Chapter 8
Still no audio, but it’s Mira’s lucky fucking day.
As it stands, she’s off my shit list. Thanks to her unique skillset, she found the psychic hotline Layla works for and connected me with her tonight. So, for now, I’m content with the silent speakers beside the monitor as I watch my dark angel through the screen, proving that the call, hearing her voice, temporarily quenched my thirst.
Her figure moves across the monitor, and I’m curious where she went those ten minutes she disappeared. It seems she’s now distraught, but there are so many missing pieces in her story, I realize something about myself.
I hate that I’m shut out of her thoughts, hate that the details of her life remain hidden from me.
Watching from afar—be it through a screen or from across the street—I’m only an observer, a man watching his specimen through a microscope. It’s a stark contrast from what I crave.
Full-on, in the flesh contact.
My entire fucking world colliding into hers, extinction-level event type shit.
I’m fixated on her every step, watching as she stops at the nightstand, lays a pill on her tongue, then washes it down with water from the night before. She’s also stripped down to her t-shirt and underwear. Boy shorts—my fucking kryptonite. Especially with an ass like hers, molded to absolute perfection.
Her room is dark and moody, a reflection of her soul. One candle flickers on the dresser, providing her only source of light. The bed bounces when she drops down onto it, sprawling out in dramatic fashion across the foot of the mattress. Her tits shimmy beneath her tee, and it’s clear she isn’t wearing a bra.
My head tilts, feeling my pulse race, obsessing over her body as she stretches to full length, her head dangling off the edge. She lies there like a sacrifice being offered to the gods. In an instant, my thoughts are drawn back to last night, in her room, kneeling beside her bed, finishing what that piece of shit left undone.
Not that I wanted her to enjoy him. Actually, my hands ached with unshed rage, watching him defile her, knowing he isn’t even worthy to breathe the same air she does. But his failure to please her provided me with an opportunity, and now her taste is my new addiction, burned into my memory. I’ll never forget how fucking sweet she was.
She places a hand on her torso, and I can’t even blink, clenching my fist when I imagine the feel of her skin against my palm. Then, my focus is drawn to her tattoo. Having gotten a closer look last night, I’ve now unraveled the mystery of her ink. It’s maybe four inches long, red, and definitely the marking of a black widow spider.
Uncanny.
Poor thing’s mine and doesn’t even realize it yet.
I lean closer to the screen, not only aware of my growing obsession, but embracing it fully.
Is she thinking of me?
Does she even know I’m real?
A deep breath leaves me when she flips onto her side, reaches beneath her bed, and then brings a box into view. It’s small, decorated with flowers on the outside, but I’m more interested in what’s inside.
She pulls off the top and rummages through it a bit, and then pulls out a picture before resting on her back again, staring at the image. Mira didn’t skimp on the camera quality, so I’m able to zoom in easily, making out enough of the image to satisfy my curiosity.
It’s a bare torso. A bare torso with a bloody web carved into the chest.
So, she is thinking about me.
My dick throbs in my slacks, hardening against the zipper. I’m willing to bet she isn’t supposed to have those copies in her possession, which begs the question, why would she keep them?
She flips to another image, a more recent kill. Death doesn’t rattle her. Twice, I’ve seen her eating lunch alone in a cemetery, more comfortable with the deceased than the living. Now, tonight, as I study her expression, or should I say the lack thereof, there are no signs of being turned off or disgusted by what I’ve done. Instead, I find something unexpected… curiosity.
I can work with that.
She places the pictures back inside the box, closes the lid, then taps them back underneath her bed before resuming her position, dangling off the edge of her mattress. She’s content for a while, completely still, but then something steals her attention. I lean in, resting my chin on my fist as she twists her body like a contortionist, limb over limb as she slinks off the bed, zeroed in on a target.
She crouches in the corner, and I zoom in more, watching as she plucks a large spider from its web by its leg. There isn’t an ounce of fear in her eyes as she stands, slowly making her way toward the dresser where she lowers her prey into the candle flame. There’s a familiar fixation in her eyes as she watches it burn, only letting go when the flames nearly kiss the tips of her fingers.
