Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
TOMA
On the third night after disposing of my brother’s spy, I’m running on Red Bull and pure determination, having caught only three or four hours of sleep every night.
Biscuit has, as predicted, peed on my carpet when I failed to take her out one evening. I’m still figuring out this whole pet thing but I’ll admit, she looks damn cute with her insulated, little pink dog jacket I got for her.
“Be good,” I tell her as I kiss her little head, then go out the door.
Lack of sleep and fear for Lucie’s safety are the only explanations for the irrational decision I just made.
I can’t keep myself in check any longer.
I have to make sure she is okay. The anxiety at any danger surrounding her, the very thin but real potential of my brother getting his hands on her—or her family—is eating up at me.
Watching her from the other side of the street isn’t easing any of it.
Even the texts that I’ve been sending more frequently aren’t helping anymore.
It’s past one am when I enter Lucie’s flat. She’s been in bed for an hour or so.
I need to be close. I need to hear her breath. If a threat enters the place she resides in, I’ll be ready.
That’s what my exhausted brain tells me as I sneak towards her bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar. I don’t hesitate to push it fully open and take in the view in front of me.
I’ve been here before, staring at an empty bed and inhaling her sweet scent like a junkie taking a hit.
But it’s never been like this. The room smells even more like her now, the heat coming off the bed inviting.
The only light is coming from the living room, where she didn’t close the blinds.
But even in the pitch black night, I’d know where she is.
I’m transfixed, my feet unmoving. Breathing is getting harder.
I want to step inside the room and climb into bed so bad I’m afraid I’m about to whine with need.
Lucie sleeps on her left side, turned away from the window, her hands tucked together under her cheek.
It’s adorable. Her body is just a mass under the warm duvet going all the way up to her ear.
The weird, round clock I noticed on my first visit indicates one twenty-two in the morning. I’ve been staring at my reason for living for twenty minutes and it feels like only a minute has passed.
I move slowly towards her ‘not-dirty-enough-to-go-in-the-wash-maybe-I-can-wear-it-again’ clothing pile on a wooden chair by the window. My lips move into a smile under the balaclava I wear. I place the clothes on top of the dresser, before taking a seat. Then, my vigil starts.
The slow ebbing and flowing of her breaths is soothing. I might not be sleeping but it’s as good as a full eight-hours on a mattress. If only I could reach my fingers towards her.
Soon, I promise myself.
There’s no way I can resist any longer.
I’ll have to prove to her that the monster I am is worthy of her. But even if I weren’t, she’ll be stuck with me. She can condemn me to stay in the shadows once she learns of my identity, but I’ll never leave her side. Good luck getting close to anyone but me, then.
At three thirty, she rouses, a small moan escaping her lips.
My fists clench so hard not to react. She turns.
Another moan. A light sheen of sweat coats my skin with the adrenaline pumping through me.
If she wakes up, there’s no way to know what she will do.
And I know for a fact she has a gun tucked under her pillow. I’ve seen her use it; she’s good.
I don’t have to agonise over ‘what ifs’ for long. Lucie straightens up in bed and taps her clock, a very soft glow like the first light of day illuminating the room. After so many hours in darkness, it’s almost too much. And fucking too little.
The covers pool around her waist. The light plays with the shadows and accentuates her large breasts and soft stomach clad in a large white shirt that’s falling off one of her shoulder. She’s breathtaking.
Her intake of breath has my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans.
“Am I dreaming?”
Her voice is sinful, breathy and rough with sleep, with a hint of desire. Or maybe I want her so much I’m projecting.
“Does it matter?”
My own voice is equally affected by the goddess in front of me. The mask around my face helps to hide who I am, but I can’t conceal how I speak, my slight accent. I decide to push my luck. “Did you think of me when you moaned in your sleep, baby?”
I tremble not to call her the Croatian nickname I chose for her. That would be a dead giveaway, and she isn’t ready to know who I am. Or maybe I’m not ready.
Lucie bites her lip, her chest heaving. Both nipples are hard and pressing against the fabric of her shirt, a beacon begging for my tongue. I lean forward, elbows on my thighs, trying to get a better view.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. A shiver of pleasure moves up my body, the hair at my nape standing on end.
“Why don’t you show me what you were doing in your dreams?”
It’s a gamble, but I’ve learned one thing about Lucie Ventura. She would do anything to feel alive and be the centre of attention. Any attention, if it helps her be loved and cherished. Then, she’s not so sad any longer. I happen to want to give her anything she wants.
She flips the covers off, showing me the full expanse of her perfect legs.
The light is too low to discern every divot, yet I drink her in.
My eyes travel from her face, which I imagined is flushed with lust, to her perfect tits and belly, all the way to her legs that are begging to be bitten and have me between them.
I’ve never been with a woman like that. I made sure to never show interest in anyone, knowing full well my brother would torment them.
I refused to condemn anyone to a premature death.
My conscience couldn’t take it. And years passed.
My conscience is long gone but no woman held my interest. Until her.
I’m a twenty-eight year-old man who’s never given a woman pleasure and taken it in return. When I look down between Lucie’s thighs, it’s been worth it.
“Aren’t you wearing panties, dirty girl?”
She swallows audibly. “I must have removed them in my sleep.”
“I wonder why,” I muse, a smirk painting my mouth though she can’t see it. “Why don’t you keep dreaming, baby?”
Her hands hesitate a second before she lifts the hem of the tee-shirt and removes it completely. My mouth waters as I take her in, fully naked and on display for me.
My jaw drops open slightly at the sight before me.
