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"Enjoy your missionary mediocrity," I hissed, my voice a venomous promise. "It won't last."
And neither would he.
The lifeless rhythm below was the final straw. My teeth ground together, a low growl escaping my throat as Gavin's uninspired motions continued to defile what I coveted most. Celeste deserved a symphony, and he gave her a humdrum lullaby. A fucking travesty—that's what this was. And Gavin? He was the conductor of this sorry excuse for seduction. It was clear as the disgust etched on Celeste's face; she was starving for something more, for the forbidden fruit I ached to offer her. I'd have worshipped her body, made every nerve ending sing until she forgot her own name. But she chose him—chose this bland imitation of passion.
Fuck it. I groaned, my hand moving in a furious blur. He's dead. Dead the moment he stepped into my sights.
The heat of my climax built, a dark tide rising within me, spurred on by the vision of Gavin's downfall. It wasn't just about sex—it was about power, about taking back what was mine. He had no idea, did he? That his end would come not with a bang but a whimper?
Celeste shifted beneath him, a frown of dissatisfaction marring her beautiful features. She deserved so much more than this... and I'd be the one to give it to her, once I dealt with the pest between her thighs.
My body tensed, pleasure cresting with the visceral image of Gavin's life slipping away at my hands. Yes, that was the release I needed, the thought that pushed me over the edge.
"Ah, fuck!" The curse shattered the silence as I came, hot spurts of cum painting the windowpane—a silent witness to the carnage brewing in my soul.
Panting, I leaned closer to the cold glass, my breath fogging around the sticky mess I'd made. With a twisted smirk, I traced the outline of a heart with the tip of my cock, the wetness smearing into a perverse symbol of my dark affection. "This is for you, Celeste," I muttered, imagining her delicate fingers touching the glass, her eyes widening in shock and, maybe, curiosity. I smirked, zipping up my pants with a sense of sick satisfaction.
The thrill of the hunt had always been a part of me, as much as my fangs and my craving for blood. But this—this game with Celeste—it was fucking with my head. She stirred something in me, something that went beyond lust and possession. And goddamn it, I wanted in. Wanted more than this peeping Tom bullshit, more than just watching her sigh under the pathetic thrusts of another man.
I needed an invitation, a way into her sanctuary where I could show her what real passion looked like. Not the vanilla crap Gavin was serving up, but the kind that left scars, the kind that changed you. Chicago might be my playground, but Celeste's apartment... that was the stage where I'd perform my most intimate act yet.
Alright, Nash, think. I paced back and forth like a caged beast. How do you get an invite from a girl who's already got company? My mind raced through possibilities, each one darker and more devious than the last. I could scare her—send a few more messages that would haunt her dreams, make her believe she needed protection. Or maybe I could appeal to her artist's heart, offer her something no one else could—a muse cloaked in shadows, a lover who understood the beauty in the darkness.
"Fuck," I cursed under my breath. This wasn't just about getting laid or settling a score. This was about claiming her, body and soul. And hell if I didn't want to do both.
The night air bit at my skin as I lurked in the shadows. My heart, or whatever shriveled organ beat in this undead chest, hammered with an all-consuming need. Celeste... her name was a fucking curse, etched into my brain, throbbing with every pulse of my dead heart.
Fuck patience. I decided then and there. I had to act, move forward with my plan to infiltrate her life, her mind, her bed. She needed to see the darkness I could offer, the twisted love only I could give. It would be a seduction of nightmares, the kind that left marks on her soul.
With a final glance at the couple now entwined on the couch, my thoughts spun with schemes and deceit. I'd win this sick game, make her beg for the release only I could provide. And when she looked at me with those eyes wide open, I'd take everything—and leave her beautifully broken.
I stepped back into the night, a ghost in the city of winds, driven by desires that knew no bounds. Celeste Holloway was my obsession, my salvation, my damnation. And I'd have her, no matter the cost.
Chapter 8
Celeste
Islumped back against the cushions, my breath still catching in irregular hitches as the door clicked shut behind Gavin. The bastard had left me hot and bothered with nothing but a smug grin and a half-assed promise to call. My body throbbed with an unfulfilled craving, a reminder of the tease that was his touch.
"Fuck," I hissed under my breath, the word sharp and bitter on my tongue. It was more than just blue balls—blue ovaries?—it was the gnawing guilt that chewed at my insides like a relentless rat. What if something happened to Gavin because of me? Because of this fucked up game I found myself trapped in?
The buzz of my phone shattered the silence, a sinister harbinger that made my stomach tying in knots. Another message from him. My anonymous stalker who got off on playing God with my life. My fingers trembled as I swiped the screen, and the words leapt out, stark and cruel against the bright background.
Thinking of you, Celeste.
Chills spider-walked down my spine, and for a second, I could almost feel his eyes on me, watching, always fucking watching. A nauseous wave of panic surged through me, painting horrific images in my mind's eye. Images of the FBI barging through my door, finding messages that spelled out a murder plot with Gavin’s name on it.
Please don't hurt him. He's innocent in all this shit.
I typed back, desperation tainting each letter. My plea hung heavy in the air, the words floating digitally into the abyss where my stalker lurked. Jesus Christ, I was bargaining with a ghost—a shadow that held the power to rip away any semblance of normalcy I had left.
Protective, aren't we?
Came the swift reply, the mocking tone clear even through text. My stomach twisted into knots, fear and anger warring for dominance. There was no way I'd let Gavin pay for my mistakes with his life. But what the hell could I do against a phantom who seemed to hold all the damn cards?
"Fuck you," I spat at the phone, knowing full well the creep on the other end wouldn't so much as flinch. I was caught in a web, and my struggles only seemed to amuse the spider at its center. But hell if I'd go down without a fight. Chicago might be a city that bred tough skins and hard knocks, but I wasn't about to let some faceless fucker break me.
Watch your language, Celeste. Or I'll have to wash your mouth out with soap.
