Page 9 of Throttle All the Way

The sounds of traffic filled the city, but the night remained still. My steps fell silent on the cold pavement. There was no logic to my actions, just this urgency to stay close, to watch. And that gnawing anxiety was what pushed me forward.

Her apartment complex loomed ahead, its windows shimmering with the soft glow of muted city lights. I hugged the darkness, my tall frame blending seamlessly with the night. My gloved hands gripped the edge of the building, muscles coiled like all of those intruders I had helped put behind bars. Beinga Royal Bastard, this was in my true nature, being a cop only brought me moral conflicts I didn’t really want to think about at that moment.

The first challenge I came across was the security door. My fingers danced deftly over the electronic keypad, knowing exactly what numbers to press. A soft click echoed through the empty hallway as the door slowly unlocked. I slipped inside, disappearing into the shadows of the building's dimly lit interior.

My senses were heightened as I carefully ascended the stairs, two at a time. My breaths were shallow, controlled, my instincts guided me through the corridors to the elevators. I reached her floor, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of my footsteps.

The door to her apartment loomed ahead and I paused. I asked myself what I was doing here, reassuring myself that I just wanted to make sure she was safe.

But from who?

My gloved hand brushed against the cool metal doorknob, and I hesitated for a moment. The weight of my actions bearing down on me, knowing there was no going back after this, and yet, not caring.

I slid the credit card in between the door frame, twisting the knob until the lock was released. The door opened, but there was still the sliding chain. Taking out my pocketknife, I managed to jiggle the chain until it popped through the larger lock and the door swung open with a faint creak. I paused in the entrance, hoping the noise hadn’t awoken her. The apartment was shrouded in darkness, the only illumination seeping in from the city lights outside. I moved carefully through the confines of the hallway and headed toward her bedroom. The door stood ajar; the air filled with tension as I peered inside.

There she was, sound asleep, her breathing deep and labored. Relief washed over me as I confirmed she was unharmed, but a new wave of guilt surfaced. I’d risked everything to be here tonight.

Why?

I couldn't answer the question, and maybe I just didn't want to. Instead, I lingered in the doorway, my gaze fixed on the rise and fall of her chest, the swell of her breasts, the way her room smelled of lavender and cherries.

You saw her. She’s alive and well. You didn’t have to break into her goddamn apartment to know this. You could have just watched her from the hotel room. The cameras were enough, they had to be enough.

Thoughts continued to flood my mind as I struggled to get my emotions under control all the while staying hidden in the shadows of her room. I started to move, approaching her bed slowly, cautiously, my senses still on high alert.

My gloved hand hovered above her face, my hands trembled as I kept myself from touching her soft skin. I hesitated, the soft city lights casting a shadow on her delicate features. The lines between protector and intruder blurred as I stood there, wrestling with my motives.

That’s enough, Garcia. Leave.

I lifted a strand of her hair, gliding it over to the pillows. My eyes traveled down her lush body, the covers were half drawn off, she wore a tight tank top that hugged the swell of her tits and I froze. The rise and fall of her chest held me fascinated. Unable to resist any longer, I removed the glove from one hand and let my fingertips graze the soft fabric of her blanket. The touch was feather-light, a whisper of connection as the backs of my fingers slid over her nipples. Her breathing remained steady, undisturbed by my intrusion, and a strange mixture of relief and regret washed over me.

Time hung suspended in that room, as I stared down at her peaceful form.

What are you doing, Garcia?

I let my hand fall to the blanket once again, slowly pulling it away from her and revealing the swell of her hips, the softness of her legs, and the pretty pink panties that covered what I yearned for.

You’re so fucked.

I let out a groan as my hand fell to her thighs, slowly caressing it, my fingertips grazing over the front of the thin material that stood between me and her core.

Just a taste.

Just one fucking taste.

It was wrong. What I was doing was perverse, it was illegal, it was morally and ethically wrong. I was edging on the brink of malice and I couldn’t stop myself. Months of watching, of wanting, had finally culminated up to this point.

Could I actually do this? Could I be one of those creepy peeping toms whom women despised so much? No. I couldn’t be.

I stared down at her pretty face, my eyes lingering over those lush thighs.

What if she wakes up?

The angel on my shoulder kept pushing me to do the right thing, while the devil on my left had me kneeling down before her, gliding my hands over her heated skin.

Don’t, Garcia. You’re better than this.

Was I, though? Was I better than all those sons of bitches who got to be with her night after night. All those men who came and went, who got a chance to taste her.

---