32. Levi
LEVI
Something feels different the moment I step into my house; like that intuitive voice in the back of your mind—the one that speaks in the barest whisper but somehow is louder than any other. Thankfully, Beau—or whoever—hadn’t left any more dead animals at my door, but something is… off.
My skin prickles as I creep through my house.
I’m half expecting Beau to pop out of a corner like a fucking jack-in-the-box—hoping that’s all this is.
Just a bizarre, albeit playful, joke that he and I can eat rabbit stew over.
But no, the persistent presence of intuition lingers in the dark recesses of my mind, so I reach for one of the many hidden guns peppered around my house and make my way towards the bedroom.
My cabin is relatively small, but the ceilings are high. The soothing whir of the ceiling fan above is the only sound my straining ears can pick up on. The bedroom door is wide open, and even from down the hall, I can see that someone has paid me a visit.
As I step inside, my eyes dart around in disbelief. I peek my head into my walk-in closet and bathroom, which only proves to deepen my confusion.
Who the fuck breaks into someone’s house just to clean it?
My attention leaps to my shelves of precious figurines that I’ve collected over the years. I heave a sigh of relief that each one appears to be untouched, if not less dusty.
Lowering my gun, my eyes land on a piece of loose-leaf paper and a small black bundle sitting on my pillow.
Closing the distance, I swipe the note off my bed.
It takes a lot to truly shock me.
Seeing a portal open up in the fabric of reality—even that didn’t inspire shock. Awe, certainly. The dead rabbit hanging at my door—unease? Absolutely. But shock?
I can’t remember the last time the realization or discovery of something jolted through me like a bolt of lightning and left me well and truly reeling.
But this?
This inspires a sensation I’ve never felt before, but I can only describe it as being pierced through the heart with Cupid’s arrow.
My eyes lift from Violette’s note to the little lacy mound of black that can only be a pair of panties waiting for me on my pillow.
An excited beat drums in my chest.
Please be fucking dirty.
As my hand closes around them and is met with moisture, relief and victory at having my wish granted wash over me. The moment I palm them against my nose and inhale deeply, my eyes slip shut.
Arousal cascades through me at the subtle, sweet musk of her pussy.
Fuck, yes.
My cock instantly swells and hardens, demanding to be liberated from its denim cage.
Still holding her wet panties to my nose, I use one hand to undo my belt and jeans. My fist wraps around my aching length, pulls it free from my boxers, and gives it a firm, slow stroke that makes me groan into Violette’s lace.
Half lost in her scent, I peel back the covers of my neatly made bed to find the large ring of a half-dried wet spot on my bed.
Fuck.
Me.
This woman is deranged.
And I fucking love it.
Even if there is a sputtering flame of panic in my chest.
She’s nothing to you, and all you have to do is keep it that way. Fuck her senseless, and send her on her way.
Bending low, I bury my face in the wet spot on my fitted sheet and take another deep inhale, filling my lungs with her.
Don’t wash the sheets.
Woman, you couldn’t fucking pay me to wash these sheets now.
Reaching for the lube in my drawer, another surprise hits me as I stare at its now half-empty interior.
She stole my pocket pussy.
A grin quirks a corner of my mouth.
Possessive much?
With anyone else, I’d have been annoyed, but the idea of her taking it—presumably because she doesn’t want me fucking anyone—anything—but her makes my dick twitch and fills me with a satisfaction I’m forced to shove away.
With my cock out, my jeans already open and sitting halfway down my hips, I walk into my bathroom to grab the bottle of conditioner I use specifically for jerking off.
Uncapping the lid, I squirt a moderate amount into one hand and work it over my shaft, gently twisting my palm over my crown and frenulum to tease myself to the edge of release.
I imagine it’s Violette’s arousal soaking my length.
Before any reasoning can kick in, I walk back to my bed, brace myself with one hand above the wet spot, drape her panties over the base of my cock, and begin to thrust into my hand.
My eyes close, and I imagine her spread wide beneath me, staring up at me with her lilac eyes, the black halo of her hair fanned around her head, lips parted on a whimpered moan.
Jesus, fuck.
Where are you?
There’s a massive ache in my chest that turns my efforts aggressive. Something inside me seems to burst to life, demanding that I mark this woman as mine.
And I can’t fucking do that without her here.
After a few frenzied minutes—sloppy, wet noises and all—my orgasm rises hard and intense, like a pointed spear of tingling energy exploding up my spine.
Pressing my dick against her wet spot—if only to have some minute part of her against me—I work my crown as my cock pulses.
A thick pool of cum forms beneath my tip.
My strokes slow as my orgasm subsides, and I heave a sigh of minor relief as I let myself lie in our mess as the deeply disconcerting urge to ruin this woman for anyone but me settles like a weighted blanket.