Chapter 3 #2
Some women astound me with their trust in the world, they don't even have one camera, this girl has eight. She’s better prepared than I originally anticipated, too bad they’re useless now. She’ll never catch me on them.
Once I successfully loop the feed I make my way through her small backyard and onto the deck, thankful that the one thing she doesn't have is motion lights. We’ll fix that, but not yet.
Making my way onto her back porch, I reach for the doors and try the handle–not at all surprised that they’re locked.
I smirk to myself as I pull out my tools and easily pick the lock then crack the door open.
Hearing her shower running, I make my way inside.
I pride myself on being able to move as silently as I do.
I’m not a small guy by any means, I’m six foot six, and broad.
But I move stealthily through her bedroom.
The space is tidy, her bed is made, a small chair sits off in the corner with a throw blanket draped over the back and a small bookshelf next to it.
There’s a night stand on either side of the bed and a long dresser with a TV on the opposite wall.
It smells of her perfume, bourbon and vanilla with a hint of something else I can’t quite put my finger on–apple blossom I think. Sophisticated and tempting as hell.
The shower stops and I manage to duck into the walk-in closet, closing the door exactly how she had it, ensuring I don’t make a sound.
I can just barely see her through the crack in the door.
Thankfully, the house isn't old, the floors don’t creak, and the french doors didn't even make the signature pop sound when they opened.
But I have a feeling she can sense something is off because she takes tentative steps out of the bathroom, her head on a swivel.
Something has her spooked. My lips pull into a grin.
Grabbing her phone off the nightstand, she swipes a few times, presumably checking her camera feeds. I smile and shake my head.
There’s nothing there pretty girl, don't worry.
She goes in the direction of the dresser where I can't see her, much to my distaste. When she's in my view again she’s in a pair of black and white flannel shorts that showcase her perfectly rounded ass, and a baggy, plain grey t-shirt that quickly soaks up the water from her hair that’s draped over her chest, causing her nipples to harden under the fabric.
I suppress a groan at the sight. She’s fucking divine.
As she makes her way through the house, I hear her unlocking and relocking the doors, followed by the windows–twice–before she's back in the bedroom and shuts off the light.
My eyes adjust to the darkness until I notice the softer light that glows from her en-suite bathroom, allowing me to still see her.
She climbs into bed, then shifts to her side and pulls the blankets to her chin, then she's still. I wait, and I watch, as she lays unmoving. When I hear the faint sound of her breathing even out, letting me know she’s asleep, I quietly step out of the closet.
Once I make sure the door is in the exact same position, I make my way over the bed.
I take in the sight of her gorgeous face, I mean really take her in.
Long dark eyelashes fan the tops of her cheeks that are dusted with light freckles.
She has a button nose and full, luscious lips that are slightly parted.
Reaching out, I brush a strand of her dark hair out of her face, not wanting anything obstructing my view of her.
Unable to pull back, I hold my breath and cautiously run my thumb along her bottom lip while humming SYML’s version of Mr. Sandman.
Lightly, I trail my fingers along the contours of her body.
Down the side of her neck to her collar bone, then slowly over her arm and down her leg to the tips of her toes and back up to her full lips, and brush my thumb along it once more. She doesn’t move.
I want to bite that lip, feel it pulse between my teeth.
Reluctantly, I pull my hand away from her face and stand upright at the edge of the bed.
Staring down at her, I watch her sleep peacefully for a few minutes before deciding I’ve stayed long enough.
My eyes scan her room in search of her purse and when I don’t see it, I take that as my final cue to leave her side. I need to know her name.
“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” I whisper and then make my way out of the room.
The rest of her home is as tidy as the bedroom and her scent is everywhere–my new favorite.
Making my way through the rest of the house, I note that there are no pictures anywhere on her walls.
There are a few landscape portraits and a couple of paintings but not one with her or any family or friends in them. What the hell?
There on the kitchen counter is her purse. Grabbing it, I open it up, take out the wallet and look for her ID. Parker Reigh Ellis. And suddenly, it's the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard.
After rummaging through the rest of the contents of the bag, I put everything back, just the way it was and make my way out of the front door, locking it behind me.
Remembering she has a deadbolt, I take out my tools that I used to get into the house, and lock it back up for her.
She’s too vigilant to think she just made a mistake and forgot to lock it. She did—twice.
I walk back to my bike and toss my leg over the seat before I take her cameras off the loop and place the phone on its mount at my handlebars.
Putting my blacked out helmet on, I flip the kill-switch to its on position and press my thumb on the ignition.
The machine fires up and I turn my bike around and twist the throttle, leaving in the direction I came from.
It was nice to meet you Parker, I’ll see you soon.