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She needs a hero because she’s not a very good one.
Dad said don’t intervene unless she needs a hero.
I’m seconds from motherfucking intervening.
He fucks her quick and I don’t think he even finishes before he passes out. As soon as she’s sure he’s asleep, she slides out from beneath him and goes to clean herself up. I watch her round ass jiggle as she walks to the bathroom. Thalia has a nice big ass I’d spend my entire life worshipping if she were mine.
I grit my teeth.
A woman like Thalia, at least five years my senior, wouldn’t be into a guy like me.
She stares down at him as he sleeps. Hate brimming in her brown eyes. Her lips mouth the words, I hate you, to him. As if this satisfies her for now, she lets out a deep breath.
She walks over to the window, places her palms against the panes, and leans her forehead against the glass. My dick hardens in my jeans. I’ve watched her hundreds of times over the years. Never has she presented her naked body to me like a gift. With my free hand, I unzip my jeans sending them careening to the floor around my ankles, and pull my throbbing cock out. I stroke it as I admire her perfection. Giant double Ds are the object of my focus. I know they’re double Ds because I’ve been in her lingerie drawer when she wasn’t home. I’ve touched everything that’s touched her. I’ve inhaled her scent and jacked off in her bed. I’ve licked her vibrators and stolen her panties right from her hamper.
Thalia Davis is my obsession.
She leans away from the window and squints. Her hand slides to the dark patch of hair between her thick thighs and she begins to tease her pussy with her long, elegant finger. It’s as though she knows I’m watching. As though this show is for me. I grunt in pleasure and quicken the way I grip my cock.
Her plump bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth as she succumbs to the pleasure she’s doling out. I become fixated on the way her gorgeous tits jiggle as she breathes. Her soft middle bears the scars of a pregnancy she almost carried to full-term before her loss last year. She never lost the weight there but it’s something I love about her. I would kiss those scars and promise to give her all the babies if it would make her smile.
She opens her mouth to let out a moan I desperately wish I could hear and then she slumps her shoulders. As though the weight of her world is too much to bear.
She needs a hero.
Thalia is a motherfucking queen meant to be worshiped. She shouldn’t be fighting daily physical and mental wars with that villainous beast.
The thought of me being that hero has me coming all over the front of my T-shirt and drenching my hand. A grunt of satisfaction escapes me. She shoots one last longing look into the darkness my way before she turns the lights off, takes a long shower, and then slips into bed with that monster.
I’ll be your hero, Thalia.
Last night, it took everything in me not to sneak into their house with the purpose of beating the living daylights out of that prick. Instead, I went to sleep as soon as her lights went out and she returned to bed. Tonight, I’m slightly buzzed. Dad took a couple of shots of whiskey with me when Mom wasn’t looking. An eighteenth birthday is special, he’d said. You’re a man now, he’d assured me.
Click.
Click.
Adjust.
Focus.
Now, as I stare through my binoculars through the trees at my neighbors, I’m reminded that I’m very much a man. Watching Thalia swim in the pool in nothing but a tiny white bikini has my cock very hard. Her stupid husband is inside getting shitfaced but I know it won’t be long before he’s outside giving her hell again.
Fury bubbles up inside me.
Why does she put up with him?
I wish she would just leave him.
But then who would look after her?
Irritation simmers in my veins as I contemplate how to be the hero she needs.
I grin, and all annoyance fades away when she stands in the pool and runs her fingers through her soft brown hair, twisting it back up into a bun so it doesn’t get wet. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in all my life. The girls I’ve dated at school are skinny and bony. Like I might break them if I unleashed fully on them.
Thalia looks as though she could handle a rough fuck—a fuck where I’d make her come over and over again, unlike her worthless husband.
Her gaze is pointed up to my bedroom window. My party is long over and my family is asleep. She doesn’t know I’m in the backyard watching her. A smile tugs at her lips as she adjusts her bikini top. The wet white fabric does nothing to hide her dark nipples that are erect beneath the tiny scrap of cloth. It makes me want to walk my ass over there, dive in, and bite each nipple until she squeals.
