Hunting Pretty ~ Prequel #2
Later, with the blood washed from my hands and having changed into a fresh set of black clothes, I slipped onto Ava’s ivy-covered balcony then broke into her bedroom, my fingers working the picks in her lock like I’d done a hundred times.
I slipped into her room, leaving the door open just a crack.
Her room smelled, as always, like a soft rose room fragrance mixed with the feminine scent of her.
She lay asleep on her bed, barefoot, her makeup smudged, wearing just a night shirt and panties, her dress from earlier crumpled in a pile in a corner along with her heels.
I let out the last of the tension in a long breath.
She was safe.
I dared to get closer, standing by her bed, my chest tight with the echo of what I’d done, a twisted satisfaction coiling in my ribs, the weight of power still warm in my skin.
I’d bled him for her. Marked him. Made sure the world remembered that some women are not prey. They’re protected.
“You’ll never know what I do for you,” I whispered as I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
As always, she didn’t stir.
She’d never know. Not yet. But someday... she’d understand.
I wasn’t her villain.
I was her shadow.
My gaze dragging up the length of her bare thighs to the gentle curve of her hips in the moonlight, then higher still to the rise and fall of her soft breasts with every slow breath.
Each inch of her was temptation incarnate, the kind of beauty that could unmake a man without trying.
I ached just looking at her, my dick swelling to press painfully against the front of my pants.
It took everything in me not to climb into that bed and tear her open with my mouth, my hands, my cock.
She’d whispered her fantasies earlier, the ones about strangers in masks and being taken without names. But it wasn’t just the fantasy she wanted. It was me.
She didn’t know it yet, not consciously, but somewhere deep inside, she’d already chosen me. And fuck, the way she looked in her sleep, soft and vulnerable and mine, made me ache to prove it.
Fuck it.
What was the harm in letting myself have some satisfaction? I tugged down my zipper and freed my aching cock.
The pulse in my throat quickened as I pumped some of her moisturizer into my palm, wrapped my fingers around my length, starting with slow, deliberate strokes, the sweet scent of jasmine sending another ache through me.
My eyes never left her sleeping form, imagining how I’d wrap my fist into her long hair, shoving my cock past her slightly parted lips, hearing her choke as I hit the back of her throat, feeling the tight wet heat of her, seeing how pretty she’d look bruising her knees for me, tears running down her hollowed cheeks as I claimed her mouth.
I bit down hard on my lower lip to keep from groaning, tasting blood as I worked my hand faster, gripping the side table to keep my knees from collapsing under me.
As I lost control, the wet, rhythmic sounds of my fist around my cock grew louder, risking waking her. Each breath dragged rough and ragged from my lungs, my chest rising and falling like I’d run miles through hell.
That this was forbidden, that I was claiming her in my mind while she lay innocent and unaware, twisted my gut with shame, even as it sent a darker thrill shivering through every nerve ending, heightening every breath, every stroke.
But sure, wasn’t everything with her steeped in guilt from the start?
A drop of sweat rolled down my temple as I bit back my groans, as I fought to keep my breaths shallow and silent as the pressure built.
I came with a strangled gasp, hot spurts coating my fingers, pooling in my palm. The waves of stolen pleasure that rocked through my body was enough to drown any noble thoughts, any sense of morality.
For a moment, I imagined pushing aside her panties and feeding her pussy with my cum.
It was only fitting. My cum was hers. Hers alone.
The thought alone of watching her cunt dripping with me almost made me insane enough to do it.
Thankfully, sense seemed to rule out. Sort of.
I tipped my cum into her expensive moisturizer, smirking when I imagined her spreading me across her body, wearing my stolen pleasure on her skin.
Then I wiped my hand on a tissue from her nightstand.
My heart still hammered in my chest, half from the savageness of my release, half from the fear of being discovered, as I watched her profile for any sign she’d woken.
But her breaths came steady, her long lashes resting on her high cheekbones.
I’d gotten away with it... again.
Even as relief rushed through me, a deeper truth settled in my bones. This was madness. Obsession. I was playing with fire, but I knew I wouldn’t step away from the flame. Couldn’t.
She was inside me now, carved into my marrow, etched into my soul, buried so deep I’d never claw her out. She was more than a fixation.
She was a sickness I didn’t want cured.
Even though I’d just come, the ache didn’t fade. My muscles still twitched with the aftershocks, my cock already stirring again, starved. The nearness of her, the scent of her skin in the air, was an open wound I couldn’t stop pressing on.
I hadn’t touched her. Not really. And until I did, nothing would sate the hunger clawing at me from the inside out.
But even then, even if I touched her, took her, claimed her, would it ever be enough? Or would she root herself inside me like a parasitic bloom, growing deeper, wrapping around every vein until I was nothing but scaffolding, a cage of flesh built to worship her?
It would be a worthy life just to live for her.
In a way, I already did.
But I couldn’t touch her. That would be the ultimate betrayal.
I tucked myself away and zipped up, but I was too drunk on the afterglow, too sloppy with satisfaction. Too loud.
Her breathing changed.
I had just enough time to slide back into the shadows before her eyes snapped open on a soft gasp.
Shite. There was no way I was sneaking out now.
I was caught.