Page 19 of Pose for Me

Even if she couldn’t see us outright, I saw it in the tense line of her shoulders, the occasional glance over her shoulder as though expecting us to emerge from the dark again. She knew. Somewhere deep down, she knew.

"She’s magnetic, isn’t she?" River had murmured beside me, his voice low and edged with the same hunger I felt. "You can’t help but watch her."

"Quite," I’d muttered, keeping my gaze locked on her. I couldn’t look away. Every shift of her body, every flicker of emotion across her face—it was all consuming. She had no idea the power she wielded, or maybe she did, and that made it worse. Or better. I wasn’t sure anymore.

We stayed until she left, her footsteps not completely steady after drinking, following her silently through the streets until she disappeared into the safety of her building. Only then had I turned to River, dragging him back to our own apartment to remind him just how patient I could really be when I wanted.

My pulse is steady as I move toward the bedroom, my footfalls nothing more than whispers against the floor. Control. Always control. Even when my blood burns and my mind screams to act, I wait. Because when the moment comes, it will be perfect.

And perfection is worth waiting for.

I don’t need the dim light spilling through the window to know every detail of this place. I’ve committed it all to memory—the way the floor creaks faintly near the bedroom door, the uneven edge of the rug at the end of the hall, the slight dip in the mattress where she sleeps every night. It’s all hers, all pieces of her life, and yet none of it feels enough. Not anymore.

As much as I want to deny it, River was right.

The thought grates against my mind. He had teased me, his words laced with that maddening mix of cheerfulness and malice only he could pull off, but there was truth buried there. The kind of truth I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I am growing impatient.

Weeks ago, I would have stayed invisible—watching from the shadows, maintaining control even when the sight of her unraveled something deep inside me. But not now. Not after last night. I’d deliberately stepped into her line of sight, letting her see me. Letting her feel me.

I shouldn’t have done it. I could have gone the entire night without her noticing me, slipping back into the dark like I always did. But something twisted and raw had clawed its way to the surface, demanding more. Demanding her.

The look on her face had been a mixture of surprise and something else—something curious, maybe even intrigued.

If River hadn’t come into the hall when he did, I’m not sure what would’ve happened next. His timing was perfect, as always, dragging me back from the edge with that easy grin of his and a quip designed to diffuse the tension building between us. He’s good at that, knowing how far to push before pulling back, but even then, the damage had already been done.

"I must be rubbing off on you" he’d said when we had moved to a table, his voice light but edged with something darker. "You’re getting reckless. You know that, right?"

"Shut up," I’d muttered, though the words had no bite.

"Don’t worry," he’d added with a grin, leaning close enough that I could feel the heat of him at my side. "I like it."

He wasn’t wrong. I am being reckless. And probably worse. Because whatever patience I had left is wearing thin, unraveling with every breath I take in her presence.

I step inside her room, the air thick with her scent. I breathe in deeply, unable to stop the soft groan that escapes my lips. I'm thankful that I know she drank enough tonight to sleep deeply, unaware of my presence.

Because layered over her usual scent of lavender and vanilla is another aroma that's recently become a favorite of mine. My nostrils flare as I breathe it in. She must have touched herself after getting home, chasing the pleasure we'd denied her at the bar. The thought of her fingers sliding between her thighs, desperately seeking release, has my blood burning hot in my veins. A part of me is angry that she has stolen that release from me, that I wasn’t there to watch her, to taste her as she succumbed to that pleasure.

The moonlight spilling through the gap in the curtains casts a silvery glow across her sleeping form. She's sprawled out on her back, one arm flung above her head, the other resting on her stomach. The thin sheet has slipped down, revealing the swell of her breasts barely contained by a flimsy camisole. Her hair is a dark halo against the pillow, wild and untamed.

I move closer, silent as a shadow, drinking in every detail. The gentle rise and fall of her chest. The slight part of her full lips. The flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks. She looks so peaceful, so vulnerable. It stirs a possessive hunger that threatens to consume everything in its path.

I lean in, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin. My fingers itch to touch, to trace the curves and planes of her body that I've memorized over countless nights of watching.

A soft whimper escapes her lips and she shifts slightly, her legs parting unconsciously. The movement sends another wave of her scent washing over me and I have to bite back a growl. I imagine she's still wet, her arousal coating her inner thighs. I want to bury my face between them, lapping up every drop until she's writhing and begging beneath me.

Forcing my eyes away from her sleeping form, I scan the room, searching for any changes since my last visit. My gaze lands on a book resting on her nightstand–a new addition I haven't seen before. The cover is dark and sensual, clearly some kind of romance novel. Curiosity piques as I wonder if this is what fueled her self-pleasure earlier.

I pick up the book carefully, tilting it toward the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. The spine is creased, suggesting she's already delved deep into its pages. A thin ribbon bookmark peeks out near the middle. Unable to resist, I gently open to the marked page, my eyes adjusting quickly to make out the words in the dim light.

As I begin to read, the heat in my blood ignites into an inferno. The scene describes a primal chase through moonlit woods, the heroine's heart pounding as she flees her pursuer. But there's an undercurrent of desire, a craving to be caught, to be claimed. The writing is visceral, dripping with tension and raw sexuality.

I can almost hear how Rayne's breath quickened as she read these words, can imagine her squirming with need. My cock hardens painfully as I continue reading, absorbing every sensual detail.

The chase culminates in a clearing, where the heroine is finally caught. What follows is a savage coupling, all teeth and claws and desperate need. It's animalistic, borderline violent, yet undeniably erotic. The hero takes her roughly from behind, one hand fisted in her hair as he drives into her relentlessly.

My breathing grows ragged as I picture Rayne writhing on this very bed, one hand between her thighs as the other clutches this book. Did she imagine herself as the heroine? Did she fantasize about being hunted, caught, ravaged so thoroughly?

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