CHAPTER 16
JAGGER
Zachary had confirmed earlier that chicken noodle soup had been delivered at six for Eden to eat for dinner . . . along with a precise dose of tasteless sedative stirred in. It was perfectly harmless, of course, but it had been a high enough dose to push her into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I pulled up the camera feed on my phone while I walked the last block to her building.
The live view loaded in seconds. She was curled on her side, knees drawn close to her chest, and her dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink.
Her breathing moved in slow, even waves, steady and untroubled, and her lips were parted just slightly.
There was no tension in her shoulders, no restless shifting beneath the blanket . . . just peaceful, drugged oblivion.
I watched for another thirty seconds, my thumb hovering over the screen as I made sure her breathing stayed even and nothing happened that would force me to adjust my plan. The cameras had shown her finishing her soup earlier, but you never knew.
She stayed completely still, though. Perfect.
I locked the phone and slipped it into my pocket.
The back stairwell smelled like mold and old cigarettes as I took the steps two at a time.
When I got to her door, I slid my key into the lock and turned it slowly until the deadbolt gave with a soft click.
Pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, I closed it behind me without letting it latch too loudly.
The apartment was dark except for the faint blue glow from the oven clock in the kitchen. 3:16 a.m. The living room smelled more like her and less like him, which was just how I liked it. Another day or two, and any trace of him, at least scent-wise, would be gone.
Her apartment was so cramped that it only took me a few steps to get to her bedroom doorway, and when I got there, I took a second to savor the sight.
I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it.
Something tightened beneath my ribs when I saw her. I was still getting used to the way I orbited her even when I wasn’t with her. Whatever I was experiencing didn’t feel like fear . . . or nerves.
It felt like pressure, something almost violent in its insistence. Like my body had decided that proximity to her was oxygen, and distance was suffocation.
I’d killed for less than this feeling.
I stepped closer, watching the gentle rhythm of her breathing. The way her lashes cast faint shadows against her cheeks. The way her fingers curled into the sheet as if even in sleep she was holding on to something.
I wondered, briefly, if this was what people meant when they talked about love.
Not the soft, polite version. Not the kind that fit inside greeting cards.
But the feral kind.
The kind that makes you feel like your lungs might collapse if you go too long without seeing someone’s face. The kind that convinces you your hands were built for the sole purpose of touching them. The kind that rearranges your moral compass until right and wrong become secondary to mine.
If I couldn’t see her, I felt restless.
If I couldn’t touch her, something inside me scraped and clawed.
If she disappeared, I wasn’t entirely sure that I wouldn’t burn the world down looking for her.
My chest tightened even more.
I crossed the room in three strides, dropping to my knees beside the bed. My hand hovered over her face, and I couldn’t stop myself from brushing my fingers against her cheek. She sighed and turned toward my touch like a flower seeking sun.
My fingers trailed down—along her jaw, the column of her throat, over the frantic little pulse that jumped under my thumb. And then lower, to the swell of her breast, where her nipple pebbled through her cotton shirt at the barest graze.
My cock throbbed painfully against my zipper, and I had to try to talk it down. She deserved to be awake for the first orgasm I gave her. I wanted to see her begging and desperate as she fell apart for me.
But the second my lips brushed her temple, I nearly moaned at the feel of it. Eden let out a soft sigh, like she knew me even in the dark, even in sleep . . . and it hit me like a drug. My whole body locked up, and my heart was slamming so loudly I was sure it would wake her.
I should’ve forced my feet to move. I should’ve left the room and gone back down those stairs.
Instead, I stayed exactly where I was, bent over her sleeping form, one hand braced on the mattress beside her head, and I leaned in again.
This time I brushed my lips against the corner of her eye, then the curve of her cheek, then the shell of her ear.
Each kiss was light, barely there, but every one sent fire through my veins.
Her skin was so soft. I wanted to bite it .
. . mark it. I wanted to wake her up with my teeth on her skin and my cock already inside her.
I obviously couldn’t do that, though.
Kicking off my boots, I slid the sheet back carefully and eased onto the mattress behind her. The bed dipped dramatically under my weight, the springs protesting with a long, drawn-out groan.
I shifted slightly, trying to distribute my weight, which only made the whole thing creak in a new and inventive way.
For a split second, I considered the fact that I owned properties with mattresses worth more than this entire apartment, and here I was, lying on something that felt as though it had been assembled from tin cans.
The springs pressed into my back, answering my thoughts.
How did she sleep on this fucking thing?
Oh, right. She was drugged. There was no way she’d be sleeping well otherwise.
Eden shifted, and I froze as she curled away from me.
I stared at her for a second, but she was still fast asleep.
Sliding my arm around her waist, I pulled her flush against my chest. Her ass nestled perfectly against my hips, and my dick pressed insistently against the thin fabric of her sleep shorts.
The sedative was doing its job perfectly.
Mine.
The word branded itself into my brain as I buried my face in her hair. I tightened my hold and flattened my palm over her stomach. She sighed again, soft and needy, and her hand found mine in her sleep and threaded our fingers together.
Fucking hell.
I pressed my lips to her nape, tasting her pulse as my other hand slid up under her tank and cupped her breast. She arched against me, a tiny whimper slipping out as my thumb brushed over the tight peak.
Okay . . . down boy.
Stopping myself, I decided I would just hold her for a few hours and then leave before dawn. A little treat after dealing with Paulie’s office.
But the exhaustion hit like a freight train, and it all crashed down at once. My eyelids grew heavy. My breathing synced with hers. The city noise outside faded to a dull roar.
I told myself I’d rest for just a minute.
Just long enough to feel her heartbeat against my palm. Just long enough to pretend this was normal. That I wasn’t a monster who’d killed her husband and drugged her to crawl into her bed like I belonged.
My eyes drifted shut.
And for the first time in years, I let go.