Chapter 13 - August
Itell myself I’m here on her roof to keep her safe from monsters, but I’m the one crawling amid the shadows of cold, watching her through her window like a man who’s become one.
She craves the stalker fantasy, and it shakes me to my core.
Fantasy doesn’t prepare you for the moment you break and become it.
Nor does it draw a line between where protection ends, and obsession begins.
Not when her danger feels like it belongs to me.
Her dog is downstairs with Murder Spice, curled up on her lap, while she watches some police procedural drama.
Fuck. She’s leaning over her bedside table and sliding it open. Same drawer I slipped the new vibrator in. I tense, not breathing. Will she notice the color difference?
She pauses. Brings the toy closer to her face to inspect.
Narrows her eyes. Tilts her head to the window.
She runs her thumb over the button in a slow, taunting circle.
Her smile shifts into something sharp and knowing.
The kind of smile that knows where this fairy godfather parked his broody ass.
She disappears into the bathroom for a moment, I’m assuming to clean the toy.
When she emerges, she licks and sucks it.
Oh, fuck. I’m the fly in this vixen’s sticky web.
She reclines on the bed, parts her legs and trails the tip up her thighs. Palms sail up her side. Her hips sway to a beat only she hears. Fingers tangle in her hair. Her body moves like it knows she has me on my knees. She moans, and my cock turns into a lightning rod. He wants out. Wants in her.
I could try and pretend this is about being sex-starved, but that’s a lie. This sparkling sex kitten commands every square inch of my brain. Rewires my neurons. Short-circuits my resolve.
Goddamn. I’m toast. Hot pink lingerie. Full breasts. Bare skin.
My brain urges me to abandon ship, climb down from her roof, grab my keys, and break every speed limit until I reach my loft. Never turn back. Never think of her again.
When she cups her breasts and one almost spills out, the last vestiges of my restraint splinters. Is she fantasizing about me? Does she want more? What does she like when she’s alone and teasing herself?
Rules of engagement suggest I should look away.
This is private and intimate. But just like nights ago, I can’t.
I’m not a good man and don’t pretend to be.
Nor does she want one. Glitter Bomb made her desire sound sexy and playful.
Stalker buddy with benefits. That’s why I’m up here.
I’m not playing anymore. I want to give it to her.
My need turns feral when she guides the pink demon between her legs. I’m seconds away from going full caveman, busting into her bedroom, hauling her off the bed, and making her scream my name.
And then she does. “Grumpy Daddy!”
“Yes, right there!” She sinks the long end of the toy into her pussy, and I’m gone.
Thank you, God.
I text Grayson.
Me: Going in. Listen to the police scanner. Call me if you hear anything.
I don’t entirely trust that this isn’t a set-up and won’t need backup.
I don’t wait for his reply. My hands are already on her windowsill. Unlocked. Naughty, little Glitter Bomb is going to go over my lap for that mistake. I ease it open and climb inside.
She scrambles back into the headboard, then relaxes the second she realizes it's me.
“Ah, so you weren’t far.” That smug smile. I want to kiss it off. Then bite her for good measure. “Where were you hiding? The tree? Bushes? My roof?”
Information she won’t pry out of me.
“You left your window open.” I wag a gloved finger at her. “You invited your stalker in. Spread those legs, and I’ll give you that home invasion fantasy.”
Her eyes hood with lust. “Yes, Grumpy Daddy.”
She obeys like she was born for it, settling back into her reclined position like sin incarnate. I stalk toward her slowly and deliberately, a predator who knows his prey wants to be caught.
Crouched at the foot of the bed, I drag her to the edge, her legs draped over the sides.
Wildflowers and candy, her natural scent, drags me back to every night I’ve spent trying to forget her.
She was always going to ruin me. I never expected her to beg me for it.
I nudge her legs wider. Her scent? Divine.
I hook her pink panties and tug them down inch by inch, savoring the reveal.
I stuff them into my jacket for a trophy.
“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked for me.” I run my gloved hand along the outside of her thighs, enjoying her shiver of anticipation. “Do you touch this pussy and think of me?”
She bites her lip and nods furiously.
“Is this your first time doing this with someone?” I need to know how gentle she wants it.
I ache to shed my helmet and devour every inch of her. Feel her breath caress my neck. One tilt of her chin, and she’ll find my mouth. Not yet. Not until I know she’s not one of them.
“Yes.” Her breathy moan has my dick jumping.
Good. The dark, depraved part of me purrs like my bike. I’m the first. I’ll be the only. I slide my palm from her chin down her throat, between her breasts, cupping her heat, dragging one finger over her slick folds.
“Is this what you want?” Consent is the last part of me that’s clean. The last part I won’t compromise. “For the monster watching you from the shadows to tease your pussy and worship you? I need you to say it, baby.”
“Give it to me.” Her hoarse begging is all the consent I need.
Dear, God. I’m going to Hell, and I’ll go smiling.
“Gloves or no gloves?” I tighten my grip on her leg.
“With.” No hesitation.
I’ll take her to the edge of danger.
“Lube?” She deserves rough edges without pain.
“Top drawer, left-hand side,” she whispers and bites her lip.
