her side, looking peaceful and completely at ease as I stood above her with a knife in my hand, the same one I’d used to kill the men who’d attacked her.
I’d cut a pretty sizable lock of her long hair.
I’d tried to not make it noticeable, but I’d wanted a piece of her hair, and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it.
After a few tries, I’d managed to do a simple braid, tying off both ends with small rubber bands.
I’ve been carrying it around with me ever since.
I can still catch a faint whiff of her coconut shampoo when I bring it to my nose and inhale.
In the sun, the hair breaks into layers of red—so many variations of blood from the deep, rich tones of a freshly cut artery, to the more coppery shades that bloom after oxygen hits it. My girl has them all.
Stunned at my reaction to her, I feel myself start to harden and quickly shove her hair back in my pocket before following her inside.
My dick is still healing from the tattoo, and the fact that I can’t jerk off is a constant source of irritation.
Willing my body to relax, I stick to the shadows and then slip into the large auditorium-like classroom, taking a seat in the far back that keeps me obscured but still gives me a clear view of Cyn.
I’m distracted by the curtain of red hair that falls over her bare shoulder, and when she turns her head, I almost don’t turn mine in time.
With my baseball cap on and my head tilted and looking down, the only thing she’ll see is the Yankees cap I’m wearing and a hint of dark hair.
I keep my head down like I’m thumbing through a textbook until I hear the professor’s voice.
Cyn is too good of a student to not pay attention, so I lift my head, not at all surprised that she’s already taking notes.
This professor barely pays attention to who’s sitting in her class, so I know my ass is safe.
The prick who teaches her Russian class is another story.
He’d notice me instantly, so I’m forced to wait outside when she has his class.
He looks at her like he wants to fuck her, though, and I fantasize about killing him often.
I’ve never had any desire to go to college.
High school was painful enough. It was an unpleasant time for me.
I’d been filled with a lot of rage, and I was still in the early stages of discovering a somewhat healthy outlet for it.
Add in the fact that I had no interest in sex, and I think it’s safe to say I never would’ve survived it without my family.
I didn’t fit in there, and I sure as fuck don’t fit in where I’m sitting now, but I’m too fascinated by the woman seated several rows in front of me to care.
When the class is almost over, I slip out without a sound so I’m already hidden and waiting for her when she walks out to go to her next class.
Unbeknownst to her, it’s the same routine we’ve been doing for weeks.
Thanks to Niki, I have all of her school records, her home address, and thanks to the charger with the hidden camera, I can check on her anytime I want.
I prefer this, though. She’s rarely in her dorm room, and I have no desire to see her annoying roommate.
Following her in real life is so much better.
After another one of her classes, I watch her eat several tacos from one of the restaurants that she often frequents, and then it’s another class with a lab before she drops off her books and heads for the animal shelter she volunteers at.
There’s no way for me to follow her in without being noticed, so I grab a quick burger and fries while I wait.
I finish my milkshake as I tail her back to her dorm when she’s done with her shift.
She goes inside while I wait for her obnoxious roommate to leave, and as soon as I see her way-too-peppy ass walk out, I lower my head and slip inside before the door can shut.
The security in her building would be laughable if it didn’t piss me off so much for putting Cyn in danger.
The students at the front desk are always on their phones, and there are no cameras in the stairwell or on the individual floors.
I’m an armed man who’s just easily snuck into a building filled with hundreds of unsuspecting women with nothing but flimsy particle-board doors between them and me.
The university should be ashamed of itself.
When I get to Cyn’s door, I wait outside and check the feed on my phone. She’s inside, sitting at her desk, head already buried in a textbook. I don’t bother knocking. In just a few minutes, I’ve picked the lock, pulled my mask on, and pushed the door open.
I hear her gasp when she sees me, but she doesn’t scream, just watches me as I shut and lock the door behind me before leaning back against it.
“You wore the dress for me,” I say.
She looks down, still too shocked by my appearance in her room to say anything, but then she slowly nods and says, “I did, yeah.”
Unable to resist, I ask, “Why did you?”
“I’m not really sure,” she starts to say, but I shake my head.
“No lies between us, my little Cyn. Why did you wear the dress for me?”
She sets her pen down and smooths out the fabric of the dress along her thighs. My eyes follow every movement, memorizing the lines of her body, surprised by how badly I want to touch her.
“The truth is I’m not exactly sure. I’ve never worn it before, and I wanted to.”
“So my asking you had nothing to do with it?”
“No, it did,” she admits. “I’ve always wanted to, and I guess you gave me a reason to do it.”
“Why didn’t you ever wear it before?” When she hesitates, I say, “You said you wanted to, but you never did. Why not?”
She looks embarrassed when she says, “I guess I didn’t think it would look good on me, and I was afraid of looking stupid.”
There are a lot of things I don’t understand.
I knew that before meeting Cyn, but every time I’m near her it grows painfully more obvious.
I have no idea why she would feel stupid or think that she looks bad.
When after several moments of quiet I still can’t figure it out, I admit the truth and say, “I have no idea why you would think that. You look beautiful in it.”
Her cheeks grow red at my words, and the corner of her mouth lifts up in a smile before she tries to hide it.
I saw it, though. She can’t hide anything from me.
I see it all, including the way she’s fidgeting beneath her desk and trying like hell to not look at me.
Her eyes go everywhere but where I want them to, so I push off from the door and step closer.
The room is small, and it only takes me two steps before I’m standing in front of her.
Without a word, I reach out and wrap my hand around the back of her neck.
With my thumb grazing her jawline, I tilt her back so she’s forced to look up at me.
When her green eyes lock on mine, I release the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and stare down at her.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you,” she says.