Chapter Twenty
Adrian
I sprawled across my leather couch, six monitors glowing in front of me, illuminating my industrial mansion with eerie blue light.
The jade knife spun between my fingers as I scrolled through Noah Brown's mundane life with my free hand.
My bloodstream still buzzed from the gym session—from telling the guys about my plans for Isla's ex, from seeing her sleeping form on my new surveillance feed, from the absolute certainty that I was going to dismantle this fucker piece by piece.
"Noah, Noah, Noah," I threatened, enlarging his LinkedIn profile on monitor three.
"Mechatronics Engineer at Physical Intelligence. Aren't you fancy?"
The guy looked painfully average in his profile picture. Sandy brownish hair, forgettable features, a smile that screamed "I'm safe and reliable" when all I saw was "boring as fuck."
But his employment history was interesting. Robotics, tech companies, systems engineering. The bastard had a brain, at least. Too bad I was about to scramble it.
I flicked to monitor four, displaying his pathetic social media presence.
Professional networking, a few stale company party photos, a private Instagram with barely any posts. Nothing like the performance he'd given at Isla's gallery opening.
"Keeping your crazy behind closed doors, huh?"
I switched to monitor five, which showed the results of my deeper dive—credit records, phone logs, shopping habits, the digital breadcrumbs of a man who had no idea he was already dead.
"Let's see what you're really hiding."
My phone pinged with a notification from the camera nestled in Isla's bedroom alarm clock. She'd just walked in wearing nothing but a towel, hair dripping wet from the shower.
My dick went from zero to steel in record time.
“Oh fuck," I breathed, watching as she dropped the towel and reached for her collection of lotions.
My angel, all curves and creamy-pale skin, unaware of my eyes devouring every perfect inch of her.
I zoomed in, savoring the sight of her applying lotion to those plush thighs, her soft stomach, those big tits that warmed my hands.
I reached into my pocket, fingers finding the white lace panties I'd cut from her body last night. They were still slightly damp from her arousal, the scent of her like a drug.
I brought them to my face, inhaling deeply, and my other hand moved to my sweatpants, pushing them down just enough to free my already aching dick.
I wrapped my hand around my length, the stolen panties still pressed against my nose as I watched Isla on the screen, completely naked and vulnerable.
The fabric was cool against my skin as I draped the delicate lace over my shaft, using it to stroke myself with deliberate, torturous slowness .
"That's it, angel," I groaned, my eyes never leaving the monitor as she bent to apply lotion to her calves, giving me a perfect view of the ass I planned on ramming in due time. "So fucking pretty.”
I tightened my grip, the delicate fabric adding mind-bending friction as I moved my hand faster.
The scent of her filled my senses, driving me wild with need. My thumb circled the head of my cock, spreading the moisture gathering there through the lace of her panties.
My phone beckoned, and I grabbed it with my free hand, never stopping the steady rhythm of my strokes.
Time to play with my pretty little prey.
It was a perfect opportunity to stroke her deepest desires since my phone number was still unknown to her:
Unknown
Wearing blue panties to bed?
I watched the camera feed as her phone lit up on the nightstand. She froze mid-lotion application, glancing at it with confusion.
My dick twitched in my hand as she reached for it, still gloriously naked, her expression shifting to wariness as she read my text.
Isla
Who is this?
I grinned, rolling onto my back, the knife balanced on my chest as I typed, my other hand still working my cock through the lace of her stolen panties.
Unknown
An admirer. You're beautiful when you sleep.
On screen, I watched her wrap the towel around herself again, blue eyes darting toward the window, the door.
Her fingers flew across her screen, and I could practically taste her fear through the pixels.
Isla
Stop texting me or I'm calling the police. This isn't funny.
Unknown
But I just want to keep you safe. Like I did at the club. Like I did in the car.
Remember the car, angel? Remember how pretty you looked taking my knife?
I could pinpoint the exact moment she realized it was me.
Her entire body relaxed, tension melting away as her hand went instinctively to her throat where my ribbon should have been.
The sight of her relief, the knowledge that she trusted me even through terror, made my cock throb harder in my grip.
Isla
Adrian?
Adrian
Give the pretty girl a prize.
I increased my pace, the panties slick with pre-cum, the fabric clinging to my skin as I stroked faster.
The combination of texting her while watching her and touching myself with her stolen underwear was pushing me toward the edge faster than I'd expected.
