Chapter 9 Kane
KANE
As I wash the blood off my hands and face, the water pummelling down from the shower, I tell myself I’m not going to do it. That I should grasp my cock here, away from her, and not push the boundaries. Again.
It’s been a good evening. Excellent, in fact.
Lily went to Park Hill, and I followed at a discreet distance.
When we returned, I made far too much barbeque and saw a little, secret smile on Lily’s face as she opened the door to find me confessing to my sin.
I was hard as granite watching her lick sauce from her fingers as she ate, nibbling at the meat as though she’d never had something so easy and delicious.
Then I watched my angel sleep for a while. So sweet. She went to bed early like a good girl, not knowing that her boss, neighbour, and stalker was about to slip out to pay a visit to her family.
I thought at forty-two I might be losing my enthusiasm for being a mafia boss. That maybe the acquisition held more enjoyment than the power itself. But no. Not now I’ve found a use for it. The death gurgle of Lily’s cousin gave me a thrill I haven’t had from anything—except Lily—for years.
It doesn’t matter that she stole from him or that he scared my angel into my arms. He practically imprisoned her and would have hurt her if she wasn’t so resourceful and brave. And ultimately, she was afraid of him, and his mother.
I had to ditch my suit, packing it into a plastic bag for disposal by my men, but that’s a small price to pay for Lily’s safety and peace of mind. Haven’t had to do that for a while. Haven’t wanted to see the whites of my enemy’s eyes.
Lily gives me all the energy of being young and ravenous.
Except, instead of for influence, I’m hungry for her.
So it’s no surprise that, still with wet hair and having only pulled on boxers, I slip my key into her lock, and let myself silently into Lily’s apartment, padding through the familiar space.
It’s been a week since I met my angel, and every day brings fresh revelations that are even sweeter.
I know now that she likes her morning coffee with lots of milk and two spoonfuls of sugar.
I’ve seen her wriggle into her panties, and I know she puts on her bra by clipping it at the front and turning it around.
I’ve stroked my dick at every time of the day and night while watching her.
I know she finds her prettiest shoes pinchy, and dithers about whether to wear them to work.
I’ve watched her tend to her blisters and my fingers have itched to be the one caring for her.
But even so, it pleases me that she hasn’t given in and gone for the flats she bought.
My strong girl. And a part of me is savagely delighted that when she walks into the office, and my eyes drop to regard her gorgeous little feet in those strappy purple high heels, she blushes.
Because that makes me wonder if she wears them for me.
I, by contrast, am not wearing any shoes. I’m barefoot as I walk into her private space as though it’s mine. As though she is mine.
She will be. She already is in some ways. I control every part of her life, and watch her all day. Even when she thinks she’s alone when she walks to the park or goes to a cafe to buy that hot chocolate she loves to indulge in.
It’s been close a few times in that cafe, but I don’t think she’s been certain it’s me. The jeans and hoody with a lowered baseball cap are far from my usual custom-tailored suit and tie.
But she turns and takes odd routes sometimes, almost like she’s testing me.
The curtains in her bedroom are open a crack, allowing moonlight to spill in.
There’s the glow of her new phone’s screen as it charges on the bedside cabinet.
Such a good girl. She’s taken it with her everywhere, just as I directed, and the app on it means I see where she is, tracked to within a few feet.
It’s the perfect accompaniment to the video surveillance, and while less necessary after my visit to Waltham tonight, I won’t remove it. If I know precisely where she is, I can keep her safe.
My breath catches as I see Lily. So small, curled up under the covers.
That bed is like an ocean and my girl, with her toffee hair spilling over the pillows in a soft wave, seems lost. She’s wearing a little white strappy top and her little breasts peek out of the neckline.
My imagination fills in the rest from what I’ve seen on the CCTV screens.
That tease of a pair of shorts she put on an hour ago, pulling them up her perfect, smooth legs. Nothing underneath.
Damn. My cock was already hard in anticipation, but now it’s a heavy, heated steel rod. I move to stand over her. Her face is relaxed, her eyes closed and her long dark eyelashes fanning her cheeks. Her breathing is steady and deep.
I love seeing her like this, sweet and vulnerable, her arm over the covers. So damn cute.
My gaze snags on the pile of her worn clothes on a chair near the bed. They’re shoved on there haphazardly, in the order they were stripped from her warm, luscious body. And on the top lie her knickers.
I suppose she’d be embarrassed if she knew anyone saw that, but I adore it. I like everything about her. The lazy parts of her that can’t be bothered to do laundry, the unbridled enthusiasm as she gets a design idea. I love how bright she is, even though she doesn’t think so.
These are a pair that I gave her, and fancier than the ones I stole for my personal collection. I hook the little stretchy white lace knickers up, and hold them up. Inhaling deep and carefully, I savour her scent.
