20. Trip
TWENTY
TRIP
S he started leaving me notes.
Little things, taped to the glass, tucked between bricks, folded into her fence like secrets.
“I know it’s you.”
“Still watching?”
Some came with lingerie.
One came with frosting.
She knew I was there. She wanted me there.
And I broke every personal rule I’d made when this started.
I kept the notes.
The panties.
The photo she left with her lipstick print on the edge.
I didn’t keep the cupcake, though.
I smeared the frosting on her window to watch her gasp the next morning.
I’ve been obsessed for a long time. Long before Call of Duty. Long before Patrick. Long before she knew my name.
But now she’s obsessed back.
She played with the cameras. Walked around the house half-dressed. Sat at her window with her thighs parted and her fingers down her panties while I watched from the trees.
She teased me with notes like we were teenagers and she didn’t know I’d already killed for her.
She called me Protector in one of the notes.
She doesn’t know how true that is.
When she stepped out onto the back deck at midnight in a sheer tank and nothing else, I nearly lost it.
She smoked slowly, lips pursed, gaze on the tree line.
“You gonna just keep watching forever?” she whispered.
I stepped out of the trees without a word.
Pointed to the floor beneath her feet.
She dropped to her knees without hesitation.
Spread for me like she was mine.
Like she knew.
I made her come without a single word.
Used just my gloved fingers.
Watched her fall apart with the porch light behind her and the moonlight in her eyes.
When I spilled myself across her chest, it was with a growl I’d been holding back for a month.
And then she left me a note the next day asking for a date. Well, not asking. More demanding in the cutest way. “Take me on a date, coward.”
The word date felt wrong.
But I knew what she meant.
She wanted me to take her.
So I did.
The paintball match was a test for both of us.
I needed to see how far she’d run.
What she’d fight back with.
If she’d push me.
She did.
She hit me in the leg with a paintball and screamed YES so loud it made my cock throb.
She didn’t hold back. She played dirty. She crawled through the woods like she’d been born there, smeared with dirt and wild in the eyes.
She was beautiful.
I stalked her through the trees, training kicking in like I was made for it.
By the time I caught her in that abandoned shed, I didn’t care about the game anymore.
I just wanted to hear her scream.
When I stripped her, I did it slowly. On purpose.
She let me.
She wanted me to.
Her nipples were already hard before I touched her. Her thighs trembled. Her lips parted like she was begging without a sound.
When I drew the knife, she didn’t flinch.
When I pressed it to her throat, she arched.
When I made the first cut… her eyes rolled back, and she moaned like it was the best thing she’d ever felt.
She was mine in that moment. In every way.
I wanted to ruin her.
Not out of cruelty, out of devotion.
I wanted to fuck her until she forgot Patrick’s name.
Until she forgot her own.
Until the only thing she could remember was the way my blade felt on her skin and my name in her mouth.
She shattered on my fingers.
And then again on my mouth as I drank in her delicious juices, and again and again and again…
And again.
I didn’t stop until she begged me to.
Didn’t come until I felt her body completely give out beneath me.
When I finally let go, I did it inside her.
Messy. Deep. Claiming.
I whispered it into her skin.
“You’re mine.”
Afterward, she passed out in the grime and dirt with a look of pure contentment plastered across her features.
I hold her to me.
Not because I need to, but because I don’t want to let her go.
She looks so fucking peaceful.
Blood drying on her chest. Lips parted. Skin glowing from sweat and pleasure.
I wipe her down with what I brought and clean the cuts, kissing them better. I tie her hair out of her face and tuck her against my chest like I didn’t just fuck her until she was half-conscious against the floor of a ruined shed.
When she wakes up, she blinks up at me like I’ma dream she’s not ready to let go of.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I can feel it. We are past obsession now.
This isn’t about the masks anymore. Or the games. Or revenge.
This is something darker. Deeper . I don’t know if it’s love. But it sure as fuck feels like home.