Switching off the toy, I grip it in my palm and stand up, closing the curtains before going back to the bathroom.
And when I sink to the bottom of the tub, fitting the pulsating tip of the wand between my thighs, I fantasize about the man with the gray eyes, wishing I hadn’t ruined his life.
20
I’m hearing things.
I have to be.
There’s no other explanation as to why my name would be coming from beyond the closed bathroom door.
Waiting with my ear pressed to the wood, I hold my breath, straining for more.
Another breathy moan slips beneath the crack where light shines through; paired with the sound of water lapping at naked flesh, and my dick is already hardening behind my zipper.
But still, I wait.
A buzzing sound fills the air and my hand inches toward the doorknob. My rings clink against the fixture, my fingers clutching but not turning.
Not yet, anyway.
That same sensation I got when I saw Riley for the first time, across the room at the charity event, washes over me. The elation of, for once in my life, being on the giving end of speculation.
Of watching, rather than being watched.
It’s fucking freeing.
Heady and intoxicating in a way that almost makes me sympathetic to the paparazzi vultures.
Or maybe it’s just her making me feel this way.
“Oh…” Comes her deceptively sweet voice, and I reach my free hand into my pocket, popping a peppermint into my mouth. “Oh, god.”
Rolling the candy around with my tongue, I ignore the urge to burst inside and demand she not call out for someone who isn’t me.
The invisible man in the sky has nothing on the things I could make her scream, but if she’d like a proper introduction, I’d be happy to help out.
Biting down on the peppermint until it shatters, I shake my head and release the knob, taking three giant steps back. My boots are soft on the carpet, leaving just enough of a trace on the beige shag to freak her out.
My sweet little angel is nothing if not paranoid, always peering over her shoulder, as if she expects trouble to find her at any moment.
I can’t imagine my finding her was ever on her radar, which is going to make the look on her face so much more delicious.
The buzzing continues in the bathroom, so I acquaint myself with her bedroom while I wait.
There’s a tall dresser against one wall, and I sift through the drawers slowly, pausing when I get to her underwear.
I tell myself not to. That I don’t collect anymore.
And yet, when my palm closes around silk and lace, I can’t resist; I quickly stuff every pair of panties she has into my coat pocket and push the drawer back into place.
Euphoria tears through me, a comet blazing its path to destruction, and when it implodes I know I’ll be left with the usual disgust.
Right now, though, I can’t bring myself to care.
Turning, I survey the rest of the room; a multicolored floor lamp sits in one corner of the room beside a pink bucket chair. Like the rest of the furniture in the cabin, the bed is some kind of ugly pine material, and there are purple satin sheets stretched over the mattress.
A leopard print throw lays at the foot, and on top of that is a laptop with a snakeskin sleeve on the lid. Scoffing at the irony, I perch on the edge of the bed and pull it onto my lap, opening the top slowly, while listening for footsteps.
With my heart in my throat, I push the power button in the corner. The computer flickers to life, and my pulse increases its frequency, excitement drumming through me.
The lock screen pops up, and I frown. Racking my brain for every bit of information I’ve collected on Riley over the last three years, I try to think of what she might use as a password, but none of the words work.
Tapping my finger on the keyboard, I start to type something else, but then I hear it again.
“Aiden…”
My spine stiffens, my gaze shooting up to the door. The bathroom light is still on, no footsteps discernible, but I know I heard it that time.
Shoving the laptop away, I stalk back to the door. I can’t stop myself from turning the knob and pushing it slightly ajar.
I know her exact routine and have cataloged her every action. I know that when she takes her baths, she puts on a giant pair of noise-canceling headphones and slathers on some kind of green face mask.
I know she spends exactly twenty-three minutes in the tub.
And I know that when she gets out, she lathers up in that peppermint lotion that haunts my fucking dreams to this day.
I can taste it on her skin, still. Remember exactly how breathless she was, how flushed her face got when she told me about it.
Still, part of me expects her to notice when I walk in.
For her self-preservation to win out, and self-awareness to kick in, alerting her to the fact that she’s being preyed upon.
I almost want her to. Want her to see the monster she’s created before he inevitably destroys her.
But she doesn’t notice, headphones securely in place, and suddenly I’m staring at the most beautiful liar I’ve ever seen.
Her pale skin, slick with water and an undeniable sheen of sweat, glistens in the vanity lighting, and she lays with her head hooked over the lip of the bathtub, pink hair shimmering over the side.
Perky breasts with sweet, peachy nipples rise and fall with each ragged breath she draws, dispersing the water’s surface. I watch as it ebbs back and forth, the moon pulling and pushing at the tide, enamored by the way it seems to move for her.
Disappointment sizzles in my chest when I realize her blue eyes are pinched shut, but then my gaze slides between parted, propped up knees, and the air escapes my lungs.
My legs quake as her hands move, guiding the bulbous head of a vibrator back and forth over her clit.
Blood rushes south, and my palm comes down, pressing against the fly of my jeans. My tongue feels heavy and dry, her tiny moans making me dizzy.