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My hands awkwardly come up and cup my tits as I glance back at him. “Such a gentleman, waiting until I’d gotten all the way back to my door before mentioning it.”
Alex winks. “What can I say? Momma raised me right.”
I laugh and shove my door open with my elbow. “You’re trouble, Alex.”
“Saturday night,” he says, stepping into his apartment. “Don’t be late.”
“Never gonna happen,” I call back, and with a stupid grin across my face, I close my door between us, certain that he’s the kind of guy to bust down my door, dress me, and force me out of my apartment just to show me a good time.
Alex really is trouble, but for once, I think it might be the exact kind of trouble I want to get into.
REID
Mmmm,there’snodenyingit, out of all of the women I’ve had, Kyah is the most thrilling. The way she bends over her client, her ass so perfectly in the air for the taking. If only there weren’t a piece of glass between us, I would have claimed it by now.
She wears a pair of tight black jeans that curve around her ass just right, and I’ve never wanted to sink my teeth into something more than I do now. I wonder how she’ll feel about biting. Who am I kidding? Just look at her, of course she’s down with biting. I’ve always had a sixth sense when it came to what my women want while they’re being fucked, and Kyah . . . goddamn, she’s different.
The whole vanilla lifestyle isn’t for her. No, she’s a triple scoop with all the flavors and sprinkles on top.
She wants the thrill of a hand closing around her throat, wants to feel herself being thoroughly fucked, right on the brink of passing out when she comes. She wants the fear, wants to scream so loud her throat bleeds, wants to feel the way her heart thunders in her chest, not knowing if this is going to be the one that kills her. But then in the morning, she wants to get up and go to work as though she isn’t a freaky little devil between the sheets.
She’s a kinky little angel, and I can’t wait to play.
Kyah sings along to the music as she works on her client’s back—a scrawny dude who thinks his ink is somehow going to make him seem tough, but when it comes down to it, he’ll always be a little bitch. Guys like him always are.
Kyah concentrates, and as I watch her, I realize just how much care she takes in her work. It’s clear that she loves what she does, and fuck, she’s good at it too. She posts the designs she’s most proud of to all of her social media pages, and they’re always exceptional. She’s made a name for herself around here, one of the most sought-after tattoo artists in Brooklyn.
Taking someone’s life is my addiction, just as leaving her designs deep into someone’s skin is hers. But once I’m through with her, the only addiction she’ll have is me. At least until I end her life and feel that passion pulsing through her veins and draining from her eyes. God, the power it gives me. It’s the best kind of rush, and with Kyah, it’s going to be astronomical.
Big Jim is nowhere to be seen, and with Kyah occupied, I make my way around the back of the shop and pry open the back door before inching it open just enough to peer inside. After making sure the coast is clear, I slip inside, a dark thrill pulsing through my veins like liquid ecstasy.
The back room is small, just big enough for the employees to stash their shit. There’s a small lunch table and a fridge, but Kyah doesn’t use it. She generally orders in, and when she doesn’t, she’ll go hungry until she gets home. I’ll have to do something about that because once I finally get my hands on her, she’s going to need her energy.
My gaze shifts around, taking it all in until I find exactly what I’m looking for.
Kyah’s bag.
It sits up on one of the shelves of a storage cabinet, and as I make my way toward it, I keep my head down, masking my face from the security cameras. Reaching up, my hand curls around the faux leather of Kyah’s handbag, and I dump it out on the lunch table, fingering through the useless shit she’s got crammed in here until I hear the familiar jingle of her keys.
Bingo.
Pulling them out, my gaze lingers on the oversized K keyring that dangles from the keys, and after figuring out which is her front door key, I press it into my clay mold and make the perfect impression. Don’t get me wrong, I have a way into her home . . . for now. But there will come a time when she senses me there and gets chills every time she looks into the dark corners of her room, and when that happens, she will make sure that every window and door of her apartment is locked. But she won’t be keeping me out that easily. I’m prepared to break straight through her defenses.
My sweet little Kyah isn’t going to know what hit her.
Dropping her keys back into her bag, I continue searching, glancing over the random shit in here and looking through the identification cards she has stashed in her wallet. I take a mental photograph of her driver’s license, committing it to memory, then look over her bank cards, knowing I’ll soon have these numbers memorized like a childhood phone number.
After putting her wallet back in just how I found it, I go for the gold—her phone. Only it’s not here, and I mentally scold myself. She must have it with her out in the shop, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll take it tonight, making a clone as she sleeps soundly beside me.
God, just the thought is getting me hard.
I wonder how she liked the gift I left for her the other day. She’s so beautiful, she deserves another. Hell, she deserves a new one every fucking day. It’s a tall order, but I’m sure I can handle it. But hell, with the way she’s got me jerking off, my dick’s either going to develop calluses or fall right off. Worth it though.
Excitement drums through my veins at the thought of getting to go back to her home tonight, and with that, I put her bag back up on the shelf of the storage cabinet and slip straight back out the door with the mold of her front door key safely in the palm of my hand.
5
KYAH