I watch as she observes her kill, and my cock twitches again.
Satisfied with the task complete, she blows out the candle, then slips into bed and underneath her blanket. With the sudden absence of light, I switch to night-vision to see her through the darkness, unwilling to put an end to our quality time so soon. We’re only just getting started. A fact that’s proven when she shifts beneath her blanket, parting her legs. There’s no mistaking the outline of her hand as it moves into her panties, then pushes between her thighs. She settles her head deeper into the pillow, and her teeth sink into the thickness of her lower lip.
And I… am… mesmerized.
The hint of excitement has now grown to a full-on erection, throbbing against my zipper as I lower it, frantic as I free my cock from my briefs, pumping into my fist.
“Get me Aria,” I shout.
“Right away, Sir.” Darwin’s voice on the other side of the door matches the urgency in mine, so I’m not surprised to hear him speaking muffled words a few seconds later, doing as I asked.
I’m zeroed in on Layla, pleasure spreading through her expression as she works her fingers in slow circles. I’m not happy she’s touching herself underneath the cover, denying me a clear view as she plays, but it is what it is. My only concern at the moment is that she doesn’t finish yet.
Hold on, beautiful. Not without me.
Just as I’m about to call for Aria again, the door to the screening room swings open, and there’s a smile on her red painted lips as she slips in. First, her eyes flit toward me, watching as I stroke my cock. Then, her smile fades as she glances up to the screen, to Layla on the verge of coming.
“On your knees. Now.”
The sound of my voice pulls Aria from her thoughts and whatever she was making of this moment. Without a word, she lowers in front of me, hastily pulling her hair off her shoulders and into a ponytail. There’s no time to wait for her to get settled, though. She gasps when I grip the back of her head, roughly bringing her mouth to my cock.
“Suck.”
On command, she feverishly slurps me in, but half a second later, my mind’s replaced her. Her mouth is now the warmth of Layla’s pussy, welcoming me inside as her walls weep for me, soaking my dick.
I won’t even blink, afraid that if I take my eyes off the screen for even a second, I’ll miss something.
Her tits push toward the ceiling when she arches off the bed, and I know she’s close, which brings me closer.
The pressure in my dick mounts, and I’m thinking only of her, watching her mouth fall open as her legs squeeze tight around her hand. She teases her way to an orgasm, and at the sight of it, a loud grunt leaves me. Juts of cum shoot from my cock, and Aria drinks them down, savoring what is no longer rightfully hers, but… she’s here.
My tip grows sensitive after I’m empty, and I soften between Aria’s lips before she releases me. Only now do I make eye contact with her again. She grins, licking a drop of semen from the corner of her mouth.
“Thank you, Sir,” she says softly, diligently tucking me back inside my briefs before zipping my pants. She reaches to do my belt, but I cuff her wrists in my fingers, suddenly wanting her out of my presence now that she’s served her purpose.
“Go.”
There’s a moment where hurt crosses her face, confirming what I’ve suspected about her lately. She’s misunderstood our time together, taken my frequent dealings with her to mean she’s got some sort of claim laid over me, but she’s wrong. I’ve recently decided that I only belong to one woman, and one woman only.
Aria quickly gets to her feet, and I don’t miss how she glances toward the screen again, studying Layla as she turns onto her side, already falling asleep. When Aria’s eyes flash toward me again, I can read the questions she knows better than to ask out loud.
She leaves in silence, and something will definitely have to be done about her attitude. But right now, all I want to do is forget she was ever here as I watch my dark angel sleep.
The plan was to return to my room when I finished here, but when I sink deeper into my seat, propping both feet on the desk, it becomes apparent that I don’t intend to leave. Imagining the warmth of Layla’s skin against mine, I fold both arms across my chest and let my head slump in the crook of my shoulder.
The last image I have before succumbing to sleep is her—safe, perfect.
Tonight is the first we’ll spend together, but it won’t be the last. I’m not known for being a patient man, which means I’ll only be able to stand this distance for so long.
In the meantime, I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. Mostly, in the days to come, I’ll be preparing Layla’s next gift. These things take time, they take planning, and with any luck, she’ll catch the details and know… this one’s just for her.