Keeping the knickers at my nose, I shove my boxers down, and release my aching cock. I take in her beauty in the black and silver of the darkness. Bleak, like my need.
Pre-come beads at the head as I stroke lightly up my length, fantasising it’s her tentative fingers. Is she a virgin? I bet she is. So innocent. Doesn’t realise how enticing she is.
Her knickers have the scent of her ripe little cunt, salty and sweet. I breathe it in, smothering my nose and face with it.
Then I grip harder, and I really am dreaming as I envision being inside her. I haven’t seen between her legs, but I bet it’s all pink, rosy folds. Soft and delicious as candy floss.
The temptation to pull up the covers and look is there. But I restrain myself.
When I first see her like that, it’ll be because she’s desperate for my cock. Because she’s beyond shame through absolute arousal.
I need to be in her life, her body, and most of all, her mind. I want for her every thought to be of me, as mine is of her.
Until then, I just have these taboo moments with her, stolen as she sleeps.
I stroke myself faster, rougher as I think how I’d lick her until she screamed. Once, then again. Two, three times. Hell, I’d lick her all night, until she was wrung out and couldn’t do any more. I’d push her limits for ecstasy further than she ever realised was possible.
She’d be soaked from coming, but tight as I slipped into her, claiming her.
I come quickly, not dragging out the pleasure. I don’t feel I deserve that, somehow. What I’m doing is wrong. So while I can’t help myself, I want it over with. I spurt into my hand and it’s good but almost painful in how it’s not what I most desire.
Lily is a drug. I need my fix of seeing her and yielding to the instincts of my body. But I crave her love.
I quietly clean up and tuck my dick away, then settle into a chair, leaning back and watching my girl.
Minutes pass, or perhaps hours.
She shifts in her sleep, and I’m jolted into full wakefulness. She winces and jerks in her sleep.
“Nnn.” Her brow pinches and it’s as though there’s a link straight to my chest. My girl is having a nightmare.
She shakes her head, and her muscles spasm. The movement pushes off the cover, and exposes her cute little lace-trimmed camisole. My heart stretches.
“Help… No. Don’t.” Her arms jerk and thrash, but unconsciously.
Red fills the edge of my vision. What. The. Fuck.
I should have made him suffer more. I wish I’d drawn it out to fucking hours and hours.
“Nggg.” She makes a sound like a sob, and though if she woke now, I’d have all manner of excuses I’d need to make, I reach out and smooth my hand over her hair.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re safe.”
That soothes her for a second, then the dream is back. Her hair is unbelievably soft. It’s warm liquid silk, but I barely notice, all my concentration on Lily, and lulling her away from this nightmare.
She twitches, and turns, twisting herself in the sheets as she rolls away from me, all four limbs moving as though she’s running. But when I shift forwards and gently comb my fingers through her hair again, she leans back into it. Although the nightmare rages on in her mind.
The decision is made in an instant.
I slip onto the bed behind her.
“Shhh. I’m here.” I run my palm slowly down her upper arm. “Nothing is going to hurt you now, you’re mine.” It’s an oath.
I’ll protect her, even from myself.
Stroking her hair helps calm her more, but she’s still twisting with some unknown assailant.
Her chest heaves, and my heart echoes with the same panic as I risk everything.
It flashes through my mind that it will be impossible to explain why I’m not only in her room, but in her bed. If she wakes.
She can’t wake and it’s worth the risk if I can calm her.
I gather her into me, pressing her spine into my front, my arm slides over her shoulder to cup over her neck, then up to her head, caressing her hair. The jerking of her limbs slows.
Then her breathing evens out.
The nightmare recedes and she slips back to sleep, unconsciously nestling into me for warmth.
I exhale with relief. She didn’t wake up and now she’s resting like the innocent she is.
It’s not all wrecked. I can continue to visit her in this way, and she won’t know.
Gradually, I allow myself to notice her again.
To appreciate the feel of her slight frame.
Her curves. The way she’s soft and small where I’m hard and bulky.
A deep sensation of peace settles over me as I lie in the dark, holding my girl. My breathing slows and my heartbeat thuds heavily into my ribs, as though that organ is trying to get even closer to her.
I continue to stroke her hair, and while this is more than I thought I’d ever have with her, my body craves further intimacy.
I imagine it. Pushing off her little pyjama shorts, notching my hardness into her. Just the tip. I think of breeding her without her knowledge, and my cock throbs with the rightness of the vision of her growing rounded and lush with my baby.
Barefoot and pregnant, she would be mine to take care of in every way.
For two decades I’ve taken what I want by force. I’ve stolen and tricked and manipulated. I’ve killed remorselessly.
The Devil of Croydon takes whatever he wants.
So why I lie in bed with Lily, stroking her hair and breathing in her cherry scent until dawn cracks light back into the room and I sneak away, I don’t know.