I slick my leathered fingers with lubricant and move back to her.
The cold bite against her hot flesh draws a gasp, and goddamn, it nearly unravels me.
I’m the weapon unworthy of her and aching for her anyway.
I stroke her clit and slide a finger in.
Fuck, she’s tight. Perfect. Made for me.
She guides my wrist, showing me exactly what she needs, and I adjust.
“Do you want it harder, Glitter Bomb?”
She thrusts against my hand, giving me my answer.
“That’s it. Ride what your villain gives you.”
And does she ever. Wild, writhing, and unrepentant.
“Look at you,” I rasp, relishing the way she fucks my fingers. “My good girl getting off on my gloved hand.”
She goes feral at the praise, her hips grinding against me, chasing her release. The sound she makes as she climaxes is pure sin and salvation, and it rockets straight to my spine. I can’t hold it anymore. I need her caged under me, screaming for me.
I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the headboard. I lean on my hand, hovering above her. She rolls to the side, shoving at my chest.
I freeze. “What’s wrong?”
She straddles my thighs, reclaiming her power. “I want to be on top.”
Ah. She needs control. I can give her that.
I just need to settle some ground rules. “If this is a home invasion fantasy, don’t I get to set the conditions?”
A blush spreads across her cheeks. “Can we start with… a semi-home invasion?”
Bravado fades and reality sets in for both of us. She can’t see my face. Can’t identify me.
Time to set a stipulation of my own. “Then we do it my way.”
She swallows. “What way is that?”
“I’ll show you.” I lift her off my lap, spin her gently, and press her back to my chest. One arm hugs her belly, the other covers her eyes.
She tenses. Ragged breaths heave out of her. Her back arches away. Hands claw at mine with panic and instinct. This position makes her vulnerable and exposes her.
“I won’t hurt you, Glitter Bomb,” I murmur into her ear. “I’ll make you safe and worship you. Every part of you belongs to me.”
She squirms and fights me.
I drop my arms to my sides. “Talk to me.”
She crawls off me, and my dick deflates. The quiet ache of something deeper spreads between us.
“I’m sorry.” I shift to leave. “I’ll go.”
She catches my bicep. “No, stay, please.”
Her shoulders hunch, and her eyes drop to the comforter. I don’t move and let her speak.
“I was sexually assaulted a few years ago,” she admits.
“Who hurt you, Glitter Bomb?” The snarl that rips from me surprises me.
She glances up, almost smiles like she wants to soften the moment with humor. “I know wanting a sexual encounter like this is ludicrous.”
I inch closer. Listen and don’t touch. Anchor myself in her voice.
“This dynamic between us.” She gestures between us. “It’s more than danger for me. It’s about control and safety. Choosing when, how, and who. Creating a space where I call the shots in a controlled environment.”
I pull her to my chest. “What makes you think you’re safe with me?”
Her finger traces my visor, and I feel the echo of her warm hand. “Because you’re an antihero.”
A rough chuckle escapes me at her logic. “That’s not how morality works.”
“It does for me. You sneak around, go through my things, set up cameras, and replace my vibrator.” She sniffs, clearly salty about that, and I note her observational skills.
“But antihero ends in hero.” Her palm presses over my heart.
“And as crazy as it sounds, I believe there’s some good in there. ”
“You’ve got a distinctive world view, Glitter Bomb.” I clasp the back of her neck and rest her head on my shoulder.
She lifts her chin, eyes meeting the dark sheen of my visor. “So be my moral stalker,” she says softly, “until I’m ready for the next step.”
Brave little thing hands me trust in the only way she knows how.
I’ll burn every line I’ve drawn to give it to her.
She curls her fingers over my wrist, lifting my hand and lowering it carefully over her eyes.
Trusting me. Giving me permission. Facing her fears.
The fire in my chest lights into a full flame.
I set her hand on my chest, because it’s the only thing keeping my dead organ beating.
My body is a fucking roadmap of damage. Scars that hold a story.
One on my shoulder where a bullet tried to end me but missed.
Two on my stomach where a meth-head slashed me with broken glass.
More on my leg, where my bike tipped and took me for a ride on the pavement.
Every line is earned. Every shadow deserved.
Just like the ink winding around my ribs like smoke holding me together.
She can’t see any of it, but her fingers flex against my chest as if she reads every mark and isn’t afraid of them.
We have one last thing to settle in case it gets too much.
“What’s our safe word?” I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles through the visor.
“Josh Hammond,” she whispers, folding her fingers over mine like I’m her savior and not a monster.
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “I’m not using your dog’s name. That’s weird.”
I trace her lazy smile, memorizing the curves like she’s a map to my salvation.
“It’s the name of my favorite stalker, I’ll have you know,” she huffs.
I crush her closer. “I’m not using another guy’s name. Not even a fluffy one.”
She pokes my chest. “You’re a disappointment in the stalker department.”
I spin her around, and her back collides with my chest. “Good thing I’m incredible in bed.”
She turns her head just enough to smirk. But it’s softer now. Less performance. More presence and ease. More her. When she leans her weight back into me, her fingers lace with mine. It feels like trust. Not sex. Not power. Not games. Just two broken people holding each other steady.