Her body is a work of art. Every move she makes is graceful and decadent.
The rolls on her stomach and the way her tits fall with gravity make me want to kneel and pray.
I’m not a believer, but fuck if I don’t want to be when I have the honour of seeing her like this.
I wet my lips as I take her in. Slowly. She is meant to be savoured. She has a small script tattooed on her left rib. I can’t make out what it says with darkness and distance. Curiosity sings in my blood.
She props herself against the headboard and lets her hands wander, one caressing one nipple and grabbing her tit roughly, the other, descending straight to her clit. My nostrils flare.
She inhales sharply as she makes contact with her wetness. Fuck, I can hear how wet she is from where I sit and have to fight the urge to fall to my knees and devour her cunt.
I’m swearing at the low light that doesn’t give me enough of a view of her flesh, but I focus on her practised movements. Learning what makes her breath itch and her body tighten. After just a few circles of her clit, she’s breathing hard.
“Don’t go too fast,” I admonish. I need that show to fucking last. If this is the only time Lucie ever allows me to come near her, I need the images seared into my brain to last me the rest of my miserable existence.
Lucie slows her movements and mewls, throwing her head back before dipping a finger inside.
I watch, unblinking, learning how she likes to touch herself.
Slow in and out, always gliding against her clit, caressing her upper body.
Her legs are open wide for me and I devour the sight of her, offering herself to my commands.
It’s heady. I’m rock hard under my jeans, but I refuse to touch myself.
The agony of wanting her and not having her is making me dizzy, and I love it.
“Please,” she whispers, before holding her breath. As though I’d refuse her anything.
“You don’t ever have to beg me for anything,” I say thickly. “Just tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Touch me.”
I swallow, hands clammy under my gloves. Dreams don’t even come close to the reality of touching Lucie. I won’t disappoint her.
When I stand, my legs wobble, weak at the sight of her.
In two steps, I’m standing at the foot of her bed.
Her movements halt, like we’re suspended in time and space.
Whatever I do next will change the trajectory of our lives.
I already knew I’d never let her go without knowing what she looked like naked, mad with pleasure.
That knowledge is going to be my ruin. And I’d never let another person alive to see it.
I clasp my hands around her ankles and pull her down towards me, chuckling when she lets out a little yelp. Then she glares at me. I love that even more. She owns her body, confident in who she is. It’s sexy as hell.
“Keep your feet planted on the bed, and open wide for me.”
That little stare turns into a softer expression when I let my fingers graze her sex alongside hers. Despite the leather between us, I can feel how hot her pussy is. I groan. She gasps and obeys beautifully.
I long to bend down over her and kiss her luscious lips before I take her breasts into my mouth, but that would mean removing the lower half of the mask.
I’m not doing it. Not yet. Not when she believes she’s letting a stranger fuck her with his fingers.
Not when she isn’t even sure if this is real.
The moment I reveal who I am to Lucie, she will be begging to know who’s fucking her. Who’s protecting her. Who’s making her feel safe and cherished.
We find a rhythm, perfectly in sync as we get her closer to her climax. I can’t resist and caress one of tight nipples, playing with it and learning each gasp and little moan she makes. When I twist and pull, her voice turns hoarse.
I pull my fingers from her pussy and direct them towards her mouth. The glove glistens under the low light and it drives my need higher. “Bite at the tip,” I tell her and she does. “Don’t drop it. Keep tasting yourself on it.” Another low moan. “Good girl.”
Removing the glove, I don’t waste time and come back to where my fingers were before. It’s my turn to moan when I reach the wetness of her cunt and inserts two digits deep inside her. Her walls clamp on them.
It’s heaven. It’s Hell. Everything I dreamt of, and more.
“Fuck, baby,” I groan. “You’re perfect.”
I’m so far gone I don’t care if she recognises my voice.
I almost want her to know who I am, who’s touching her like that, who’s going to make her come, knuckles deep into her tight little pussy.
In and out while sliding against her clit I go while she presses her hands on mine.
One insistent as I work her into an orgasm, and the other over where I grasp at her flesh on her thigh.
She’s inviting me to dig my fingers deeper and I do.
Her moans grow louder, her pelvis chases my movements, rolling against my thrusts. My vision whitens at the edges, which I didn’t think possible since we’re in the dark. Pleasure coils at my balls, and they draw tight.
“Yes, Lucie,” I praise. “I dreamt of making you come on my hands. Of you wanton, letting a man you don’t know fuck you like the desperate girl you are. Now be a good girl and give me what I dreamt of. Come for me.”
I don’t recognise myself. I’m drunk on her, letting greed direct my words.
Lucie’s pussy pulses around my hand as she comes hard.
I follow her, clamping my mouth shut. My eyes stay riveted on my girl, lost to her orgasm. We’re both breathing hard, messy. Beads of sweat sparkle on her forehead and a blissed out expression shines on her face. I did that.
Fuck, I did that.
I also came in my pants, but so worth it.
I don’t resist the need to know what she tastes like and lift my balaclava enough to slide the two fingers that were just inside her into my mouth. I groan at her sweet and tangy taste. “You taste good, baby,” I tell her before catching the glove she let fall when she came.
“Best dream ever,” she giggles, her smile taking over her whole face, her eyes already droopy.
I don’t answer, my heart constricting with discomfort at her words.
It’s not her fault. But next time, she needs to know she wasn’t dreaming.
I slide the covers back over her as she starts to breathe evenly.
I don’t resist the urge to kiss her temple, inhaling the scent of the woman I’m completely gone for.