Chapter 4 #2
Abigail is perfect for me. I know that I can fulfil her darkest desires. She’s kept them secret from everyone, choosing to hide them away in her closet where no one can see her true artistic brilliance.
Does she hide them even from herself? Is that why she keeps her masterpieces shrouded in shadows?
I remind myself that risked this break-in for a single purpose, so I need to keep my focus on finding her laptop.
I put the paintings back in her closet and find the laptop on the floor beside a stack of books, tucked halfway under the bed. Was she looking at something online late at night? Maybe she has a particular, perverted website she likes to visit.
I’ll make sure to check her browser history as well as any personal documents she’s written.
Any further insight into her sexual preferences will help me seduce her. And if I’m right about her kinky predilections, I’ll feel more secure showing her the darkest aspects of my cruel nature. There will be less risk involved if I know exactly what she wants me to do to her.
I set the laptop on the bed, which is an unmade tangle of sheets.
My lips twist with distaste. Abigail is untidy.
A bad habit I will have to break once she’s mine.
I shake off the possessive thought and ignore the unease that stirs in my gut at how fiercely I want this woman.
The laptop instantly illuminates when I open it. A photo of the beach fills the screen, and a small icon with her face is framed in a circle at the center of the idyllic image. There’s a text box just beneath it, the cursor flickering in a mocking rhythm.
Fuck.
It’s password protected.
Her secrets are in my hands but hopelessly out of reach.
I narrow my eyes at the computer as though it’s a particularly irksome enemy that I’m about to eviscerate. For a few long seconds, my fingers hover over the keyboard. I contemplate guessing her password.
But I have no idea if my attempts will be logged somehow. Even worse, I could end up locked out entirely. Abigail will definitely know someone has tampered with it if that happens.
She’ll know someone was in her home while she was out.
She might call the police. There could be an investigation.
No, I can’t try to guess her password. And I’m no hacker, even if I’m proficient with technology. It’s a skill I’ve learned just like any other to progress my career, but I’ve never needed to learn how to break into a woman’s private laptop.
My hands clench to fists just above the keyboard.
I’m going to have to leave unsatisfied.
The distinctive sound of a key scraping a lock grates down my spine. Her front door creaks open, and my stomach drops.
Abigail is home early.
She was supposed to stay at the bar for at least another two hours. She usually indulges with her friends until nearly midnight when she goes out.
Fuck!
I’ve only been watching her for a few weeks. I was a fool to think I could fully learn her habits in that time. Abigail is quirky, difficult to pin down. I should’ve known that I couldn’t rely on her to stick to any sort of schedule.
I quickly close the laptop, and my eyes can’t quite adjust to the darkness in the absence of artificial light from the screen. Her soft footsteps pad across the living room. In less than three seconds, she’ll enter her bedroom and find me here. She’ll scream for help.
And I’ll end up in a cage.
I grit my teeth and dive under her bed.
I will not go to prison.
Even if the prospect of hiding from her is somewhat preposterous. It feels intrinsically wrong to be cowering in the shadows, as though this delicate woman could pose any threat to me.
But I don’t have a choice. I’ll have to remain quiet and hidden until I can slip out of her apartment without being noticed.
That might mean spending the entire night down here.
My fingernails dig into my palms, and I draw in a deep breath as quietly as I can manage.
Can she hear my heart hammering? My blood is pounding in my ears.
If I felt like I was skydiving before, now I’m in freefall without a parachute. The peril isn’t just pretend anymore. If I’m caught…
I gnash my teeth and forcibly close off that line of thinking. Spiraling into anxiety won’t help get me out of this farcical situation.
I can’t do anything except remain still and draw in careful breaths. The adrenaline thrums through me, making my limbs shaky and my mind fizzy. It’s terrifying and exhilarating.
I’ve never experienced anything this powerful, and even though I’m losing control, I revel in the intense new emotions. Ensconced in darkness, I allow myself to sink into the fear-soaked physical responses, marveling at the way my breath shudders in and out of my tight lungs.
Even this existential dread is a gift only she can give me.
I can hardly wait for the day I feel the opposite. How visceral will my pleasure be when I finally claim her?
The prospect causes my muscles to coil in carnal anticipation, and to my shock, my cock begins to stiffen.
