Chapter 7
Seven
Sugar Skull
Her scent lingers in the air.
Sweet and spicy.
Honey and ginger.
Soothing, if you can handle it.
Steam flows from under the closed bathroom door, the smell of lavender blending with the smell of her. Placing my gloved hand against the door, I fight the urge to join her.
I can’t fuck up again.
Being here this early is a risk, but I need more time. I need one last hour with my angel.
Dark dance music plays beyond the door. My cock responds to her humming, a jump in my joggers.
It's hard not to imagine those thick thighs wrapped around me. Those full tits pressed to my chest. Those plump lips on mine. Her body begs for me to explore it. To claim it.
My cock throbs. My stance shifts, a small creak escaping the floorboards beneath me.
I freeze.
Her father kept the bones of this house, making it hard to flow through undetected. Aged wood, loose nails, and old plumbing.
She continues to hum, unresponsive to my noise. Pushing the runner in the hallway further back should muffle future sounds.
It’s been almost twenty-four hours, and she hasn’t said a thing to anyone. That’s good news, even though I’ll admit, I'd kill to hear her explain what happened between us. How I made her squirm. How I made her moan. How she was entranced in nothing but bliss.
Moving into the bedroom, I stare at her panties and bra in a pile on the floor.
Are they still warm?
The water stops.
I glance behind me.
The door opens, the music getting louder.
Her hums get closer.
And closer.
With quick, quiet movements, I slide under the bed.
The smell of lavender and weed moves into the room.
She’s high.
That’ll make this easier.
Zee floats into the room, swaying to the music. She’s usually so wound tight, but when she’s high, there’s an ease about her. A carelessness. Like a fluttering butterfly or a wandering moth tempting someone to catch her. Claim her.
My eyes drift to her thighs, glistening as water drips down her skin. Then to her hips, her breasts, her wet coils dripping around her head. When she's out, she usually wears her thick hair piled high, most of it tucked away.
This look is just for me.
My eyes move with her as she stops in front of the mirror next to the bed, her toes by my finger. She's so close I can wrap my hand around her ankle and pull her next to me.
Under me.
Her hands roam her body like it’s new, a frown appearing on her face when they land on her waist. My jaw tightens, watching her face twist like she’s trying to accept the soft curves that make her impossible to ignore.
The women in Eastmount pay a lot of money for an ass like that.
Even after surgery, they’d still look like patchwork, while Zee wears it effortlessly.
She reaches for a bottle of oil on the bedside table, pouring some into her hand before running it over her body. Her skin glimmers in the dim light, my cock responding to the view. It presses against the floorboard, making me shift.
Creak!
I don’t care about the small sound. I’m too mesmerized by the way she runs her palms over her ass. The way her hands sink into her curves as she glides the oil up to her breasts.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I’ve surveilled women before, but there’s something different about my angel that does it for me.
I let out a long, silent exhale when she cups her tits. They’re the perfect size. Plump. Full. A bold accessory to the rest of her perfect frame.
My cock calls me again, twitching between me and the floor. Leaning on my side, I pull out my thick, hard shaft as I watch her routine.
She layers cream on next and fuck… I'd kill to sink myself inside of her. To feel her softness on my hard muscles.
She makes her body as glossy as her lips. And when she does a little wiggle in front of the mirror, I almost explode.
She throws on a tattered, oversized sweater and retrieves the rest of her joint from behind her ear. Then she reaches for her phone on the bedside table.
She continues humming to the music while swiping on her screen, and I wait until she’s at the door before I slide out from under the bed.
Playtime will have to wait.
She moves into the hallway, as I move to the bedroom door.
Creak!
She stops.
I move to the side, pressing my back to the wall. Leaning over just enough to see her, she turns to the window.
Keep going, Zee.
I don't move until she walks towards the stairs.
I follow behind her, Zee’s eyes back on her phone as her humming slows.
What is she focused on?
My jaw tightens when I see the screen.
The fuck?
She’s swiping on an app.
A dating app.
She’s only a few feet ahead of me, but I’m too curious not to look.
I scan the screen from where I am, the sweet smell of her hair wafting behind her. She’s set the distance to span Eastmount, her age limit set to … forty? There goes any denial that she’d be into someone my age. I’m not ancient at thirty-two, but she’s barely a year past the U.S. drinking age.
She moves down the stairs, stalling when a certain picture comes up. The guy with his hair slicked back and a motorcycle.
Konstantin Velochok.
He looks smug and smooth with all the right photos. Cooking, holding a baby, and petting a dog. Cliche girl-bait.
So consider me fucking surprised when she swipes right.
And they match.
My fists clench, my foot slamming on a floorboard way too hard.
Thud!
Shit.
Before she turns around, I duck into the bathroom, sucking in a silent breath.
Get it together.
I take a moment, slowing my beating heart before she continues down the stairs.
I follow, taking my time down each step until I can see her again.
Zee stands in the kitchen, running a butter knife with peanut butter on some dry, generic bread. She slaps another piece of bread on top before taking a big bite, her eyes still on her phone.
She moves into the living room as I move into the kitchen, placing the dirty knife back in the drawer. I don’t want her getting any ideas. She stops again, her phone buzzing in her hand.
When she turns towards the front door, I duck behind the kitchen island.
“Really, Drey?"
My back tenses hearing his name.
Fuck that guy.
I saw what he did to her. How he hit her. How he threatened her when I was the one who had to finish the job he couldn’t handle.
