Chapter 8
LEGION
Isat shirtless on the leather couch with one boot propped against the edge of the coffee table while an open beer bottle sweated against my hand and half a pepperoni pizza sat beside the surveillance laptop.
Hoax spent hours teaching me how to operate without accidentally crashing the entire system.
According to him, I had the patience of an unmedicated prison inmate and the technological capabilities of a violent grandparent.
According to me, he talked too fucking much.
“Click camera four if you wanna rotate angles inside the lab,” Hoax had repeated for nearly the fifth time earlier that evening while I fought the urge to strangle him through the phone. “And don’t touch the override settings unless you enjoy federal prison.”
“Your optimism is inspiring.”
“I’m serious, Legion. If you fry this system, Jameson will skin us both alive.”
“Mostly you.”
“Comforting.”
Hours of Hoax’s grating instructions had finally paid off. The feed flickered on the seventy-inch screen, then stabilized. High-definition clarity flooded the room.
He left me a few instructions, and he was gone for the night, off doing whatever antisocial hacker bullshit occupied his evenings.
Which left me alone in the dark with the camera feeds, cold beer, greasy pizza, and entirely too much access to a woman rapidly becoming the most dangerous fixation I’d ever developed.
Lantana filled the center screen immediately and my entire body tightened on instinct.
The woman looked sinful doing absolutely nothing.
She stood inside one of the back offices of the shop, beneath dim amber lighting with her dark hair twisted upward messily while black framed glasses rested low against her nose.
Tattoos curled over both arms beneath the sleeves of a fitted black shirt rolled to her elbows while she leaned over a cluttered workstation covered in notebooks, powders, and oil bottles.
She clicked her pen repeatedly while reading through a book, the sound carried faintly through the speakers attached to the surveillance feed, and somehow even that tiny habit worked its way beneath my skin.
I leaned forward slightly on the couch while taking another swallow of beer.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.
Because she looked exactly like every dirty fantasy I’d ever had, and dangerous enough to actually ruin a man permanently. Something about the glasses mixed with the intelligence behind her eyes turned every thought inside my head darker than it already was.
I imagined her standing over me giving orders in that low smoky voice while those sharp eyes stayed fixed on mine. Imagined bending her over that damn lab table while glass bottles rattled around us and her notes scattered across the floor beneath my boots.
My cock thickened slowly beneath my sweatpants while I watched her continue working completely unaware someone sat in the dark memorizing every movement she made.
I hated that Hoax had seen her too. The thought irritated me more than it should have.
Every time he commented on what she’d done the day prior, I felt something ugly tighten low in my chest. Rationally, I knew he didn’t care beyond the job. Hoax barely seemed interested in human interaction unless computers were involved. But it didn’t matter. I still hated sharing access to her.
The pen clicked again while she pushed her glasses upward with one finger before scribbling more notes into a black leather journal.
I grabbed another slice of pizza while my attention stayed glued to the screen. Hours passed that way, but I barely noticed the time. I was too focused on her movements through the shop.
How she mixed oils so carefully, labeled bottles, pausing occasionally to sip from a coffee mug stained dark with lipstick.
Every small habit dragged me deeper into obsession.Because somewhere along the line this stopped feeling professional, this felt intimate now.
Too intimate.
Suddenly, she vanished from the cameras. I stared at the empty doorway for a long time and she didn’t reappear.
"Fuck," I muttered.
I had missed something while I was there. Whatever existed behind that door probably held the answers we needed. I was going to have to go in again to find out what secrets my little poison ivy held back there.
Around one in the morning she finally appeared on the screen again.
My pulse kicked harder instantly. The camera feed followed her automatically while she shut off lights throughout the shop and locked the front entrance before disappearing toward the private service elevator hidden near the back hallway.
I set the beer down slowly, the elevator feed showed her inside, leaning back against the mirrored wall.
Her fingers pushed through dark curls roughly while she closed her eyes briefly, and for the first time since I’d started watching her, she looked tired enough to let some of that sharp control slip.
