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If I want her to wake up and believe anything she remembers is just the result of a dream, then I don't need anything about her dress when she wakes up to be suspicious.
I'm not sure how she usually sleeps, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't sleep in her work clothes.
My eyes scan her room, and when I see a pair of pink pajama shorts and a tank top flung over a chair, I assume that's what she sleeps in.
I've undressed countless women over my lifetimes, but I've never felt such potent desire racing through my veins.
My hands are shaking as I slip her clothing from her body. My mouth goes dry when she's left in nothing but a simple white bra and panties.
She's a virgin. I can smell it on her like I can smell the blackest sin on others.
Maybe I should be a gentleman and turn my gaze away from her perfection, but I've never claimed to be a gentleman.
I allow my eyes to trace over every gentle dip and curve of her lithe body. I even go so far as to trace my fingers lightly over her shoulder, down her arm and over the gentle swell of her hip.
I grit my teeth and force myself to stop when I reach her panties.
I may be a monster, but there's one sin I've yet to commit, and I don't plan on starting now.
I refuse to take a woman without her permission.
Even some monsters have standards, it seems.
Her hair ripples as I lift her body just enough to slip her sleep clothing over her. As tempted as I am to remove her undergarments, I leave them on, afraid I would lose all semblance of control if I were to glimpse her naked breasts and that hidden treasure between her thighs.
As her hair moves, that flowery scent wafts up to my nostrils again.
My fangs descend again, and my vision sharpens as I breathe in deeply like a crackhead taking a hit from the crackpipe, seeking that one last high.
My arms tighten around her as I enjoy the weight of her in my arms.
If only...my mind begins, but I promptly shut those thoughts down.
There's no use pondering on what might have been.
I am what I am, and there's no changing that.
And this little angel doesn't deserve to be tethered to a monster.
She's innocence personified.
I force myself to release her, though I'm not sure how long I stand there just gazing down at her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way she curls around a pillow like a sleepy kitten. My tortured soul is fraught with so many emotions—things I've long since thought myself incapable of feeling.
The first fingers of sunlight are filtering into the room when I finally tear myself away from her and go crawling back into my darkness.
Elena.
Two
Elena
I awakenwith a groan and press a hand against my pounding head. I imagine this is what a hangover feels like, though I wouldn't know since I've never drank before.
I sit up groggily and push my hair back over my shoulders as I squint. What the hell happened last night? The last thing I remember is getting off work and walking down the street.
I frown. I don't remember coming home or getting undressed.
I lift the covers in a panic and glance down at myself. I relax as I realize I'm in my typical pair of pajama shorts and tank top. I purse my lips thoughtfully when I notice that I still have my bra on, though, which is odd because I never sleep in my bra.
