Chapter 19 #2
It was Knox with a guy who looked pretty much like a leaner, saner version of him, and a short, smiling woman between the two.
Most likely their mom? A sharp pang of softness hit my chest at the warmth in the photo.
Even though Knox wasn’t smiling like the other two, his eyes had that hint of softness, that sparkle, that showed me he was also human.
An innocent law-abiding human with stalkery tendencies.
Ugh, I was going to forget ever seeing the photo and getting soft for the asshole who came on my comforter and made me change my sheets in the middle of the night. Fuck that guy.
I stepped into his walk-in closet, and a loud groan rattled through my chest and escaped my lips. Because fuck me. He smelled delicious. My core throbbed at the rich, woodsy scent infused in the very essence of the closet.
Every shirt hung with an inch of space between them.
The pants were folded and placed just right on the shelves.
The socks were folded and not tied together.
Fucking psycho. Another side of the closet had several pairs of his uniform neatly stacked on a shelf.
My fingers itched as my throat dried up.
I opened the top drawer of the cabinet right by the uniforms, and inside were neatly arranged stacks of T-shirts and sweatpants. And I couldn’t help it. I plucked the top shirt and brought it to my nose.
The cool fabric warmed my heated face, the scent of him driving my mind into madness, need flooding through my veins at a mere sniff. Fuck. Why did he have to be a cop? And why did he have to be hunting me as if I were a criminal?
I clutched the T-shirt in my fist while I grabbed his uniform from the top of its stack.
I laid the uniform flat on the bed as I breathed into the cozy T-shirt that I knew he wore to bed.
The soft fabric was infused with the very essence of his body.
It was like a hit of cocaine straight into my veins, lighting up every nerve ending of my body.
Knowing what I was about to do, my panties were already soaking with my arousal. Slowly, I removed my leggings and underwear and climbed onto his uniform.
The moment I spread my legs and dragged my wet pussy along the fabric of his uniform, a sharp wave of arousal flooded through my core.
I was rubbing one out on my stalker’s clothes in his fucking bedroom.
That thought alone had my brain exploding with euphoria.
The fact that he could walk in anytime soon, that he could catch me in the act of soaking his shirt, had me clutching my pussy and rubbing my little clit till my core ached with emptiness.
I brought his well-worn T-shirt closer and rubbed it on my face while I inserted two fingers inside my dripping pussy. His intoxicating scent was ecstasy in my veins, the whirling tornado of pleasure consuming every inch of my body.
My deeply hidden kinks, my darkest pleasures, flared to life as I kept rubbing myself on his shirt, wetness dripping down my fingers onto his uniform, sullying it.
My hips jerked, and my legs shook as I completely lost myself in savoring the kind of pleasure that the past me only dreamed of. The heady feeling of darkness and desire enveloped me as blood roared through my veins, and every thought in my head was the taunting smile of Knox Steele.
My body forgot that I was here for a purpose, that this was meant to be a simple act of revenge.
A tit for tat. All it demanded was that euphoria, that divine ecstasy derived from living and breathing the very darkness that I once rejoiced in.
The part of me that loved to be chased, to be coveted, to be stalked.
To be a source of obsession and madness.
And right now, I was. I was Knox Steele’s obsession. And I will become his madness.
My fingers dripped with my wetness, the T-shirt on my face soaking with saliva as I sucked on it, drinking him in.
My breaths turned to pants, and a sheen of sweat coated my legs, my arms, the top of my lips, and the back of my neck.
My hips bounced and jerked with the excruciating need to be pounded and fucked and spanked, with mindless passion and unhinged madness, until that blinding rush of pleasure swept down my spine and threw me over the sharp edge.
My orgasm tore through me as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through my body, leaving me gasping and lying face-first on the fucking T-shirt, soaking the uniform under my hips.
My heart raced as I slowly climbed off the bed and went to the living room for my bag.
I pulled out the Polaroid camera and my mask and returned to the bedroom.
I seated myself over the wet spot on the uniform, put on my mask, and pressed my fingers into my pussy, coating them in my wetness.
I placed the two wet fingers on the top of the uniform—where I would feed him my cum if I had come on his lap—and posed in a manner that hid my bare pussy before I clicked the picture with my bare legs straddling his shirt.
While the camera generated the Polaroid image, I got back into my clothes, leaving the uniform as is. I folded the T-shirt and placed it in my bag. That little souvenir was coming home with me. Fuck propriety.
I stuck the Polaroid right under his message for me on the whiteboard and left my own on it.
Too late. I’m sure you won’t mind the mess.
As I snuck out of his apartment, only one thought kept looping through my mind.
For the first time in five years, I felt exhilarated.
For the first time in five years, I wasn’t actively thinking about my scars.
For the first time in five years, I was genuinely having fun flirting with a man—if a cop stalking and hunting me could be called flirting.
And I knew, one day, he was going to see my face and stop flirting with me.