Chapter Five
Connor
I watched Sierra stumble back into the library, her small, perfect body still vibrating with the aftershocks of my touch.
Good. I wanted her to think about me long after I was gone; I wanted her to feel my hands on her even when I wasn't there.
"Fuck," I growled, adjusting myself in my jeans. Just watching her walk away had me hard enough to hurt. I didn’t think I’d ever been this fucking hard before.
The little librarian had no idea how much I wanted to have every part of her, how much I craved her.
I waited until she’d disappeared inside the library before pulling out of the lot. My plan was already forming. I needed more, needed all of her, and watching from a distance wouldn't cut it now that I’d been with her today.
The drive to my penthouse took twenty minutes. I spent every second thinking about Sierra. Her pulse had raced beneath my fingers, and her soft body had so easily melted against mine. She'd looked up at me with those soft eyes that made me want to protect and devour her all at once.
No one would understand how I felt without a perfect girl like Sierra in their lives. Sierra Willows wasn't just some random woman I wanted to fuck and ditch. She was mine. She had been since the moment I saw her struggling with that box.
I switched out the Audi for a more discreet car with tinted windows. The kind of car that blended in, even in Sierra's modest apartment complex.
I also grabbed a few essential tools, the kind that made breaking and entering look like an invited visit. Adrian had stocked Jax and me up well with useful instruments.
The drive to Sierra's place felt familiar after the hours I’d spent mapping it last night. The knowledge that I was crossing a line only encouraged me further. Lines were meant to be crossed when it came to her.
Sierra’s apartment complex was a fucking joke. Shitty locks. No security cameras. A fucking welcome mat for predators like me. My lips curled as I parked three spaces down from her own spot. She deserved better. She’d have it soon.
Her door was 7B, at the end of the hall, with a small plant beside it.
The lock was basic, laughably so. I had it open in thirty seconds, slipping inside like a shadow.
I paused, listening for alarms, for footsteps, for anything that would force me to ruin this perfect moment. I was met only with silence.
The first thing that hit me was her scent, sweet and warm, like spilled honey on sun-warmed pages. It made my cock instantly hard being in a space so intimately hers.
The apartment was small but neat, decorated in soft colors, and filled with bookshelves and pillows. It was exactly what I'd expected: cozy, warm, and overflowing with stories. I took off my boots on her entry mat, seeing the other shoes she had sitting there.
I could be tame if I wanted to.
A soft meow startled me. The cat, Toffee, according to her social media, sat on the back of the couch, eyeing me warily. His blue eyes tracked my movements as I closed the front door behind me.
"Hey there," I said quietly, holding out my hand and praying the cat wasn’t going to fucking maul me. He stretched, hopped down, and padded over to me, sniffing my fingers curiously.
I’d planned accordingly for this. I reached into my pocket, pulling out a few cuts of pure A5 Wagyu, wrapped in some gaudy packaging. The cat was alert the second I unwrapped one, butting his head against my palm.
"You smell it, don't you?" I murmured, holding it out to him before he went straight down on the meat, ripping through it in seconds.
He purred loudly afterwards, rubbing against my legs like we were old friends. Success. Not that it would’ve been a problem, I’d have fed the thing Wagyu daily until he tolerated me.
I moved through the apartment with purpose, taking in every detail. Her couch was worn but comfortable-looking, draped with a knitted blanket and too many pillows. I pressed the blanket to my face, inhaling deeply.
Her.
A mug with bags of tea sat on her coffee table next to a stack of romance novels with bookmarks sticking out. I picked up the top book, flipping it open to where she'd marked her place.
The scene involved the heroine pressed against a wall while the hero drove her crazy with need. My lips curled into a smirk. No wonder she'd responded so beautifully when I'd pinned her against the library’s wall.
The kitchen was small but functional, and the refrigerator was covered in magnets from various libraries and bookstores. I opened it, taking inventory of her food situation. I felt my irritation tick—half-empty containers of frozen meals, a lone fruit, and creamer.
My sweet girl needed someone to take care of her. To feed her properly. To ensure she wasn't surviving on whatever garbage was easiest to microwave.
I continued my exploration, Toffee following at my heels like an appointed tour guide. The bathroom was clean but cluttered with products, face creams, hair oils, bubble baths in a ridiculous number of scents.
I picked up her toothbrush, my thumb running over the bristles where her mouth had been. Intimate. Personal. Mine. My cock was aching against my zipper.
Her bedroom was the true destination. A full-sized bed took up most of the room, covered in a white duvet and more pillows than her small self could possibly need. Books were stacked on both nightstands, some with multiple bookmarks. I sat on her bed, the mattress dipping beneath me.
I stared at the duvet as my imagination ran wild. Sierra, here, curls spread across the pillows, those big brown eyes looking up at me as I spread her thighs and settled between them.
"Fuck," I muttered, adjusting myself again. This was torture of the sweetest kind.
