Page 32 of Ferocious Nightmare

Ten

I loomedover the little nightmare like a creepy stalker, watching her sleep. I hadn't noticed when I went to bed last night that she'd been wearing one of my white, button up shirts.

Now, it was all I could see.

Me, imprinted, all over her.

Did it still smell like me, or more like her? Was there a difference anymore? Her clothes, hair pins, and woman products had taken over my room. She was still using my stuff in the shower, and yet, now whenever I showered, they reminded me of her.

She was even taking over my thoughts during every hour of the day. Soon, if I wasn’t careful, she’d take over the one thing I had left: my revenge.

And now, lying here, sleeping in our bed, she had a splatter of pink on her neck. Thank god my father hadn't even suspected she'd been the one to graffiti his club, because her obvious lack of care about hiding the fact would've driven him to violence.

She stirred, as if she'd felt my presence, blinking gorgeous emerald eyes up at me. “Buenos dias." Her sleepy smile lit up her face.

I narrowed my eyes, scowling at her playfully. "You spray painted my father's busiest club."

She nodded, not looking a bit sorry about it. "I did."

"We didn't talk about that."

"So? Do I need your permission to wipe my ass too?" She yawned, stretching, arching her back in the process and my eyes drifted down the collar of my shirt. "Was he mad?”

I grinned, remembering the rage on his face. He'd been so pissed, his face turned purple. "Fuck yes."

She exhaled a laugh as she continued stretching, and my eyes trailed the line of her freckles down her chest. The sudden need to touch them made me reach out, trailing my finger across her collarbone. How was her skin so silky soft? "I like your shirt."

She stilled, her gaze on me. "Thank you. I bought it myself."

I crooked an eyebrow upward, not looking into her face but at my finger, slowly trailing downward between her gorgeous tits. "Is that so?"

"Yes," her voice was an exhale of sound that curled through my chest, tightening it.

"Have you ever counted your freckles?" I asked her, obsessed with this notion, as I hooked my finger into the edge of the shirt and pulled it down, exposing her nipple.

"When I was a kid," her voice sounded scratchy and she swallowed hard as I lightly traced over her hardened bud. Her tit was creamy, like a dollop of whipped cream with a pink cherry on top.

My own personal dessert.

"I lost count after I passed a hundred."

I finally met her gaze, pleased to see the heat in her eyes. I tugged the nipple between my fingers and her fingers clenched in the pillows.

It reminded me of the one and only time I'd fucked her…right before she'd betrayed me.

And then we’d made that deal.

It had been exactly thirteen days since I’d agreed not to touch her for two weeks. I had one day left—not that I was counting. I could hold out until then.

I frowned, reluctantly releasing her. We had things to do anyway. “Get up."

"Where are we going?"

"You have an appointment."

"What?" She didn't wait for me to answer but slid from the sheets, padding into the closet.

I moved towards the door, already dressed. "I'll wait for you downstairs." My father was already gone for the day. "And don't forget to scrub the paint off your neck."

---