It made her even hotter.
The elevator doors opened and she disappeared into her apartment, the feed coming in seconds later.
Her hands moved to the buttons of her black fitted top and she shoved the fabric off her shoulders, exposing a white lace bra that struggled to contain the swell of her breasts. My cock surged, straining against my denim. I felt the blood hammer in my temples.
I didn't move. Didn’t look away. I just watched.
She didn't turn on the lights in the apartment and the moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting silver stripes across her pale skin.
My jaw tightened hard as her fingers moved behind her back peeling the bra away, her breasts spilling free.
They were heavy, topped with dark, swollen nipples that peaked in the cool air.
“Fuck,” I breathed quietly.
My cock pressed painfully against the fabric of my sweats while blood rushed lower instantly, every filthy thought inside my head becoming harder to control watching her move around comfortably and completely unaware that somebody watched her from several blocks away.
She looked incredible. She was the type of woman capable of making men start wars over one fucking smile.
She shoved her jeans downward and stepped free of them casually while gathering her discarded clothes in one arm. I leaned back slowly against the couch while dragging one hand down my jaw. This had become a problem.
A serious fucking problem.
Because I couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t stop imagining every filthy thing I wanted to do to this woman the second I finally got my hands on her.
The apartment was quiet as she walked through it barefoot wearing almost nothing except black lace panties clinging low against her hips. Every instinct inside me sharpened violently.
Mine.
The thought arrived instantly. Possessive enough to piss me off.
I barely knew her but every second watching her move around that apartment chipped away another piece of restraint until obsession settled beneath my skin thick enough to choke me.
I stood up and walked toward the screen, my eyes locked on the image of her walking toward the bathroom. I had placed a camera there, a hidden eye behind the frosted glass of the shower.
She slid her panties down her long legs, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and I swallowed hard, knowing I should look away.
Look away, goddammit.
Steam blurred the edges of the frame, but her silhouette remained sharp. She stepped under the spray. I leaned closer to the screen, my breath hitching in the quiet of the loft. The high-definition feed captured every bead of moisture, every shift of light through the condensation.
The water hammered against her shoulders, sending rivulets racing down the pale expanse of her back.
She reached for the soap, her movements slow and heavy with exhaustion.
She lathered her breasts, her hands circling the swell of her flesh.
The white foam clung to her skin, sliding into the deep valley between her tits.
I watched her thumbs graze her nipples, the dark centers hardening instantly under the cool spray and the warm friction.
She lathered her skin, her hands roaming over her curves. I watched the soap slide down the slope of her ass, the white foam clinging to the crease of her cheeks.
She turned, facing the glass. The steam clung to the transparent barrier, creating a translucent veil.
She pressed her body against it. The heat of her skin met the coolness of the glass, creating a smear of moisture.
Her breasts flattened against the surface, the pale mounds spreading wide, the nipples protruding sharply against the pane. She let out a low, vibrating hum.
Her eyes closed. She looked lost in the sensation of the water. Her hand drifted downward, sliding past her navel, over the soft curve of her belly. Her fingers disappeared into the dark, wet curls between her thighs.
The microphone caught the rhythmic, wet sound of her touch. It was a primal noise, the sound of slick flesh meeting slicker flesh. She began to rub herself with a frantic, desperate energy. Her hips bucked against the glass, her pelvis grinding into the hard surface.
"Ah... god..." she whispered, her voice ragged.
I gripped my cock. It was a violent, throbbing weight in my palm as I began to stroke myself.
My movements were heavy and uncoordinated.
I couldn't look away. I watched her fingers work, seen through the blurred, steaming glass.
I saw the way her knuckles whitened. I saw the way her thighs trembled, the muscles twitching with every stroke she took.
She was chasing it. I could see it in the way her head thrashed from side to side, the wet mahogany hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. She was a woman possessed by her own hunger.
"Yes... please..." she gasped.