Page 114 of His To Erase
I move through the space without a sound, avoiding the places I already know creak. The place isn't that big, and she doesn't even lock her bedroom door, but she should.
Her breathing’s uneven, and her lips are parted. One arm is tucked under the pillow, the other is curled protectively around her ribs like she’s trying to hold herself together even in her sleep.
She’s wearing the shirt she left my house in, and her whole hip is exposed, baring her whole leg where the blanket slipped, showing off a tattoo that I suddenly have the urge to lick.
Fuck.
I don’t look away soon enough, and I feel the all too familiar ache pressing against the front of my pants. The violent timing couldn’t be worse. My cock twitches like it wants to finish the job, but even the devil couldn’t ruin her the way I plan to.
I should turn around, forget I was ever here, and let her keep pretending she’s safe. But then I remember his hands on her while he kissed her mouth like it belonged to him.
My hands curl into fists.
My cock is still fucking hard, and all I can think about is what she’d sound like if I buried my fingers in her—if she’d wake up moaning my name, just like she did when she was bleeding on my kitchen counter.
I take a step closer to wake her up and find out, when she shifts and murmurs something under her breath. Her fingers twitch against the pillow, and her leg jerks.“Don’t touch me?”
My spine locks, and my fingers flex at my sides.
What the fuck is she dreaming about now?
Her legs shift again, dragging the hem of the shirt higher, and I don’t realize I’ve stepped closer until I feel the heat rolling off her skin. I’m right at the edge of the mattress now—close enough to catch the jerky rise and fall of her breath, and the shallow, panicked rhythm of a body trying to outrun something even while unconscious.
Her chest rises, and a sharp sound rips from her throat—choked and raw. It dies halfway out of her mouth, strangled by sleep and instinct. But it’s enough to make me freeze in place as heat travels up the back of my neck. Her arm twitches against the pillow like she’s trying to fight something off. Her head turns sharply and her lips move until they finally spit one broken word.
“Please.”
I’m standing there, hard as a fucking rock, breathing through my teeth, watching her unravel. I don’t even realize I’m touching her until I’m brushing a strand of hair back from her face. If I don’t touch her, I might break something.
She twitches at the contact, and a soft whimper escapes her lips. “Figures. The first time you beg me, you don’t even know you’re doing it.”
She stirs again, sighing as her body relaxes. I let my gaze drag over the bruises, the curve of her hip, the soft part of her inner thigh still exposed from where the blankets slipped. She’s wrecked, and she’s still the most fucking dangerous thing I’ve ever touched.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I murmur. “It doesn’t matter who took you before… they won’t be the ones to keep you.”
Her lips part on another breathless whimper, and my cock throbs.
There’s a part of me—black and hollow—that wants to press a knee to the mattress, crawl over her and whisper into her ear until she says my name instead of his. She’d forget every hand that’s ever touched her before mine.
But I don’t.
I want her to wake up knowing I was here—and that I will be again.
She’s breathing softly, as her chest rises slowly, like whatever chased her in that dream finally let go. But her fingers are still clenched in the pillowcase, and that does something to me I don’t fucking like.
I turn away, walking back through her room like I haven’t already memorized every inch of it. The soft rustle of my coat is the only sound as I pass the bathroom—then stop.
A pair of black lace looks like it was slung by the door like an afterthought. She must have peeled them off mid-step and kept walking, bare and unbothered. My filthy little liar.
I crouch down, lifting the soft scrap of fabric like it weighs more than it should and tuck them into my coat pocket. This isn’t some fuckboy fantasy, this is about control. It’s a reminder that she let me in. Even if she didn’t mean to.
I step back into her room one last time, and she doesn’t stir as I pull a notecard from my coat and set it on the nightstand—Impossible to miss.
She’s under my skin—crawlingdeeper no matter how much I pretend she’s not. Twisting her way into places I don’t let anyone fucking near.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the black lace panties, looking at them like they have the answers I’m looking for.
She sat on my counter in these. She came in them. Now they’re in my hand, and the scent of her still clings to them. I close my fist around the lace, feeling more frustrated than ever.