The drawer in her nightstand caught my attention. I pulled it open, my adrenaline rushing, to find a small pink vibrator nestled among some books and a sealed melatonin bottle. My cock ached for release, throbbing with the sweet confirmation that my Sierra pleasured herself.
Had she used this last night? After meeting me? Had she thought of my hands instead of this substitute? I wanted to watch her use it, I wanted to watch her writhe as it vibrated against her little clit.
I moved to her dresser next, pulling open drawers with deliberate slowness. Skirts, leggings, cardigans, all neatly folded but worn with age. Then I found what I was looking for.
Her fucking panty drawer.
My breath caught as I ran my fingers through the collection of cotton. Most were practical, cotton boyshorts in various colors and patterns. But there were surprises too, perfect surprises that just screamed Sierra. She had a few cheeky ones I took a liking to.
I lifted a pair of lavender cotton panties with a small bow at the front, bringing them to my nose. My heart pounded wildly as her scent hit me. It was light, sweet, and mixed with detergent, but intoxicating. My free hand squeezed my thick cock through my jeans, the friction painful. Later.
I continued my search, opening her closet to find a hamper half-full of clothes waiting to be washed.
I dug through it shamelessly, finding a pair of used panties she must have worn recently.
Without a second thought, I pressed the cotton to my face, groaning at the concentrated scent of her at the crotch.
I nearly came in my pants from her fucking perfect scent.
"Mine," I growled, pocketing the pair and then another used one for good measure. She had plenty. She wouldn't miss these, and I needed something of hers to get me through the nights until I could have the real thing.
I was losing my mind over this woman and wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The sound of Toffee jumping onto the sofa drew my attention. He knocked over a pillow, and a notebook lay open, a pen resting in the crease. I crossed to it, recognizing Sierra's neat cursive handwriting immediately from my fucking library card application.
The first few pages were filled with snippets, thoughts, and observations, but mostly what appeared to be fragments of stories or poems. All of them were painfully honest, achingly vulnerable. I flipped forward, finding the last entry.
His voice is thunder, low and rumbling, a warning of the storm to come. When he says my name, it sounds different. Special.
My heart pounded. My sweet girl was writing about me. My sweet, shy librarian had been pouring her fantasies onto these pages, fantasies that mirrored my own with undeniable accuracy.
I traced my finger over the last sentence.
What if someone saw me, really saw me, and didn’t look away?
Something unfamiliar and warm spread through my chest.
“I see you, sweet girl,” I whispered to the empty room. “And I’m never looking away.”
Toffee meowed in response, rubbing against my sleeves, no doubt leaving me covered in his fur. I scratched his head absently, still lost in Sierra's private thoughts.
His hands could break me if he wanted to. But when they touched me, they were gentle. He made me feel like I'm something fragile and precious. No one had ever looked at me the way he did, like he was learning me better than I knew myself.
Something twisted in my gut, something dangerous and tender. She saw not just the fighter, the "Killer," the man who broke bones for a living, but also the gentleness I’d reserved only for her. I looked down at the worn notebook, the object Sierra seemed to be substituting for therapy.
It's just paper, a collection of words she’d scribbled down absentmindedly, but it felt like more than that in my hands. Like maybe if I held onto this long enough, I'd figure out how to hold onto her.
I carefully returned the notebook, leaving it exactly as I'd found it. I wanted to take it with me, to know every one of her thoughts and secrets, but I didn’t want Sierra to miss the comfort it seemed to bring her. That, and I wasn't ready for her to know I'd been here. Not yet.
Hours passed before it was nearly time for her to return home. I surveyed the apartment, making sure everything was in place. The panties in my pocket felt like they were burning a hole through the fabric, a delicious reminder of my transgression.
I waited in the discreet car for her to get home, and it took everything in me not to lift her onto my hood and devour her when she stepped out of her car. When she reached the front door, I couldn't resist one last thing.
I started typing, watching through the windshield as she checked her phone, her pretty face furrowed in confusion.
Connor
Lock your doors.
Sierra
Who is this?
Connor
Connor.
The way her body language changed, straightening up, a hand flying to her mouth, sent a surge of possession through me. She stepped inside her apartment.
Sierra
I already did.
Connor
Good girl.
Sierra
How did you get my number?
She didn’t need to know I’d ordered five background checks.
Connor
Does it matter?
Sierra
I guess not…
My good girl, already accepting my presence in her life.
Connor
Eat and sleep.
Sierra
Goodnight, Connor.
Connor
Goodnight, sweet girl.
Through the window, I watched her hug the phone to her chest, a smile spreading across her face. My sweet, obedient girl. Talking to her was intoxicating, and I already planned on taking her dinner into my own hands after seeing her fridge.
I needed to leave, but leaving her felt physically painful. I hadn't expected that, I hadn't expected this overwhelming need to stay, to be near her, to watch over her through the night.