15. Wraith
Chapter 15
Wraith
T he camera feed flickers.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
I could just keep watching.
Could sit here like I always do.
Devour her with my eyes.
Leave her untouched.
But not after last time.
Not after crawling into her bed.
Straddling her.
Using her perfect, sleeping body to get myself off.
Painting my claim into her skin—everything I couldn’t say, buried under every broken piece of me.
Not after watching her blink at her reflection the next morning?—
confused, dazed, smiling like she wasn’t coated in me.
I marked her.
Tainted her.
Claimed her .
And she didn’t even know it.
I can’t sit here anymore.
Can’t hide behind the glass like it will keep her safe from me.
Can’t pretend distance makes this less real.
Not when her skin’s already soaked in my mark.
Even if she didn’t notice.
Tonight, she won’t be able to pretend I’m not real.
Won’t be able to wipe me away with a smile.
Won’t be able to pretend she hasn’t been claimed.
She belongs to me.
And it’s time she feels it.
Tonight, she feels me.
And nothing she does will ever erase it.
I stand.
Move.
Silent. Focused.
Already gone before the thought finishes etching itself across my mind.
The night swallows me whole.
Her apartment isn’t far.
I take the back alleys.
Slide the stolen key from my pocket.
Had it made weeks ago.
I slip inside.
The scent of her hits me like a blow.
Warm. Sweet. Innocent.
Lavender. Always her fucking lavender.
The living room is dark except for the soft glow of the streetlamps bleeding through the windows .
The cat is stretched out on the couch, tail flicking once before going still again.
His eyes crack open lazily.
He sees me.
Recognizes me.
Doesn’t even bother lifting his head.
Old news.
I smirk.
Good.
He knows better than to get in my way.
My boots don’t make a sound as I move across the floor.
Her bedroom door stands open—if that isn’t a fucking invitation.
I step inside.
The door clicks shut behind me.
Silent. Final. A fucking promise.
I stand there for a moment, breathing slow.
Measured. Controlled.
The animal inside me hangs on by the thinnest fucking thread.
She’s asleep.
The soft, steady rhythm of her breathing pushes against the silence.
The faint rise and fall of the blanket pulled high to her chin.
One hand curled loosely beneath her cheek.
So fucking breakable.
She has no idea I’m here.
No idea what’s about to happen.
No idea how close she is to being taken .
Shattered.
I drink her in.
The slope of her bare shoulder.
The delicate line of her neck.
The curve of her hip under the blanket.
Waiting for me.
Like a gift to be unwrapped.
I step forward.
Boots silent on the worn floorboards.
Breath locked behind my teeth.
She shifts slightly—just a twitch of her fingers against the pillow.
My body tightens.
It’s too easy.
All I have to do is take.
I move closer.
Slow. Silent.
Close enough to reach her.
Close enough to ruin her.
The bed dips beneath my weight.
Like sinking into something sacred.
Something already mine.
A whisper of motion.
She stirs slightly.
A small, broken sound slipping from her lips?—
Soft. Dreamy. Vulnerable.
And all mine.
I plant one hand into the mattress beside her head.
The other hovers, trembling with restraint, just above her body.
I should stop.
I won’t .
I drag my knuckles down the curve of her cheek.
A featherlight touch.
A test.
She doesn’t wake.
Her lashes flutter.
Her mouth parts slightly, a breathy sigh escaping.
My cock throbs in response, pressing hard against the tight line of my zipper.
I slide lower.
Trace the slope of her neck.
The gentle rise of her collarbone.
She shifts again—this time arching into the contact like her body knows what her mind refuses to.
Perfect little lamb.
Soft. Sweet.
So fucking oblivious to the wolf she just let inside.
My fingers drift lower, pulling the blanket with them.
Gliding over the soft swell of her breast.
Her nipple hardens beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.
A perfect, helpless reaction.
My lungs curse the air, thick and burning.
Every breath tastes like her.
My exhale shakes. Almost reverent.
I palm her fully—claiming the weight of her, the heat of her—before moving lower.
Tracing the lazy curve of her waist.
The dip of her stomach.
Down—
Down—
My hand slides beneath the hem of her shorts .
Bare skin.
No barriers.
No mercy.
Just heat.
Silk.
And wetness.
My fingers stutter against her slick folds, my brain short-circuiting.
Fuck.
She’s soaked.
Dreaming of something filthy enough to drench herself.
Dreaming of me without even knowing it.
I press deeper.
Gather the wetness.
Smear it over her clit, lazy and slow.
Her hips jolt at the contact.
A tiny moan slips out, muffled against her pillow.
I go still.
She breathes.
And when she doesn’t wake?—
I move again.
Two fingers slip between her folds, teasing the entrance to her cunt.
Not pushing in.
Not yet.
Just feeling her.
Savoring her.
She’s so fucking warm.
So fucking ready.
She moans again.
Soft. Desperate .
Her hips rolling into my hand, chasing the friction I haven’t given her.
Good fucking girl.
I pull my hand from her shorts, slick fingers glistening in the dim light.
She whimpers in protest, shifting restlessly on the bed.
Chasing touch. Chasing me.
One swift motion frees myself from the tight confines of my pants.
Wiping the moisture from my fingers over my straining cock.
I reach for her wrist.
Lift it slowly, carefully.
Her hand so small in mine.
Delicate. Breakable.
Fucking mine.
I wrap her fingers around me before returning mine to her wet heat.
Drag her hand down my length, using her like the toy she was always meant to be.
My thumb rubs her clit.
Her lashes flutter when I insert a single finger.
A soft sound slips from her lips.
Dreamy. Obedient.
She strokes me slow.
I guide her faster.
Slide her hand up?—
Down—
Fisting her around the heavy weight of my cock.
Her slick coats me, makes every pass smoother. Filthier.