Before I can fully process the fact that I’m getting a hard-on, she turns on the bedside lamp. Then her soft cotton, periwinkle blue dress drops onto the hardwood floor, and I can no longer deny my erection.
Her panties drop next: pale pink cotton briefs.
I bite my tongue to hold back a hungry growl. The small rumble that manages to escape is mercifully smothered by the creaking of her aged mattress springs when she gets into bed.
Naked.
Right above me.
Her hand appears, fumbling at the floor just to the right of my head. I crane my neck to the side, and her long fingers nearly brush my hair before she feels the familiar shape of her laptop.
She picks it up, and the computer disappears along with her hand.
Damn it.
This can’t be happening. I’m going to have to listen to her typing whatever it is that absorbs her so completely, and I still won’t have a clue what she’s writing.
Within seconds, I hear the rapid tapping of her fingertips on the keyboard, but I remain completely ignorant. She’s probably typing in her password, but there’s no way to discern a pattern.
A few soft clicks. More tapping.
Faster now.
She blows out a long sigh, as though she’s purging physical tension. The mattress shifts above me. She must be moving into a more comfortable position.
It shifts again.
The aged springs must be causing her discomfort, because she seems to be practically squirming in her sheets.
And still, she keeps typing.
Another sigh. Another shift.
A realization is dawning, but I don’t want to acknowledge it.
My cock already seems to know exactly what’s happening because it’s painfully stiff in the confines of my jeans.
Then she stops typing, and her low moan flushes the humid air with erotic heat. The movement of the mattress is undulating now, a regular, rolling rhythm.
No.
This can’t be happening. The woman I’ve been lusting after for weeks is masturbating directly above me while I hide under her bed.
For an insane moment, I consider joining her on the bed.
I could pin her down and clamp my hand over her mouth to muffle her pretty scream.
She’d fight, but my other hand around her throat would be enough to subdue her.
Those remarkable, aquamarine eyes would shine with tears even as they soften at the edge of losing consciousness.
She doesn’t breathe unless I allow it. She doesn’t speak unless it’s to moan my name.
“Dane…”
My entire body locks up tight.
My dark fantasy of our mutual, twisted pleasure is all too visceral. I can’t give in to temptation. She’s not ready to accept me like that yet.
“Dane…”
It takes me several racing heartbeats to process the fact that I didn’t just imagine her moaning my name.
Jesus Christ.
She’s thinking about me while she pleasures herself.
She’ll barely look at me when I’m at the café, but some part of her must remember our intense connection.
Abigail wants me.
My fist unfurls, and my fingers fumble at my belt. It’s as though some irresistible compulsion has taken hold of my body, and even as I know this is madness, I free my aching cock. My sharp intake of breath is masked by her rapid panting and the squeaking of her mattress springs.
Pleasure shudders down my spine, and I bite the inside of my cheek to hold in a primal snarl of frustration and desire.
I should be inside her right now. The tight sheath of her cunt should be squeezing my dick, not my own fist. She should be weeping and begging me for release.
“Dane!”
She cries out my name, and for the first time in my life, I lose control of my body entirely. Ecstasy overtakes me in a vicious wave, dragging me to completion against my will. Cum sears my hand, and my cheeks heat with pleasure and a hint of shame.
Unease twists my gut as I crash back down from my cruel high. The power this fragile woman holds over me isn’t just thrilling; it’s shaking my entire worldview.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath at the same time as she sighs in contentment.
Abigail will pay for this. She’ll crawl to me on her hands and knees and apologize with her mouth. Only when I’m satisfied that she’s thoroughly humbled and completely desperate for me, I’ll finally allow her the mercy of an orgasm.
The savage thought is almost hot enough to stir my lust again, but for now, I’m spent.
The mattress dips, and her hand appears again as she returns her laptop to its place beneath her bed.
My mind whirs. I have to know what she was writing that got her so aroused.
Does she write about me? Is that why she moaned my name?
I formulate a daring plan to discover her secrets. I’ve risked breaking into her apartment once. I can do it again.
After I borrow her laptop for the day.
Someone in Charleston will know how to unlock it without her password. My money will ensure that any qualms about hacking will be alleviated.
Then I can return the infuriating device to her bedroom, and she’ll never know it was missing.
Satisfied with my course of action, I finally allow myself to relax. As I listen to the sound of her deep, even breaths, I follow Abigail into sleep.