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Does my little temptation have any idea how long I’ve dreamt of this moment? How many times I’ve had to stop myself from storming to her apartment, knocking down the door, and taking her in her own bed?
Hell, I’ve come closer to that than I’m willing to admit to myself between calculating the running leap I’d need to take to get to her balcony and looking into who exactly she is. What’s stopped me from taking that final leap, I’ll never be sure. If it makes me a coward, then so be it.
She makes me weak with her pretty green eyes and that dimple that forms every time she smiles. Her form haunts my dreams, making my hands seem empty at every hour because she isn’t in them. I’ve met plenty of women in my life, many of them beautiful, but none of them have ever drawn me like a bee to honey. I live for seeing her, for learning more about her each day as I watch her live. She has more power over me than anyone has ever had, and I’m powerless to fight my attraction.
But I’m not powerless when it comes to protecting her.
As I watch her look at me with wide eyes, her gremlin of a cat in my arms, I know that I’ve already made a promise to myself and to her, even if she doesn’t yet know it.
Perhaps it’s sick and twisted to care so much so soon. Perhaps it’s fucked up to want her so badly that I’ve watched her through her window day in and day out, going as far to look into who she is and what she does. But now that she’s in front of me, dressed in nothing but leggings and a sweater? The desire to unwrap her like the gift she is threatens to overwhelm me.
“Thank you for rescuing my cat,” my little girl whispers, her stunning green eyes meeting mine. The gratitude they shine with is obvious and I have to fight to hold back my groan. I doubt she’d feel that gratitude towards me if she knew that I’ve been her shadow for the better part of a week.
She and I are supposed to be strangers.
I’m not supposed to know that her name is Elisabet Toma, or that she goes by Birdie. I’m not supposed to know that she’s an up-and-coming video game streamer. I shouldn’t know how she takes her coffee (black with sugar) or her favorite colors (purple and green) or that she adopted her weird cat shortly after she moved into the city. I’ve watched her live her days, even following her on the few occasions she left to go to the bodega on the corner or check the P.O. box she has for online followers to send her letters.
I should know nothing about her, but I know so much. And it’s still not enough. I crave knowing more like I crave the chance to taste her.
But to have a chance, I have to act casual. I have to lay aside my obsession and cravings for my baby girl so that I can gain her trust. My compulsive desire to claim her may yet drive me truly insane, but with her standing before me, I’m reminded of what’s at stake.
Her. Her trust. Her affection.
I can do this, if only for her.
I shift her cat more securely into the crook of my arm so that I can hold a handout to her. “Ethan. Ethan Moore.”
Birdie’s brows furrow, as if she’s trying to place the familiar name. It’s not surprising that she’s heard of me. If I’m being honest, something about that makes me want to puff my chest proudly. My woman may already know who I am, which means she may know that I’m more than capable of caring for her in every way she deserves.
As long as the notion doesn’t scare her off first. I’m not sure what would happen if I needed to chase her down, though I’ll admit the thought makes my cock stir in interest just thinking about it.
“Hi, Ethan,” she replies as she grasps my hand with hers to shake it. Her handshake is surprisingly firm, but her hand is tiny and cold in mine. It gets chilly up here because the building is just a skeleton still, so learning that she’s so affected makes me want to pull her against me and warm her up. “I’m Birdie. And that gremlin’s name is Baxter. He jumped off my balcony somehow and got up here.”
At the sound of his name, the black cat in my arm meows, as if bothered by being called a gremlin.
“Birdie. What a pretty name,” I say, my voice low and rough. She blushes prettily, ducking her head so I don’t see her reaction.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “It’s short for Elisabet.”
Somewhere nearby, a large bang reverberates through the air. Birdie’s eyes widen as she spins around to find the source of the sound, but it happened a few floors down, so she finds nothing.
She turns to me once more, lips parted with a question that can’t quite escape. Heat thunders through my blood stream as I take in her look of surprise, wondering what other things might make her make that face. From below, I hear some shouting, and thatalone is enough to remind me that we aren’t alone. This is an active build site and my little dove has no protective equipment on her.
The only protection she has is me.
“Let me walk you down. This place is dangerous especially with work still in progress.” My voice holds no room for protest, but she doesn’t raise any objections.
While keeping her safe as I escort her from the in-progress building is my primary adjective, another part of me wants to keep her out of sight from the men working. Birdie is mine, and the thought of anyone getting a glimpse of what’s mine makes my blood boil. And yet, I rein myself in, and allow myself a possessive touch instead. As I guide her back to the work elevator, I place my free hand at the small of her back, low enough to make my point but just high enough to give the illusion of decency to anyone who might see us.
My scowl keeps any curious eyes from lingering on us for too long. It’s pretty clear that whatever happened is not the business of the men who work under me, and they’re all smart enough to put the pieces together once they see the cat tucked into my arm. And when they see my hand on Birdie, they know I’ve staked my claim.
The ride down the elevator is maddening. While it’s perfectly safe, the walls of the lift are nothing but metal grates, and the sight of the floors passing as we descend makes Birdie gasp and press herself into my side. The feeling of her body heat seeping through my clothes makes my cock harden instantly, and not even the Baxter’s extremely loud purring can distract me from how her curves fit against me.
Once we’re on the ground floor, I guide her out onto the street. Immediately, she speeds up to walk in front of me, as if guidingme to her apartment building. I’m powerless to do anything but follow.
While I already know exactly which unit she lives in, I let her lead the way as if I know nothing. I can’t make myself stop following her. By now I could have handed her the cat and watched her leave, but instead, I’m trailing after her like I have for days.
The only difference is that she knows I’m here now. Not once does she ask me to leave or give me any indication that she doesn’t want me to follow.
