Chapter 4 #2
I had some free time since I couldn’t work much—not wanting to raise red flags and let Nine discover that my death was staged—I decided to take matters into my own hands and get all the people who were even slightly involved in Sully’s attack.
They tried to take away what now belongs to me, and they all paid with their lives.
Nine is the last on the list, since she was the person who orchestrated the whole thing.
She wants revenge. For what exactly, I have no idea.
I could make a couple of lucky guesses, but I don’t really care about the reason behind her behavior.
People live daily with such complicated feelings.
There’s no meaning for most of them. They are weaknesses taking control of one’s mind and body, turning them vulnerable.
An absurd reaction, which I exploit any chance I get.
I’ll do the same with Sully. His sweet naivety and unflinching loyalty will help me earn his implicit trust. The plan is already in motion.
He wants me. I can see it in his eager eyes, and feel it in his chopped breaths, the desire to be possessed.
Any predator would, that’s why I’m on this fucking tree.
Spying on him helps with the hunger; it also assures me that nobody will take advantage of his gentle nature but me.
He won’t fall prey to someone else. My entire being rebels at the idea.
Just the thought makes me want to murder the hypothetical bastards.
I’m not new to stalker territory. I’ve got permanent citizenship. Mostly because it’s part of my job. Recon is crucial to an assassin. Studying the target, finding his habits, weaknesses, and fears, helps wrap up the job without troubles. Hitmen have no room for mistakes.
But keeping my distance from Sully is more challenging than I expected.
The moment I want something, it is mine even before I physically own it.
The wait and the planning fill me with thrill, but as soon as I get it, I don’t care for it anymore.
This time, though, I know it will be worth it. How can he not be?
Four more months, then all bets are the hell off. Fuck Oliver and fuck Raguel and all the rest of the team. I’ll get Sully’s virgin ass where he belongs, on my pistoning cock while he screams my name.
My phone vibrates in my lap. I slide a fistful of M no idea that I get jealous of the mugs touching his lips or whatever he feels fine lifting near his mouth; no idea that I’m a horny bastard who reacts to his sleeping figure.
His body gives a violent jolt just before his eyes open.
He must have had another nightmare. I guess the masked man wasn’t in his dreams tonight.
My jeans become tight as I remember the last words he wrote in his diary.
I hold my breath for a moment as I almost feel like our eyes meet.
Like he can see me watching, spying on him, hiding among the leaves outside his bedroom window.
But the moment is broken when he turns toward the nightstand, and I move more deeply into the shadow of the tree.
His light comes on, and I turn off the night vision.
He moves closer to the window. Long, bare, smooth limbs, a loose T-shirt that I wish he’d take off, the signs of the pillow on his cheek, and his soft hair falling over his forehead, ears, and neck.
He is searching outside in the cold darkness…
for me. He can sense me. I cannot help the feral smile under the mask as his beautiful eyes narrow with wariness.
His Adam’s apple bobs on a hard swallow.
I want to suck on it, bite it, fill my mouth with his flesh and his taste.
I’m salivating. He gives me his back, and I take the opportunity to adjust the hard dick inside my jeans.
He turns on some music—I can see his lips moving, mouthing the words—while going around the room, organizing.
I remain still, eyes utterly focused on him.
The entirety of my being is waiting.
The sight of my mug heater on his nightstand makes me groan with satisfaction.
I’ve seen him too many times letting his drink turn cold while studying.
It irritated me so much that I had to fix it.
A few minutes later, he sits at his desk, and after a little while, he takes a box out of the drawer.
I squint at it. I’ve never seen it before.
What’s inside? My question is quickly answered when I see Sully placing a small anal plug on his palm.
What. The. Fuck. I feel sweat dampening my bandana. When the fuck did he get a butt plug? An angry growl leaves my lips. It was Lori. I saw him slipping a box inside the desk.
Sully moves to the bed, quickly takes off his sweats and underwear, and falls on the duvet.
The T-shirt rides up, showing the curve of his ass.
Ahhh, fuuuck! Pink and smooth, so damn bitable.
It disappears too quickly under the sheets.
He grabs the laptop and starts typing away.
I take my phone and click on the cloning app for his laptop.
He’s searching for porn videos with anal plugs. Jesus fuck!
This is not the first time I’ve caught him watching porn, but I’ve never seen him masturbating. Is he going to do it? My blood boils with excitement at the thought.
He just selected a video with a man wearing a mask. Is he imagining me? He had dirty dreams about the man who saved him from that scaffolding—even though he thinks I don’t exist—but reading his kinky fantasies in his diary is very different from seeing him.
Fucking Christ, now he’s sucking on his fingers like an eager whore. The enjoyment in his eyes almost makes me jump through his window and onto his bed. He is covered by the sheets, but the hidden movements underneath are suggesting a jerk-off session.