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It was a pity I couldn’t kill them. But if she ever recovered her memories, she wouldn’t forgive those particular murders. I wasn’t petty enough to risk losing Kennedy to the ghosts of Carter, Jack, and Sebastian.
Besides, the stupid bastards would lose her on their own. They were more of a risk to me dead than they were living, breathing, and acting like assholes.
I eased her front door open slowly. This place was such a shithole. I could break into almost any door, but this one was too easy. I hated that she was staying somewhere she was so vulnerable. Sooner or later, the people who had run her down in the street would realize she was alive, and they would come for her.
I intended to be standing in their way.
Unfortunately, she was probably going to be stubborn about her relocation. I’d have to figure out something to make this shithole untenable, because no woman of mine was going to stay someplace with such flimsy security.
I closed the door softly behind me, taking in the apartment from this angle, this time of night. I already knew she was asleep, so I could take my time.
She had strung little lights along the ceiling, and they cast soft, twinkling light over the small living room and kitchen. She had made the living room cozy with a blanket and a few throw pillows, and framed posters hung on the walls. She’d apparently rediscovered her love for Audrey Hepburn, and I found myself smiling.
Such a drab little place, but she’d made it into a home. I knew she’d do the same for my mansion. It wouldn’t feel like home until it was hers.
I moved quietly through the apartment. The only clutter was her stack of library books, piled up beside the couch. I crouched to look at the titles, which I hadn’t been able to see from the camera, then pulled my phone out to take a photo of the spines. I wanted to remember what she was reading.
I glanced up at the vent, knowing I was making eye contact with one of my cameras. Then I moved on to the narrow hallway. Her bedroom door was shut—a habit from her teenage years, when she’d pushed a laundry basket in front of the doorway every night so she would know if her stepfather tried to open the door.
I touched the door lightly, wishing that I could rewind all the way back to before we first met.
Wishing I could always have protected her.
Wishing we could’ve killed her stepfather sooner.
I went into her bathroom, closed the door, tucked her bathmat along the doorway so there would be no crack of light escaping into the hallway. Then I flicked the lights on. My own reflection flickered to life in the mirror before I opened the medicine cabinet doors.
In between the Tylenol and face wash, her little pink birth control pills sat in their round silver foil. I pulled them out, taking note of how many pills were gone, and slid them into my pocket. Then I pulled out my version, which was all sugar pills, and carefully poked my thumbnail into the first six pill pockets and popped out the pills.
She didn’t need these anymore. She had always talked about having kids someday when we were young. She was going to be a great mother. Fucking her was going to be even more magical knowing she might end up carrying my baby. The thought made a smile break across my face as I imagined how she would look pregnant, how she would smile when she was cradling our baby.
I set them back in the medicine cabinet and closed the doors, tidying up after myself before I went back out into the hall.
I hesitated, then pulled out my cell phone and brought up the video footage. I toggled with my thumb to her bedroom. In the best black-and-white footage money could buy, I could see her sleeping deeply, one arm tucked beneath her head.
I shouldn’t.
But I was already opening the door and letting myself in.
Seeing her through the cameras wasn’t good enough. She was so beautiful, asleep and innocent. Her dark hair fell across the pillow. She was wearing a thin camisole, one strap slipping off her shoulder; her breasts were covered by the blanket, and I almost reached out to tease the blanket down so I could get a better look at my perfect girl.
But if she woke, seeing me looming over her in bed would be hard to explain. I took a step back again, committing her to memory.
Her pouty lips moved, talking in her sleep. “Greyson…” she murmured, and I stiffened, but she was still asleep.
Pride surged through my chest.
“You’re in my dreams too, angel,” I whispered.
Her lips parted slightly, a faint sigh escaping her, as if she were working toward an orgasm in her dream. I’d heard that wistful hint of a sigh before when she was close to coming on my hand or my tongue.
My cock was so hard, I felt like I’d explode.
When her lips were parted like that, all I wanted to do was rub the tip of my dick against that sweet, rounded lower lip. Would she take my dick into her mouth in her dreams? She used to love to give us blowjobs, her eyes sparkling with mischief when she knelt, knowing she had all the power over us.
Might as well join her in her dreams.
I unzipped my jeans and pulled out my cock, which was already beaded with precum on the tip from just watching her. God, I was so close, just having her here. I needed her.
