Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Echo
Bambi wants me.
She didn’t admit it freely, and she tried to minimize the words as soon as they left her mouth. But she said it, and more importantly, she knows I heard it.
Since we met, Bambi’s body has been telling me everything her mouth refuses to, and her confession today finally confirmed what I already knew.
She wants me.
Now the only question is, what do I plan on doing with that information?
It’s just past 2am when I enter the underground garage and as expected, mine is the only car circling the lot. I pull into a spot on the lower level and kill the engine before reaching across to the passenger seat to grab the bouquet I had customized just for her.
It’s a dense arrangement of flowers and greenery filled with roses, tulips, and dahlias in varying shades of her favorite color: buttercream yellow.
She gave me an inch today. I intend to take so much more. So the least I can do is soften the blow with something that’ll make her smile.
I ride the elevator up to the fourth floor and step out into the quiet hallway with the bouquet at my side.
My pace slows as I approach Bambi’s door, and for a moment, I stand there, letting my loafers sink into her plush doormat.
My fingers graze against the surface of the door, and I can almost feel her pull through the inches of plywood. She’s in there, probably fast asleep, and deeply unaware of how close I am to her. So vulnerable. So unassuming. So fucking mine.
Before I get too ahead of myself, I step away from her door and force myself to keep walking down the hall. I come to a stop in front of the apartment next to hers, and after making sure the hallway is still empty, I reach into my pocket, grab my key, and carefully unlock the door.
Bambi doesn’t know I’ve owned this unit for over three weeks now.
I thought she might’ve caught on when showed up on her 4th floor balcony, but she never even questioned it.
It was a bit of an impulse purchase, but I needed the privacy, and keeping an eye on her from a distance just wasn’t enough anymore.
Fortunately, the unit was already vacant, which made things considerably cleaner.
As soon as I’m inside, I kick off my shoes and shrug off my jacket before hanging it on the coat rack.
The apartment is quiet tonight, and the only source of light is the city’s glow bleeding in through the patio door.
Stepping deeper into the living room, I set the bouquet down on the coffee table and loosen my tie as I sink into the leather sectional.
Grabbing the remote, I turn on the big screen and the live feed of Bambi’s bedroom comes into focus.
She’s on her side, facing the back patio, with her arm folded under her and a frown marring her otherwise smooth face. The light filtering through her curtains catches the line of her jaw, and the slow rise and fall of her shoulder beneath the duvet.
She’s out cold.
I stand up, grab the bouquet off the coffee table, and head for my patio door.
Her sliding glass door is open when I arrive, leaving the flimsy screen door as the only barrier between her and the outside world.
She does this every night. Leaves it open like fresh air is worth the risk, like nothing bad could ever find its way through her fourth-floor patio door.
It used to frustrate me, and in some ways, it still does.
But now that I have a place of my own that keeps me within steps of her, I can rest a little easier knowing I’m right there if she ever needs me.
I slide the door open and step inside.
The room smells faintly of that peach sugar lotion she always applies after her shower. It wraps around me the second I cross the threshold, and my eyes find the bottle on her nightstand immediately. I cross the room before I make the conscious decision to, and pocket it.
She’ll eventually notice it’s gone. She’ll reach for it the way she always does, come up empty, and know exactly who took it.
Good. She should think about me. I think about her constantly.
I glance at her bed and, as usual, Bambi is sleeping on her stomach with one leg kicked out from underneath the covers and both of her arms folded beneath her head. She’s dreaming. The moonlight spilling in highlights the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks as her face twitches.
Even if she weren’t deeply under, I wouldn’t be worried. There’s no version of this situation where I get caught, and even if there were, I’m not sure it would change anything. Bambi knows exactly what I am, and she’s attracted to me in spite of it, or more likely, because of it.
I take my time as I move through her room. I’ve seen it plenty of times through the camera lens, but being in here, experiencing it firsthand, feels different. More intimate. Still, I move through it the same way I move through everything that belongs to me, unbothered and without apology.
I round the foot of the bed and set the bouquet on her nightstand. Then I step back and look at it.
The flowers are almost luminous in the dark. I had the florist spend the better part of an hour getting the arrangement right because I needed it to say something specific.
I know you. Not the version you perform for everyone else. The real one. The one you think no one else can see. I see you, Bambi. I always do.
My eyes move from the bouquet back to her, and I can’t help but stare.
Her hair fans across her pillow, and her lips are slightly parted.
She looks soft like this, unguarded in a way she never is with me.
She gives me her anger, her frustration, and even her lust, but the softness she reserves for herself.
Not for long, though.
I reach out and let my fingers hover just above her cheek. A breath away. Close enough to feel the warmth rising off her skin. Close enough that if she stirred, if she turned even slightly in her sleep, my skin would be on hers.
She’s so deeply asleep that I probably could touch her right now and she wouldn’t even feel it. I could taste and explore every inch of that beautiful fucking body of hers, and she’d wake up in the morning none-the-wiser.
But the thing is, when I touch Bambi, I want her to feel it. And taking from her won’t feel nearly as good as when she looks me in the eye and gives it to me of her own volition. I want her, yes. But I want her to want me even more, and I won’t settle for anything less.
I drop my hand and take one last look at the flowers on her nightstand, the buttercream arrangement she’ll see as soon as she opens her eyes. Then, I turn around and leave her room the same way I came. Silently, smoothly, and without a single ounce of remorse.