I’m hard as fuck over that thought but my fantasy is ruined the moment Antoine walks out and steals her smile. Motherfucker. He yells at her to get out of the pool—words I can hear all the way over here—his arms waving around him in anger. I clench my fist and crave to run it right through his fucking nose. Antoine may be a monster who’s bigger and scarier than me. But I’m a stalking panther. Quick, sneaky, and fierce. One day I’m going to beat the shit out of him and he won’t even see it coming.
She reluctantly climbs out of the pool, water dripping from her curvaceous body. Like melted chocolate against her brown skin. I want to lick every drop from her. Once again, her eyes dart to my window.
A hero.
She wants a hero.
I stand from the lawn chair and abandon my binoculars to stalk their way. We’re one of three houses out here—our house situated in the middle—and the length of a football field separates each house with thick woods lining the back of all three properties. His yelling is louder as I approach.
I’m nearly there when he raises his hand to hit her. She flinches but it does nothing to protect her from his full-fisted blow to her abdomen. He knocks her to the ground with that punch and she bumps her head on the lawn chair.
Rage.
Motherfucking rage.
With a roar, I charge for him. He’s already crouching, his fist reared back to hit her again when I connect with him. My hands shove him hard. I may be only eighteen and not nearly as big as him, but I did play football my entire high school career and know how to tackle brutes like him.
“What the fuck?” he snarls, his brows pinched together in confusion as he tries to right himself near the edge of the pool. “Fucking weird ass kid. I’ve seen you watching us.”
I start to reach for Thalia to help her up but this asshole is running my way like he’s going to punch me next. Fuck him. When he nears, I use his momentum against him. I’m younger and more agile. Twisting away from him, I dart behind him and shove him once again.
Splash!
Pop!
Into the pool he goes. That’ll distract him for a bit. Not looking back to see how pissed he is, I rush over to Thalia. She’s sobbing as she holds onto her stomach. My poor sweet thing. It kills me that he puts his hands on her. Fucking kills me.
“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur, my voice low and husky as I stroke her nearly black hair from her face. “You okay?”
She turns her tear stained face to regard me. Surprise dances in her gaze. “You came.”
A hero.
Thalia needed a hero.
Of course I fucking came.
“It’
s okay,” I assure her. “I won’t let him touch you again.” Jerking my head over my shoulder, I scan the pool area looking for that fucker. He’s going to be ready to kick my ass at this point. He can try, goddammit. “He’s gone.”
I turn back to her in time to catch her pretty smile. Thankful and shocked. She’s shaky but I manage to help her to her feet. I tower over her shorter frame which I like. It makes me feel like I can take care of her. I will take care of her.
“Where did he go?” she asks, worry dancing in her brown eyes as she darts her gaze to the house.
“I don’t know…” I trail off when I see him still in the pool.
Blood clouds around him as Antoine floats in the water below the surface.
“Oh shit,” I hiss. “Shit!”
I start to dive in—even though the abusive asshole doesn’t deserve it—but Thalia’s fingernails dig into my bicep.
“Please…” Her single word comes out like a choked cry. “Don’t. He’s dead.”
I snap my gaze to hers. “He could still be aliv—”
“He’s not,” she whispers. “He’s not.” Lifting her chin, she regards me with a relieved expression. Her lip wobbles and I wonder if it’d be inappropriate to kiss her with her “dead” husband nearby. “You need to leave. Hurry. Before anyone sees you.”
She wants to be my hero.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure in all my life. Now go,” she breathes.
And then she smiles.
I smile too.
It’s been three weeks since I accidentally killed Antoine Davis. I’d wanted to add his skull to my collection of animal bones I’ve collected over the years. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always let you keep your rewards. My reward is every night—when she smiles and stares out into the darkness. When she touches her cunt and she thinks of me. I know she thinks of me because I’m her hero. Her motherfucking savior.
Since he died—of unfortunate drunken pool accident where he “slipped and fell”—I’ve become bolder. Each night, while she sleeps, I creep into her house. Sometimes, I like to think she leaves the door unlocked for me because she wants me to come to her. Tonight, just like every night, the door isn’t locked. I sneak into her nice home and slip up the stairs. As soon as I enter her room and inhale her sweet honey scent, I feel relief flood through me.
