28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Beau Drewitt
“But, I’m not a decent man.”
Icouldn’t leave.
As I stand and watch her delve deep into her pleasure, I can’t help myself.
I am completely mesmerized by the way her hips buck at the thought of me dominating her.
I would bust through her fucking front door right now if I knew without a doubt that I could take her just like this.
I’d do anything to be separated by clothing rather than a windowsill.
Still peeking into her mind briefly to see just exactly what she expects of me, I can almost taste her arousal through the window pane.
Her curves on full display through her tight leggings.
I should turn away and respect her privacy.
Pretend I’m not actively watching her glide her hands between her legs.
That’s what a decent man would do. But I’m not a decent man.
I’m a killer. A killer with a very strong desire to make love to the only woman to ever steal my breath like this. That’s who I want to be. Who I will be.
I still don’t move. My cock is fully erect beneath my jeans and aches at the thought that I’m not buried deep inside of her. It’s evident that no man has ever truly cared about her, cared for her. Not like I can. No sane individual would let such a beautiful woman slip through their grasp.
She needs me to show her. She needs me to dominate her and allow her precious mind to run with bliss only.
She should experience love in its most delicate form, an orgasm after a dinner date, the shower, before bed, and right as our eyes meet in the morning.
The glow to her skin almost intensifies the deeper she delves into pleasure.
She’s so full of desire and need that I don’t fully believe it until seeing it in front of me, as she thinks about all the things I can do to her. For her.
She’s ethereal. Not polished, not meant for anyone else’s eyes. She exists only in movement, instinctive and wild, the kind of freedom I’ve never let myself touch. And I watch.
For a moment, I forget about the centuries dragging behind me.
Forget the restraint I’ve clung to like it might save me.
Watching her, I feel young, mortal, and breakable.
Then she laughs. She throws her head back as her body finishes its release, eyes closed, her joy spilling out into the night as though it belongs to her.
The sound barely crosses the glass, but I feel it.
My hands tighten on the window frame, wood splintering under my grip.
The hunger surges, reckless, demanding. I want to go to her.
I want to finish what she’s started. I stand here, caught between the man I tell myself I am and the creature I’ll always be.
Watching her is a sin of its own, and still I never look away.