She’s gorgeous, and edible at every angle. I lick my lips again, imagining that it’s my tongue running down those curves instead of the hot water.
A lesser man might want her because of her physical beauty. I won’t lie and tell you that I’m not attracted to that. But it’s the darkness in her eyes and the venom in her voice. That’s why she’s mine.
My little viper.
And as much as I want her right now, I’m also furious at her.
Shedefiedme two days ago, tossed my warning like trash and walked away. Almost like she doesn’t take me seriously.
And only after I made myself seen did she come to her senses.
Thanks to her begging, I allowed the fed to live.
For now.
The thing is, I’m not opposed to an attitude. What would I do with a woman without a will to bend to mine?
But not being taken seriously can’t be tolerated.
She thinks defiance is a shield. But it’s a stone that only makes my anger sharper.
I hover, watching the rhythmic arc of her arm as she scrubs soap from her legs.
I indulge in a little free association, imagining if she were to run from me right now, slipping on her own feet, andalmostslithering out of my grasp like the name I’ve given her until I have her on her back, spread her legs apart, and take what belongs to me.
My cock strains.
If she turns now, will she scream? Or will she launch at me, wet and furious, the way I’ve dreamt?
I wantnothing more than for her to turn around right now so that I might find out.
All in good time.
I pull the door closed, but leave just a sliver of it open for me to get one more glance, before I make my way over to the living-room desk. Its surface is a mess of folders, notes, and photos of her that I’ve taken. There’s a neat list of all the little things she’s noticed that have been rearranged in her apartment. Circles fill a map of every place I’ve left her my messages. One sticky note after another filled with theories.
She’s just as obsessed with me as I am with her.
Let her think she hunts. The more agency she thinks she has, the harder she’ll fight to keep it.
I know she knows that she’s already mine. She’s not willing to admit it yet. But she will.
I set the rose across her notepad, stem staining the paper pale green, petals pointing toward the bathroom like a compass. Then, I pick up a pen and write her a message.
Pipes groan as she turns off her shower. Any second now she’ll open that door, towel in hand, hair wet, and water trailing down her legs.
She’ll see the door, the rose, and the note. The moment she does, she’ll know that I stood here, close enough to steam in her breath.
Close enough to see everything.
She’ll remember who’s hunting whom.
I make my way to the front door and slip out, closing it silently behind me.
Soon, little viper.
14
GISELLE