My breath punches out of me in a sharp, ragged exhale.
I slide a second finger into her. Tight. Wet. Clenching.
She shifts again, pressing herself harder into my hand, a tiny broken whimper escaping her throat.
Fuck.
Her fingers tighten without conscious thought, squeezing me in a way that has my vision blurring.
I fight to hold still.
Fight to savor every fucking second.
Her hips rock against me, seeking release.
Her breath comes faster, shorter.
She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to herself.
Doesn’t know she’s playing with her own destruction.
Her breathing stutters.
Little shuddering gasps, one after another.
Her body tightening under my hands.
The tension building so fast, so beautifully, I feel it thrumming through her veins.
She’s close.
So close.
I fist her hand tighter around my cock.
Stroke us both harder.
Faster.
Using her like the pliant, perfect angel she is.
Her hips jerk.
Her back arches.
A soft, desperate cry breaks free from her lips.
Her body tightens?—
Then shatters.
She comes with a choked gasp, thighs trembling, breath catching, strangling my fingers inside her.
And that’s when her eyes open .
Huge.
Glassy.
Terrified.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for me to see it.
The fear.
She knows.
She feels me.
Our gazes lock across the inches between us.
My cock throbs violently in her hand.
My body coils, molten and vicious.
You feel me now, little angel?
I don’t give her a second to pull away.
Don’t give her a second to process.
I keep her hand moving on my cock.
Stroke myself harder, faster, using her pretty fingers.
Her mouth falls open.
A soft, broken whimper trembles out of her.
And that’s what tears me apart.
Fucking perfect.
My head tips back, a ragged growl ripping free from my throat.
I come in hot, filthy bursts, coating her delicate fingers.
Staining her skin.
Marking her.
Claiming her.
Her breathing is erratic.
Her lashes flutter.
But she doesn’t scream .
Doesn’t cry.
She just stares at me, wide-eyed and panting, like she can’t understand what’s happening.
Good.
Better.
Because I’m not sure even I understand.
She’s still staring at me.
Staring at her hand.
At the slick, dripping mess I painted her with.
Her breath stutters in shallow, broken pants.
I sit back and watch.
Dark, deliberate.
Let her feel the weight of me sitting beside, looming over her.
Good.
Stay right there, little angel.
“Open your mouth,” I rasp.
Her body stiffens—for only a split second.
Her lashes flutter.
She looks confused.
Lost.
I squeeze her wrist—hand still slick and filthy coated in me—dragging her closer without giving her a choice.
“Open your angelic lips, little one,” I say again, softer now.
More coaxing.
Her lips part.
Eyes flashing to me.
I smile.
Fuck. She’s beautiful.
“Stick out your tongue.”
She obeys.
Slow. Dreamy .
Oblivious to the filth about to crash into her world.
I guide her hand higher.
Higher.
Until her soiled fingers hover just above that sweet, waiting tongue.
I look down at her.
Her dress of a t-shirt riding so far up I can see the curve of her breasts.
Her wild, soft hair.
Her bright, glassy eyes.
Mine. There’s no going back. She’s fucking mine.
“Be a good girl for me.”
I press her fingers into her waiting mouth.
Rub my cum onto her tongue.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Possessive.
“Now swallow.”
She does.
Without flinching.
Without question.
“Such a good fucking girl.”
The sight of it—her pink lips closing around her own messy fingers, the way her throat moves as she swallows me down—shreds what little restraint I had left.
I’m fucking feral.
I watch her.
Drink in the sight of her being so good for me.
So sweet.
So willing.
And she doesn’t even know what she’s doing.
She doesn’t even know how deep she’s sinking into me.
Slide my fingers back down.
Back between her thighs.
She’s soaked.
Drenched.
I plunge two fingers inside her—slow, knuckle-deep.
She gasps.
A little mewl of sound escaping her, soft and broken.
I pump my fingers inside her. Once. Twice. Feeling her walls tighten around me, desperate and clenching before pulling them back out.
I bring my fingers up to my mouth.
Lick them clean.
Savor the taste of her on my tongue.
I groan low in my chest.
“So fucking sweet.”
She blinks up at me.
Still dreamy.
Still dazed.
And then?—
She fucking smiles.
Soft.
Sleepy.
Sweet.
Like she isn’t completely drenched in sin.
Like she doesn’t even realize she’s been claimed.
She whispers, voice slurring slightly,
“Oh… that’s nice.”
What the fuck did she just say?
I stare at her, wrecked.
Absolutely fucking wrecked .
Before I can grab her, before I can force a real reaction out of her?—
She rolls over.
Rolls the fuck over.
Snuggles into the pillow.
Tucks her hand beneath it.
Sighs softly.
Content.
Completely fucking relaxed.
And falls back asleep.
I sit there.
Frozen.
Seething.
Ruined.
I want to shake her.
I want to tear the walls down.
I want to bury my cock so deep inside her she’ll have to scream.
But all I can do is stare.
She didn’t question the strange man in her bedroom.
She should be terrified.
Instead, she’s welcoming me.
Tasting me.
And it fucking shatters me.
I lean closer.
Whisper against her ear,
“You belong to me now, little angel.”
I press a kiss to her temple.
Soft.
Possessive .
Forever.
I leave the door open like I found it when I step out into the hallway.
It’s dark except for a sliver of light from the living room.
The cat’s sitting there.
Dead center.
Eyes slitted open.
Watching me like he already knows the world just fucking changed.
I stare right back.
Slow smile pulling at my mouth.
“Who’s a smug bastard now,” I murmur.
The cat blinks.
Tail flicks once.
I chuckle low in my throat.
Good.
Let the little bastard watch.
Let him see exactly who she belongs to now.
On the way out, I leave the battered flowers on the counter.
For her and the hellion.