Peeking around the kitchen island, Zee comes back into view, her phone to her ear.
“I don’t have your stash,” she says, reaching for a lighter on the living room bookshelf. “Or your money.”
She lights her joint, and I smirk, knowing she got it from a baggy I left behind.
Yeah, that’s right. I stole Drey’s stash.
He deserved it.
Besides, if anyone in Eastmount found her with thousands worth of drugs, it wouldn’t be good.
I slip into the pantry when she turns around, peeking through the crack as she slaps her hand against her thighs.
“I don’t care. I’m not helping you anymore. Fuck off. For good."
Good girl. Getting out of a bad habit is hard. Cold turkey is harder.
“Is it you, Drey? Are you the one fucking around with me?”
No, that would be me.
“Yeah, well…” Her voice shakes. “I don’t love you. Not anymore.” She throws her phone on the sofa before taking a long drag of her joint. Then she shoves the rest of the bland-ass sandwich in her mouth and heads back upstairs, leaving the lights on.
I leave the pantry before moving around the ground floor. I position her furniture just enough that it’s easy to maneuver should this thing get fucked. They trust me, but right now, I don’t. So I’m doing what I need to do.
She won’t get away tonight.
The sound of running water from upstairs tells me she’s in the bathroom again, so I take my time. My gloved finger trails the books left on the shelf.
She’s highlighted her desires. The silent monsters. The men who end the lives of the ones who make her life hell.
The men most women find untouchable.
My eyes move to the notebook on the sofa, the one she sometimes carries in her tote. When I open it, it’s filled with doodles of moths, notes on things around Eastmount. The people she’s met. Her colleagues. Her new boss. Places on campus that others have mentioned.
She has a few, thick red lines under the name “Fuckface.” Then she's written, "Stay Away!!!”
That’s either Drey or Ezra.
My fiery angel.
Turning the page reveals a whole list titled “Sugar Skull.”
A smile tugs at my face beneath my mask.
Is that what she calls me?
I quickly read through the list.
- Deep voice - kinda nice!
- Smells like a nice bath
- Leather gloves
- Patient?
- Observant!!!
- Kind?
-Manipulative
Well, the last one doesn’t paint me very well, but the words below it make my abs twitch.
- Made me cum
- Likes to watch
Zee wasn’t lying when she said she’s into journalism.
I rip the page out, hoping to stop any detective work. Then I use it to wedge the window shut next to the sofa. I position it so that even when it’s unlocked, it won’t open.
Moving back to the stairs, I climb them bit by bit until I’m back by the bathroom door. My back against the wall, I know I should lie low, but as time ticks closer, I’m not wasting a second.
She stands at the sink, rubbing white foam on her face before leaning over, her ass poked out. That ass in the dim bathroom lighting tickles my cock to harden again.
I want to reach for her. I want to see what it’s like to touch her when she’s warm. I don’t have a thing for necrophilia; I want her hot and ready for me. But that’s not in the cards.
She rinses her makeup off, revealing the bruise left by her ex.
My nostrils flare, knowing what that fucker deserves.
Am I doing something worse to Zee?
At least with me, it’ll be painless.
I can still see Zee in the reflection of the window across from the bathroom. She’s frozen for a long time, her eyes on the mirror.
I want to tell her to breathe. I want to tell her to count the things she sees around her. The things she hears. I want to ground her. I want to tell her I’m right here. But soothing my victim isn’t part of the plan.
The song changes, getting her to move again, but not without another glance around the room. Then she rubs a cream over her face, her eyes closed, her face to the mirror.
I take the chance and slip back into the bedroom, and under the bed.
She walks into the room minutes later, the weight of the bed dipping on top of me.
My hand presses between the wooden planks, pushing into the mattress as if I can feel her through it.
The music plays as she tries to get comfortable. My eyes stay on the reflection in the standing mirror, still giving me a glimpse of her delicious body.
She sprawls herself across the bed, her back against the mattress as she slides her finger across her phone.
Soon, the high will take over and lull her into a sleep.
So for now, I wait.
And wait.
And wait…
And wait…
Does this girl sleep?
Zee spends another hour swiping at her screen.
Is she still on that app?
I know Eastmount doesn’t have guys good enough for my angel.
The one guy who is good enough happens to be stuck under her bed. And I have an agenda different than candlelit dinners, walks on the beach and a rose-littered wedding.
She shifts above me again before her sweater lands next to my head, that intoxicating scent much harder to ignore.
My cock stiffens, my eyes on her in the mirror.
She lies on her back, her round tits falling softly to each side of her. Her hand moves down her thigh as she spreads her legs, inch by inch.
Oh, fuck…
I’m hard as steel now.
She stops, giving up before she even starts.
“Don't touch yourself to a stranger,” she mutters, flipping over with her phone in hand.
Me? Am I the stranger?
She spends another hour scrolling, then another hour watching videos of rare insects.
My mind drifts to what it would be like to join her.
To rise from my hiding spot and climb on that bed with her.
My hands massaging her shoulders as I tell her about the orchid mantis, the jewel beetle or the glasswing butterfly.
I’d lull her to sleep like I did last night, except this time, she’d feel every inch of me.
I’d do it every night. Forever.
So why are you doing this?
It’s almost three in the morning before a soft, long breath escapes her, and her phone clatters to the floor.
I still give it a minute. I’m not an amateur.
Once enough time passes, I finally emerge.