Page 7 of Wicked Beauty

My hand flexes at my side, my body tensing to react. I have no intention of letting either of the girls leave here alive if they see me. There’s no threat good enough for me to believe they’d stay silent about catching me here–and I’m not stupid enough to risk it.

I’ve stayed alive as long as I have, in the line of work that I have, by not taking chances.

“It’s probably a bad latch.” The blonde looks uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as she looks nervously at the door. “Come on, Ruby. Let’s go. I don’t like being here. We can talk about this somewhere else.”

“I think we need to look at Igor’s accounts, and see what we can make of it, if we–”

“Please.” The blonde’s voice is almost a whine. “I don’t like this, Ruby. I’ll dance if you get the club running again, and I won’t say anything to anyone, but I don’t want to be that much of a part of this. Just get one of the other girls to keep watch while you do that. I don’t feel ok doing this–”

“Fine.” Ruby snaps the word like the crack of a gun, her entire expression and posture making it abundantly clear just how irritated she is. “I’ll come back later. But you’re coming with me to go look at the bar. I want to see what the alcohol situation is like.”

I don’t breathe again until I hear the footsteps receding, their voices growing fainter until I can no longer tell what either of them are saying, and then I can’t hear them at all. Only then do I let my breath out in a rush, leaning my forehead against the doorframe.

It had been far too close. One wrong move, and I’d have had two bodies to deal with and clean up after before I could go home. Just the thought sends a flush of anger through me, but I do my best to ignore it. I have one more stop to make, and then I can go back to Natalia.

When I’m absolutely certain that I won’t see the two girls coming down the hall again, I slip out of the club as quickly and quietly as I entered. The trash bag with Natalia’s personal effects is stashed in the trunk of my car, and I get in quickly, firing up the engine and turning back out onto the street, heading for her apartment.

Breaking in there proves a little more difficult. The door has multiple locks–likely a selling point for her when she rented it. I pop each one, one at a time, working as quickly as I can while staying alert. The club should have been abandoned, but this is an apartment complex. Shady as it is, someone picking locks will draw attention if I take too long.

It takes a few more minutes than I hoped, but the last one finally pops open, letting me slip quickly into the apartment without, fortunately, having been seen.

It’s a heady thing, standing inside her apartment at last, after watching her from outside of it. There’s an intimacy to being here, standing inside the kitchen where she’s cooked and eaten her meals, the traces of her interrupted life still everywhere–from dishes in the sink to a trash can half-full, groceries in the refrigerator.

I grab an apple off of the counter, taking a bite out of it as I stroll through the small apartment, considering what she would take if she left town quickly. I hadn’t seen anyone visit her at her home, to make me think that someone might know where she lived and come to check on her, but I want to cover her–and my–tracks entirely.

Not a single thing should be left unaccounted for.

Everyday items like dishes and utensils wouldn’t make the cut, but more personal things certainly would. The trash bag containing her other items still in hand, I poke through her living room, noting how few things she actually had. There’s a small stack of books on a side table, which I throw into the bag, but nothing else of note.

Her bedroom, then.

My pulse speeds up in my throat as I push the door ahead of me open, stepping into Natalia’s bedroom. I know this space–I watched her standing in this very room more than once from outside, hidden from her view, without her ever knowing that I was there. The memory brings a rush of power–and an ache to be back at the house, enjoying exercising that power over her.

Patience.

The bed is rumpled, unmade, and it brings back the sharp, stark memory of her in it, legs spread wide as her hands worked between them, her back arched and her mouth fallen open in pleasure, bringing herself to climax twice as I’d watched and helplessly stroked myself, lost in my lust over her. I’d never done something like that before. It had been at the very beginning of my growing obsession with her, and it had done nothing to relieve it.

Focus.I grit my teeth, dragging myself away from the memory as I start to move through her room, gathering up any possessions personal enough that it seems unlikely she would leave them behind. When I get to her dresser, clearing out the few clothes she’d owned, my hand closes around a pair of lace panties, and my cock–already half hard from the memory–stiffens to a full and aching erection immediately.

A vision of her last night, sliding her panties down over her hips at my demand, fills my memory–followed shortly after by the memory once again of her in her bed as I watched from outside, her ass arched into the air as she’d plunged her fingers inside of herself again and again, grinding onto her hand in a desperate need for release.

She’d been so needy, so turned on, that she hadn’t bothered to think about the wide windows that anyone could have looked through–that Ihadlooked through. I’d watched her come twice, and the memory of it is so clear, so visceral, that before I know it my cock is in my hand, throbbing as I wrap the panties around my shaft and start to stroke.

“Fuck,” I hiss as my hips jerk forward, the urge to come nearly unbearable already. Since the moment I saw her in person for the first time, I’ve felt as if I’ve been in a constant state of arousal, always one memory or thought or sight of her away from losing control of my lust. I know, in the back of my head, that this has gone too far, as I stand in the middle of her bedroom, helplessly stroking my cock with her panties.

But I can’t stop it. The ache spreads through me, fogging my mind and scrambling my judgement, everything else consumed by the thoughts of her perfect body, her exquisite face as she comes, her sweet cries of pleasure.Mine, mine, mine, I think feverishly as I stroke my hand frantically along my cock, wrapping the panties over the swollen tip as I feel my balls tighten and throb, my orgasm rising past the point of control already.

“Fuck–fuck–Natalia–” I moan her name aloud, the name I haven’t yet gotten to say as I fuck her, and it sends a spike of nearly unbearable pleasure through me as I lean forward, gripping the foot of her bed in a death grip as my cock spasms in my other hand, throbbing pleasurably as I fill her panties with my cum.

I’m gasping, breathless by the time I’m finished, my body still rocking as I fuck the last of my orgasm into the wad of fabric clutched around my cock. I feel almost dizzy from the force of it, and I blink rapidly, trying to bring myself back to the present as I toss the ruined panties into the bag along with the rest of her things.

Quickly, I tuck my cock away, straightening my clothes as I go into her bathroom. That sense of intimacy washes over me again as I toss her makeup, her bottles of skin care, her toothpaste into the bag, running my fingers over the bristles of her toothbrush before throwing it in as well.

An entire life, shoved into a single bag–everything that made up the most personal possessions of Natalia Obelensky. I stand there, in the apartment that had been hers, a life that just last night she had thought she would return to, and revel in the feeling it gives me.

Now, she belongs to me. Her life is only what I say it is, and when I decide that I’ve had enough of toying with her?

It will end–whenIchoose.

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