Page 22 of As Devils Love

Then I’m inside, only to remark that I’m inches away from Tomas, who’s also sitting at the front door, inspecting each new entrant with total boredom twisting his face in a frown.

Here we go.

I slip my hand inside the coat and rest it lazily on my dagger. If this prick moves, I’ll slice him open.

“What are you looking at?” He speaks with a raspy wheeze accompanying his words. “Ain’t got no handouts. Piss off.”

She hasn’t told him about me. Not that I look too dissimilar to the rest of the hungry wandering the main hall. But there are key features he should’ve noticed. My hair, my eyes, and the fact that I’m built better and clearly not starving.

In an instant, as I spot her among the crowd, all thoughts and rational for Tomas’s behavior disappear. My head empties at the sight of her warm smile, as she lays a tender hand on a young kid’s shoulder. She’s talking to him like a person, while he slurps spoonfuls of soup.

Her smile must be contagious, because both the kid and his mother are practically glowing from whatever Fiametta’s saying to them. It’s all I need to see to have my answer.

Her heart is pure gold.

But it will not erase the sins of her father.

***

Two Weeks Later

A lot can happen in a fortnight. Especially when you have your eyes on the prize. Mark and I have been putting in long days and even longer nights to clear Matteo’s list. And if all goes according to plan, I should receive a message from Mark any minute now saying it’s done.

I paid him a small fortune to handle most of the remaining names on my original list. Though there’s always a risk involved, he walked into more danger than my tolerance would usually allow for him, more than once. But while he was handling the losers and nobodies, I’ve been preparing for the biggest kill of all.

My pretty little plaything.

After a lengthy back and forth, regarding my sanity concerning this job, I finalized the paperwork on one of the rental apartments opposite Fiametta’s building. It caught my eye the very first night I tailed her here, and since I’ve spent more time sleeping in my car on this street than at home, it’s my only logical next step.

My new apartment is directly adjacent but three stories taller than Fiametta’s. My balcony gives the best view, but my main stalking takes place at night, from the enormous floor to ceiling window in my new living room. I conduct surveillance at night, with all the lights off, to ensure she’ll never know I was watching.

With the curtains open, I can see the totality of her mutt’s quarters up to the door that exits into the short hall. Her living and dining rooms are clearly in view and even part of the kitchen counter, too.

Most importantly, inside Fiametta’s bedroom, I can see to the furthest end of her bed. She’s only free from my ever-watchful eye when she’s in her en-suite. And even then, my mind is awfully good at conjuring what she may be doing.

Not that I’ve had to let my imagination run riot over the three days I’ve been here. From the shower, her towel-wrapped bodymoves straight to the walk-in closet without much dawdling. I still haven’t had the pleasure of a clean view of her naked body, but with the help of my binoculars, I’ve managed a fairly deep view of her cleavage, wrapped in that towel. Or her thighs, as the towel falls apart where she wrapped it, reminding me tauntingly of my wasted opportunity that night I first saw her.

And when I don’t see her in the flesh, my own mind reminds me. It plays the tender touch of her skin against my face on repeat. It replays the soft cooing sounds as I kissed her flesh. The conjured flashes of my cock sliding inside her soaking cunt are so vivid I can almost feel it.

Even now, after a long day at her boutique, my mind is only on one thing, as she locks her door and drops onto her bed with a hefty sigh. I watch her slip off her dress, drop to her knees and parting her legs to give me a full view of her pussy. Is it still bare, I wonder? Does it even matter? I wouldn’t be going for that soaking slit right away. I’d start with both hands on her head. Tell her to stick her tongue out, right before I slam the tip of my cock between her plump lips. Listen to the sound of myself smashing against the back of her throat as she fights to breathe.

And only when her eyes roll to the back of her skull and Fiametta’s on the verge of passing out, would I allow her a lungful of oxygen. But only one, before it starts again. And again. Until my dick is drenched in mother nature’s lubricant for the main event.

I fight the urge to stroke myself as my imagination continues to stir. I refuse to waste my seed against this window, when it’s meant for her fucking womb.

Better hurry then. This Little Flame’s time is running out.

Chapter Eight

FIAMETTA

Isee flashes of him everywhere.

Mystalker.

Late-night wandering outside my window. A masked man hides among the masses of a crowded sidewalk. His thick, rigid frame looms like a statue from a distance, while Simone and I have lunch together.

Even now, his reflection haunts me in the corner mirror I've set up in my workshop. But I never truly see him. At least, I don’t think I do. Whenever I think I do, it’s in my peripheral vision. And every time I actually focus on the subject I could’ve sworn was the man I met nearly two weeks ago, it’s just some random guy going about his business.

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