Isla
You scared me!
Adrian
Only a little. And you liked it.
My breath came in short grunts now, my hips lifting off the couch to meet each stroke of my hand.
On screen, Isla sat on her bed, a smile spreading across her face as she texted me back, completely unaware that I was getting off to the sight of her, to the scent of her, to the power I held over her.
Isla
Why are you texting me here?
Adrian
Testing your survival instincts. You failed, by the way. Never answer unknown numbers.
Isla
But then I wouldn't be talking to you right now!
Adrian
I'm the exception to every rule, angel.
I forced myself to slow my strokes, the soaked silk of her panties clinging to my cock as I fought against the urge to finish.
Not yet. Not when she was still in her towel.
My eyes burned into the monitor, watching every micro-expression cross her face as she read my messages.
Isla
What are you doing right now?
Adrian
Thinking about how pretty you look naked. Put on something blue. I want to see you in blue.
I watched her cheeks flush that perfect shade of pink that spread down her throat to her chest.
She glanced around her room, almost sensing my presence, and something wicked flickered in her blue eyes.
Isla
Are you... Watching me somehow?
My breath hitched. Smart girl. Time to stop playing games.
Adrian
Yes.
The single word hung between us through the digital void. I watched her process it, saw the exact moment understanding settled .
She reacted exactly as I’d dreamed—her lips curved into the most devastating smile I'd ever seen.
Then she dropped the towel.
"Holy shit,” I groaned, my grip tightening around my cock as she stood there completely naked, hands on her hips, looking around her room like she could find me.
Like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
Isla
Is this what you wanted to see?
My hand moved faster, the lace thoroughly soaked, sliding effortlessly as I pumped my thick shaft.
But I held back, wanting to drag this out, wanting to savor every second of her seduction.
Adrian
You're going to be the death of me. And I'm going to love every second of it.
She laughed , the sound carrying through the audio feed and straight to my soul.
Then she moved to her dresser, pulling out a pale blue nightgown, and began the most erotic torture session of my life.
Every movement was heaven. She bent to retrieve something from a drawer, giving me a perfect view of her ass. She stretched to reach something on a high shelf, arching her back until her breasts jutted forward.
She stood at the edge of her bed and slowly, methodically, began braiding her hair.
Isla
Am I putting on a good show?
Adrian
You're fucking killing me. Keep going.
She smiled at her phone, fingers never pausing in their work as she wove her blonde hair into a braid.
The concentration on her face, the gentle tug of her fingers through the strands, the way her breasts swayed slightly with each movement—it was hypnotic.
Isla
I like knowing you're watching me. It makes me feel... pretty.
Fuck. My angel had a dark streak.
Adrian
You mean dangerous? You have no idea what kind of beast you’re stirring.
She finished the braid and let it fall over one shoulder, then reached for the nightgown. Instead of putting it on immediately, she held it up to herself, posing in the mirror, letting me see how the fabric would drape over her curves.
Isla
Should I put this on, or would you rather I stay naked a little longer?
My cock ached painfully in my grip. The panties were beyond ruined now, dripping with nothing but her scent and my desperate need.
Adrian
Stay naked. Please let me look at you.
She set the nightgown aside and stretched out on her bed, phone in hand, completely nude and utterly confident.
Her free hand traced idle patterns on her skin, over her collarbone, down her ribs, across her hip, putting on this show just for me.
Isla
Do I look pretty right now?
My breath hitched. The simple question was loaded with so much more than she was asking.
Adrian
Pretty? Angel, your perfect curves and tight pussy? You’re a fucking masterpiece.
She shifted on the bed, one leg bent, hip cocked just enough to drive me wild.
Isla
Tell me more. I want to hear how you see me.
She was learning fucking fast. My little exhibitionist.
Adrian
Every time you move, I want to trace those lines with my tongue, to mark every inch until my touch is branded into your skin.
She bit her lower lip, that telltale flush spreading down her throat to her chest. She was getting off on this—on my words, on being watched, on the power she held over me even through a screen.
I reached into my pocket, fingers closing around the familiar weight of my jade-handled knife—the blade that had been inside her just last night, that still carried traces of her scent, her essence.
I pulled it out, the metal gleaming in the blue light of my monitors.
Isla
What else?
Adrian
You're a dirty little angel, aren't you?