Chapter 3
Killian
Notifications had my phone pinging while I’d been stuck in a meeting across town, where I worked as a financial advisor for a large real estate company that called the Blue Ridge Mountains home.
The second a woman, thick in all the right places, curves like a mountain road, had stepped out of her SUV, I’d known. I peered in as close to my phone as I could, with the number eight trail camera giving me the best view of her.
My interest had been piqued because there was no one that lived in the cabin near my property full time. Naturally I wondered who she was, and how long she’d be staying.
Once I'd finally gotten home, and reviewed the footage even further, something had come over me. It was dark and inviting and I’d had no choice but to give into this feeling.
Sitting in the computer chair that I used for days when I worked from home, my elbows digging into the wood of the desk, I played the burst of pictures over again from the very beginning.
Inching close to the screen of my personal computer, my nose so close it was nearly touching the screen, I studied her.
She was petite, maybe no more than five feet with dark brown skin.
But that was it. Those were all the details.
Instantly I knew two things. One, I was hornier than I should have been, because my dick was about to burst out of my jeans.
And two, I had to get closer, I wanted to smell her, touch her.
So I made a plan to do just that. To get closer to the object of my newfound desire.
I knew my side of the mountain better than anyone, and nearly as good as the woodland creatures that roamed the woods.
The night I first broke into her home, I dressed in black and made my way down to the cabin, careful not to make a sound.
The thrill of getting to see this woman up close was going to become an addiction.
I needed to get a hit as soon as possible.
Fearing that I was working on limited time till she'd return from work, I crept along the back of the cabin that had just a simple set of steps and one back door.
Peering through the door's triangular window, I could see there was nothing but a small light above the even smaller stove that had been left on.
If I kicked the back door in that would spook her.
That would be too messy and draw attention that I didn't want.
Walking to the front porch that wrapped around most of the cabin I began to try the windows, finding one where the latch hadn't caught.
I lifted the window from the outside and made a soundless entry.
The cabin smelled like her.
Lavender.
Something warm.
Vanilla maybe.
I stood there for a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, my breathing slow and controlled.
The living room was small, cluttered in that comfortable way people who actually lived in spaces made them.
A blanket draped over the back of the couch.
A mug on the coffee table, still half full. She'd left in a hurry.
Good.
That meant she wouldn't notice small things out of place.
I moved through the space like I belonged there, taking inventory.
A stack of books on the side table. Some kind of journal with a pen tucked into the spine.
I picked it up, thumbed through it. Sketches.
Lots of them. Women with animal features. Wolves. Birds.
One with antlers that made something tighten in my chest. She was talented.
More than that, she was lonely. I could see it in the way she drew.
The figures were always solitary, always looking off into the distance like they were waiting for something.
Someone. Setting the journal back down, I moved toward the bedroom.
The bed was unmade, sheets twisted like she'd fought with them before getting up.
I ran my hand over the fabric, imagining that it was still faintly warm from where she'd been sleeping earlier.
My dick throbbed.
I wanted to crawl into that bed. Bury my face in her pillow.
Wrap myself in her scent until it was tattooed into my lungs.
But not yet. I had to be careful. Methodical.
This wasn't about instant gratification.
This was about control. Opening the closet, I studied her clothes.
Soft sweaters. Jeans. A few dresses she probably never wore up here.
I pulled one out, pressed it to my face, inhaled.
Fuck. My hand went to my belt, unbuckling it without thinking.
I was so goddamn hard it hurt. The image of her in this dress twirling, laughing, completely unaware I was watching.
No.
Not yet.
I forced myself to stop, to tuck everything back into place.
I had to save it. Had to draw this out. Returning the dress to the closet, I moved to her dresser.
Top drawer. Underwear. Simple cotton. Nothing fancy.
I picked up a pair, black with a little white bow on the front, and slipped them into my pocket. She wouldn't miss them.
And if she did?
She'd think she'd lost them in the wash.
The bathroom was next. I opened the medicine cabinet, scanning the contents.
Ibuprofen. Allergy medicine. Birth control.
My jaw clenched. Was she fucking someone?
The thought made my blood run hot, possessive and ugly.
I didn't like it. Didn't like the idea of anyone else touching her, tasting her, being inside her.
She’s mine, I thought.
She just didn't know it yet. I closed the cabinet, checked the time on my watch.
She'd be home soon. I needed to leave. But I couldn't resist one last thing.
Going back to the living room, I flipped open her sketchbook again.
Found the page with the antlered woman. And tore it out.
Carefully. Slowly. I folded it, tucked it into my jacket pocket next to her underwear.
Souvenirs. Proof that I'd been here. That I could come and go as I pleased.
Climbing back out the window, I lowered it carefully, making sure it looked just like I'd found it, latch barely caught, easy to miss if you weren't paying attention.
Then I disappeared into the woods, my heart pounding, my dick still aching, her scent clinging to my clothes.
The next night, I went back. And the night after that. Each time, I took something small.
A pen.
A hair tie.
A single earring from a pair she'd left on the bathroom counter. I was building a collection.
A shrine, really. Everything I took, I brought back to my cabin and arranged on the desk in my office.
Her things mixed with mine. It felt right.
Like she was already halfway moved in. On the fourth night, I heard her car pull up while I was still inside.
My pulse spiked. I should have left immediately, should have slipped out the back. But I didn't.
Instead, I moved to the bedroom closet, slid inside, and pulled the door almost closed.
Watching. Waiting. She came in humming something under her breath, tossed her keys on the counter.
I could see her through the crack in the door as she kicked off her shoes, stretched, rolled her neck.
Then she walked into the bedroom. I held my breath.
She was so close I could hear her breathing.
Could smell that lavender scent even stronger now.
She pulled her shirt over her head, and I bit down on my tongue to keep from making a sound.
Fucking beautiful. Her skin was smooth, her body soft in all the right places.
She unhooked her bra, let it fall to the floor, and I nearly lost my mind.
I wanted to touch her. Needed to. But I stayed still.
Frozen. Watching as she pulled on an oversized t-shirt and climbed into bed.
She didn't check the closet. Didn't check the locks.
She just turned off the light and curled up under the blankets. And I stayed there. In her closet.
All night.
Listening to her breathe.