Page 69 of Phantom
Normally my curtains would block the light out, but my little muse is a fucking vixen in bed and tore them down. Despite the fact that the railing had fallen on my back at the time, I’d still wanted to shove my cock in her right then and there. The way her tight cunt sucked my fingers was so enticing, I would’ve given almost anything to feel the pleasure on my shaft instead.
But she’s a virgin, and no matter how fucked up I am in every other situation, I know Scarlett deserves more for her first time than a quick fuck, and that’s all I would’ve been capable of after her stunning performance. I hadn’t known that her heart wasn’t in theater, but I would have if I’d ever heard her when she puts her whole fucking being into the song, like she did tonight.
I check my phone to make sure there’s another delivery ready for her in the morning while padding across the carpet to the bathroom, grabbing my clothes along the way. I change out of my sleep pants and into my boxer briefs, but before I put on my dark jeans, I fist my stiff cock through my boxers, to the point that a jolt of pleasure and pain zaps down my spine.
Part of me wants to relieve the pressure, but the part of me that lives for delayed gratification has me squeezing tighter and tighter until I finally let go. The blood pulses throughout my shaft and I hiss a breath, reminding myself how much more rewarding it will be to wait until I can come inside Scarlett instead. I inhale a fortifying breath before jerking my jeans up my legs and tucking my still-hard cock inside.
After donning socks and shoes, I take a swig of mouthwash. I hate removing her taste, but it has to be done if I’m to keep a level head for what’s next. There’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate with her scent right underneath my nose.
I exit the bathroom and make the few strides to take one last look at Scarlett. I’m tempted to linger, but my watch lights up, reminding me that I have other matters, matters that involveher, that need my attention. I brush a soft curl off of her face and leave a featherlight kiss over her forehead.
“I’ll be back soon,” I murmur, silently hoping she’ll wake up and catch me so I’ll get to crawl back into bed.
Her breaths remain slow and consistent, though, like a melody inlarghissimo. Scarlett needs her sleep more than most and I sure as fuck am not going to be the one who sends her headfirst into an episode by destroying her sleep patterns.
With that in mind, I leave the bedroom and grab my gun from the entryway table to holster it before leaving home. I activate the security feed inside through my phone, so I can monitor my sleeping beauty while I’m gone. In nearly a year, there hasn’t been an hour that’s gone by that I don’t know what she is up to and I won’t stop now, even though she’s in my own bed.
Obsession.
That’s what my brother calls it.
But the ache I feel when I’m away from her is much more than any obsessed revenge I’ve embarked on. It’s the feeling you get when you find theperfectsong, the one you could play for eternity, never getting tired of a single note, and still not want to get to the final measure.
I’m still refusing to believe our song will end. I can’t kill the hope that my muse will write our lyrics someday.
While I walk a city block underground through my great-grandfather’s tunnels, I use the security app on my phone to turn off the Edison bulbs lining the stone walls until I’m closer to my destination. My awareness is at its peak in the dark. When I reach one of the tunnels I took with Scarlett earlier, I bear right.
Even though I know I’m the most formidable thing in my pitch-black tunnel, I never go the same route twice in a row. It’s why I’m traveling above ground for most of my journey tonight. That, and it’s good for my people to know I’m notactuallya phantom.
When I get topside and wind through the hidden Prohibition route with bars on either side, the aboveground hallway that lines the restaurant comes to a stop in front of a heavy wooden door. I open it and immediately pass into a different world.
The brick alleyway is packed with people enjoying the outdoor bar of one of the most popular restaurants in New Orleans. Fleur-de-lis spikes line the back wall, and a green trellis with vines and plants threaded through the lattice work mostly blocks the bar patrons from this particular entrance to the passageways. The lights strung up on the brick provide shadows and darkness for me to disappear in. Music blares from speakers in the back corner, but they’re no match for the crowd as they boo at whatever sports game is playing on the big-screen TVs set up throughout the restaurant.
“Hey man! Mask dude!”
I bristle at the attention in the small alcove, but I turn around slowly to see a middle-aged man dressed like a frat boy facing the far corner of the small vestibule to my hidden halls.
“Yes?” I ask, an edge to my voice.
Normally plants and other shrubbery growing over the trellis are enough to deter people from exploring back here. Not for this asshole apparently. And as the alcohol reeks from his pores, I can smell why.
The man has piles of Mardi Gras beads around his neck and he sways so precariously as he urinates against the painted brick that it’s a wonder he’s even hitting it at all.
He hiccups as he points to his dick. “I’m pissing here, dude. Fuck off.”
I glance to the left, through the shrubbery, where a clearly marked restroom is two doors down.
“This is not your property to piss on,dude,” I answer.
“I can piss wherever I want, motherfucker.” He zips up and tries to glare at me through unfocused eyes.
No doubt his confidence is sky high thanks to the hurricane drink he’s almost finished. I’ve easily got half a foot and fifty pounds on the guy and from the beer belly he’s showing off through his sweaty, half-open pastel button-down, there’s no way he trains like I do.
But there are other things on my agenda tonight besides putting a drunken fool in his place, so I roll my eyes and turn around.
“It’s your lucky day, asshole. I’ve got shit to do.”
But the imbecile has a death wish.
