Chapter 5
Killian
The art supply store was two towns over. Far enough that no one would remember me. Just another face in the sea of many looking at paints and papers. No one would remember me looking shifty as hell, or even nervous.
Thoughts of Lena had consumed me. It had gotten to the point I couldn’t sleep. Part of me hadn’t even wanted to eat.
I needed to claim her mind and soul but I knew there were steps to doing all of that.
I'd thought about what to get her for days. Studied her sketchbook during my visits, memorized the way she held her pencils, the pressure of her strokes on paper. She was running low on charcoal. I'd noticed that on my “visits.” So I bought her the good stuff. Vine charcoal. Compressed charcoal. A set of blending stumps. Sketch paper that was heavy weight, the kind that could handle layers of pressing, that wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of an artist’s hand.
Professional grade. The kind of supplies someone bought when they were serious about their craft.
Or when someone was serious about them. I slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter top to the cashier making hardly any eye contact with the cashier.
When the transaction was done, I’d kept my head down, and drove back up the mountain with the bag sitting in my passenger seat like a secret.
Occasionally, on the ride home, I’d take my eyes off the road to admire the brown bag resting in the seat next to me.
Eventually, my truck made its way back up the mountain side, and I slid back into my territory.
Breaking into her cabin had become this nasty little sadistic routine. A routine that I couldn’t escape. Didn’t want to escape.
Muscle memory.
I knew which window to use. Knew how to move through her space without leaving traces.
But this time was different.
This time, I was leaving something behind.
I set the supplies on her kitchen table, arranged them carefully. Not too neat because she'd notice that. But not scattered either.
Just… there.
Like they'd been delivered and she'd forgotten about them.
Plausible deniability.
Except there was no return address.
No card.
No explanation.
I wanted to see her face when she found them. Wanted to watch confusion turn to unease turn to something else.
Fear, maybe.
Or curiosity.
Either way, she'd know someone was paying attention.
Someone was watching.
Before I could even read the time on my watch, the headlights from Lena’s vehicle bounced around casting shadows.
The sky had already started to darken overhead, the last rays of a sunset fading overhead.I positioned myself in the woods behind her cabin just in time.I made sure that I was just out of view beyond the tree line where the shadows were thick enough to hide me.
Close enough to see through her kitchen window.
My pulse quickened the second the light flickered on in the small kitchen, and the smell of damp earth surrounded me.
There was a chance of a huge rainfall at any minute, the sky was slightly cloudy overhead but I needed this moment.
I needed to see Lena discover my gifts that I’d left just for her.
I saw her set her purse down, and head to the fridge. The second that it registered that something was different, I knew. She’d stopped in her tracks and turned to look at table.
My pulse quickened as I reveled in the look of confusion that crossed her features, and my hand slid to my dick and I palmed myself. God, I wanted to stroke myself.
Get just an inch of relief.
Not yet, I thought.
Lena went to the art supplies, picking them up and examining them. They were the same exact brand but new.
Unused.
First she picked up the charcoal, bringing it to eye level and then she ran her fingers over the paper. She bit at her lip, and confusion remained on her face. Finally, I saw her shake her head and she set the supplies back down and put the tea kettle on the small stove.
She was tired, I could see the exhaustion in the way she held her shoulders. When she was done getting the tea on, she returned to the table and picked the charcoal up once more.
Slowly, I watched as she began to draw…
My breath hitched and I couldn’t take it anymore. Unzipping my pants, my waiting dick sprang out.
I was hard and ready, the need to slide into something slick and waiting.
Lena's hand bore down, the charcoal leaving thick, dark strokes across the page.
My grip tightened in response. Her wrist flicked rapidly, creating quick, jagged lines; my hand on my dick matching her tempo, stroke for stroke.
When she paused, tilting her head at the drawing, I froze mid-motion, waiting.
Then her fingers resumed their dance across the paper, and I continued, the night air catching in my throat as sweat beaded at my temples despite the chill.
The concentration that had etched its way onto Lena’s face, mirrored my own. She once again sped up and my hand followed. The friction that was building was pushing me towards a climax I was desperate to reach.
Suddenly, the kettle began to whistle, a high pitched thin sound that cut through everything.
That sent me over the edge, and my cum spilled across my hand in a rush.
Gasping for air, I tugged a few more times leaning against a tree as a wave of euphoria washed over me.
“Fuck,” I groaned knowing it was time to leave before I was discovered.
As the world came back into normal view, my body stopped shaking from the orgasm. Lena began fixing herself a cup of tea and then sat down at the table, returning to her drawing. Completely absorbed. Unaware. I tucked myself back into my jeans, then stay for a few moments longer.
The feeling in my chest bloomed as I watched her.
She was using the supplies I'd given her and creating something new. Something that wouldn't exist if I hadn't left those gifts for her.
If I hadn't been watching.
The thought made something warm and possessive settle in my chest. It seared itself into my brain and branded me like I was her cattle.
Mine.
She was mine.
She just didn't know it yet.