8
She didn't notice.
The rage intensifies with every second I pace back and forth in the small house.
With every turn back into the room my eyes find the used panties in the laundry basket.
I left that gift there for her to find and she didn't even take the time to notice them. It's the story of my life. All the effort I put in usually goes unnoticed. I was so sure that she'd find the panties and know that I was here for her last night. I wanted to talk to her it's why I came over tonight. At least that's what I'm telling myself.
The truth of the matter is I don't think I can stay away from her. She's been on my mind all day. Everywhere I look I see her.
Imagine my surprise when I sneak back in her house and find her not only not home but the gift I left for her last night still disgarded like trash.
It's infuriating.
It's well into the night time now and I've been here for quite a while. Knowing I need to calm down I force myself to stop pacing back and forth. The house is tidy but it's definetely not the kind of place I'd see her staying.
I wonder why she'd chose some place like this to rent? Was she having money issues? I could make sure she lived in a better place if she'd only come to me. I'm sure I can take care of her. I don't care if I have to get three jobs to be able to get her what she wants I'll do it if it means that I could see her smile.
The thought is quickly countered by another in my mind.
It's true that I want to see her smile, but I also want to see her cry.
I want to watch the whites of her eyes fill with tears as they stream down her face. Want to watch the different shades of pink her cheeks turn as I hurt her. I want to see her lips quiver with fear. I want it all.
"No! You fucking maniac. Not this one."
It feels like I'm fighting a completely different person on the inside, like I'm two seperate people. One that just wants to love Starla, and the other that wants to destroy her entire existance.
I almost miss the sound of her car pulling up in the drive way. Quickly I dart to the back closet where I know she won't look.
I hear her walk in the house, her legs are dragging. She must be tired.
Just as I assumed she goes into the bathroom I assume to get ready for bed. My mind is still racing a million miles a minute trying to figure out what she was doing out so late.
I want to know who the asshole is that she was with.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from growling out. She might not have been with anyone. I don't think she was still working but then again I could be wrong.
Starla is a hard worker. I know that much about her.
I want to hear her. I miss the sound of her voice.
Slowly, I tap on the inside wall of the closet.
It gets the response I'm after.
"If there's someone out there you better cut it out!" I hear her yell out and the sound tickles my insides. I nearly laugh when she threatens to call the cops. Like that has ever deterred me from doing anything before.
I need to see her. Now. I can't hold back anymore.
Quietly, I walk out of the closet and see her standing with her back to me in front of her bed.
Perfect.
I pull my weapon of choice up and stretch it out. Taking small silent steps in her direction, then another and another until I'm right behind her.
I hear her gasp at the last moment finally realizing that she's not alone.
She struggles under me, the plastic wrap stretched tight over her face, her fingers clawing weakly at my wrists. The way she fights, it excites me, but I ignore that. I have to.
Her body jerks, twisting, her legs kicking at nothing.
I don't let go.
Her movements slow. The fight drains from her limbs, her fingers twitching once, twice… then still.
I wait.
Her lips are parted beneath the plastic, her chest rising in short, stilted gasps before finally—finally—her body surrenders.
I tear the wrap away, letting her suck in air even though she doesn’t know it. Even though she’s somewhere far beneath the surface, floating between life and something close to death.
I exhale, my own heartbeat steady, slow.
She’s perfect like this.
I drag my fingers over her cheek, tracing the softness there, the heat still clinging to her skin. She’s so warm, so delicate, even though I know she’s anything but.
She fights. She always fights.
But not now.
Now, she’s still. Mine to look at. Mine to touch.
I swallow hard, pushing back the instinct, the hunger, that curls in my gut. I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t come here to hurt her.
But as my eyes roam her body, I feel something dark and ugly clawing to the surface.
Where was she tonight? Why was she out so late?
A bitter thought slithers into my mind, curling tight like a noose. Was she with someone?
The idea makes something snap in my chest, something violent, something possessive.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t.
But the thought of her with another man, letting someone else touch what is mine.
I clench my teeth, forcing myself to breathe.
Not now. Not like this.
I press my hand flat against her stomach, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath. She’s alive. That should be enough.
I tell myself it is.
Because I didn’t come here to hurt her.
But God help me, I don’t know how much longer I can keep that promise.
Letting the intrusive thoughts win, I know I need to find someway to claim her. Someway to remind her that she belongs to me.
I lift her shirt, and she lays there braless in front of me.
Her tits are fucking perfect.
Round and heavy looking. I find myself wanting to bite them. Wanting to sink my teeth in so far that blood pools in my mouth. That would wake her up. I'm sure of it. I don't want her to wake yet.
Instead, I look over to the one dresser in the room and notice a few pieces of makeup. I grab hold of the lipstick and pull the top off it. Kneeling down over her, I start to write on her exactly what I want her to know.
"Mine."
In big letters, across her chest, her nipples, her stomach, even up on her neck. I want her to know who she belongs to. The more I write the more giddy I feel on the inside. Giddy and turned on.
It's been a long while since I've had a woman under me, and part of me just wants to take her right here and now. Of course, that wouldn't be much fun. I want her to enjoy it the same way I'm going to enjoy it.
Finally finished with my work, I stand and look down at her. The room is in disarray from all her fighting, but she looks so peaceful laying there. How I wish I could lay next to her, be there when she wakes up, but I know what happens if she opens her eyes and sees me here. I'll have to kill her. There isn't any other option. I'm not ready to do that. Not now.
I can leave her another present, though. Maybe this time she'll find it and appreciate all the effort I went to in order to be close to her.
Grabbing a few napkins from the side table, I pace myself with her breathing once again and jerk off. It's quicker than yesterday, but I'm sure that has to do with the fact that I've got her breast on full display. I could look at her tits for ages and never get tired of them.
Once I'm finished, I drop the tissue on the top of the wastebasket near the table near her bed. Making sure once again to leave it right on top.
It's over for tonight. I'm almost sad to leave her, but I have to.
Instead of just leaving her there on the ground, I pull the quilt off the bed, the same one she sleeps with every night, and drape it over her body. It should be a sin to cover those breast up, but I don't want her to be cold.
"Until I see you again, my bright star." I whisper before slowly walking backward out of the room and out the backdoor, leaving her to her sweet dreams tonight.