7. NIKOLAI #3
She started pacing—making tight movements back and forth across the room, like her thoughts were running too fast to settle. She seemed aimless. Something still had her wired.
She’d said she was going to take a nap before heading to the club. But she couldn’t. Not yet.
That was on me.
My little stunt in the alley—chasing her like a fucking animal—had done the damage I’d intended. She’d made it home, but I was still in her head.
She rubbed at her temples, sighing in frustration, then went to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. After pulling out a wad of cash, she sat down on the edge of the bed and started counting quietly, frowning in concentration.
She stopped halfway through, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply, as if she was trying to tamp down the stress that was crawling up her spine and trying to live in her head.
Without finishing her count, she tucked the cash back into the drawer and rubbed the spot above her right eye.
Migraine, maybe. That kind of stress didn’t come from a bad morning.
It came from walking through life on a tightrope with no net beneath her.
She stood and stepped toward the window.
I ducked fast, crouching tightly against the brick.
The blinds rattled closed.
I stayed low, waited three seconds, and then shifted, angling my body just right so that I could see through the slats.
She dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Too thin.
Too tired.
Too fucking breakable.
And every part of me screamed, Mine!
She fluffed up her pillow a few times.
She tried lying flat.
Rolled to her side. Still couldn’t settle.
Then she reached into the drawer beside her bed and pulled out a book.
Not the one from earlier. This one was older. The corners of the pages were curled from use. Colored tabs lined the edges like a secret code.
She sank back into the pillows, bent her knees, and rested the book on her thighs. Her shirt stretched across her chest, the soft cotton fabric clinging to the curves of her breasts. A sliver of skin showed above her panties.
Flipping to one of the marked pages, she began to read.
A couple of pages in, her expression changed.
This was not the wide-eyed alertness from before, but something more attentive. She blinked slowly, her eyelids sinking with need, and she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth.
She was turned on.
I remained motionless outside her window as her hand slid from the edge of the book to her belly.
She didn’t rush it—just slowly slipped her fingers beneath the band of her panties and then lower between her thighs.
The book tipped sideways, falling against the blanket while her other hand tugged the waistband of her panties down, exposing the fair skin of her naked pussy.
Jesus.
I went still. Every muscle locked tight.
She shifted her hips.
Her fingertips circled slowly—steadily. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp as she kept going.
She was playing with her clit.
Right fucking there—in front of me.
Her legs opened wider, her breath ragged with desire. I couldn’t blink.
The other hand came up and tugged at her shirt, her fingers brushing one nipple through the fabric, pinching until it was visibly hard.
My cock strained against the zipper of my pants.
It’d been too long since I’d fucked anyone. And now I was sitting outside this girl’s window like a goddamn deviant, watching her touch herself like I had every right to.
But I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t leave.
I needed to see her break.
Her thighs tensed. She was getting close, rubbing tighter circles, her hips arching up against her own touch.
Then she slid her other hand down.
Two fingers slipped between her legs, sinking so deep between her folds that I couldn’t see them anymore. Then she started pumping them in and out—picking up speed while the fingers of her other hand circled her clit, quick and steady.
Her breath hitched.
Her head fell back.
She rolled her lips over her teeth and squeezed them tightly, holding in the moans, not wanting her roommate to hear, I assumed.
And then she came apart.
Her whole body jerked once—then again. She ground her hips into her hand as her legs shook and the orgasm tore through her.
It was captivating—the way her brows pinched and her mouth struggled to stay closed. The way she clenched her thighs around her hand and dragged the pleasure out for as long as she could stand it.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
She was flushed and glowing.
I was fucking ruined.
That should’ve been my hand teasing her, pushing her past the edge. My hand pinning her wrists down and making her beg. I wanted to break through the glass, rip that shirt off her body, and make her ache for the kind of pleasure only I could give—make her let out the screams she’d denied herself.
But then the high drained from her body, and her demeanor shifted.
One second, she’d been coming apart and flushed with self-gratification, and the next she was too quiet. I hated how fragile she looked now. She was curled up on her side, worn out and all alone, a blanket pulled halfway over her. Her eyes fluttered shut.
I would’ve watched her sleep too—if my phone hadn’t buzzed.
Luca.
I pulled it out, my heart still pounding like I’d been shot at.
Sacrifice is Delgado’s. MS-13. Front for sex trafficking. Not just girls. Boys, too. Some local. Some stolen. All disposable.
If you know her, you don’t want her working there. Trust me. If she’s dancing, she’s already in danger.
I stared at the message.
Ciro Delgado.
That bastard was becoming untouchable with the mayor’s help, and now it was personal.
Fucking hell.
This was worse than I’d thought.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket.
My little lamb had no clue.
She thought she was just spinning around a pole for tips and cheers.
She didn’t know the wolves were already surrounding her.
Or that now I was one of them.
Watching her sleep.
Protecting her without her permission.
Wanting her more than I fucking should.