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One strategic step inside puts me in the mudroom. After closing the door behind me, I hug the walls, walking so soft I’m practically skating across the tiles as I enter the kitchen. It’s huge and open and so white it hurts my eyes, even in the dark. Since I’m wearing black from head to toe, I duck down behind the impressive island, walking the length of it while bent over.
Light from a hallway has all my joints locking up.
Blue. It’s blue light. And it’s moving.
Fish tank.
Cyrus said the laptop would be past the fish tank.
Another couple minutes in the same spot, then I’m on the move again, checking all directions as I dart for the hall’s opening. Gliding along the same wall the eye-level fish tank is on, I stop next to it, studying the sea life inside. The tank’s gotta be at least six-hundred gallons, obviously salt water, and full of almost-glowing fish and anemones and coral and…a shark? A real fucking shark swims directly at the glass, turning at the last second to show the side of his long brown body.
Watching it disappear under a cove of rocks in the bottom corner, I notice the back of the tank isn’t a solid background; it’s clear glass just like the front. The tank isn’t justinpart of the wall, itisthe fucking wall, making it visible from both sides.
Cyrus said the laptop was past a fish tank but didn’t specify what exactly “past it” meant. Is it further down the hall or in whatever room’s on the other side of it?
Seems like his client doesn’t know the mark as well as I thought.
Ducking low again, below the tank, I make it to the open doorway and peek my head around to take stock of the space.Primary bedroom.Inside are three doors leading to other rooms, most likely a bathroom and two closets—his and hers—as well as various other pieces of decorative furniture. The bed taking up the middle of the wall perpendicular to the tank is occupied but completely still.
With my breath held, I venture inside to do a quick sweep of the room, keeping my footsteps along the walls and close to heavy furniture. All I need is a fucking floor creak to wake someone up right now. The entire bedroom is white, too, and the tank is giving off a good amount of light, so I’d be spotted instantly.
No sign of a laptop, I let myself exhale before taking another large inhale to hold. Right as I turn toward the bed to check the nightstands, the body closest to the tank kicks a leg into the air, freezing me in my tracks. They’re just out of view from me with the bulky comforter blocking most of their body, but I can clearly see the smooth thigh as white as the bedding it’s currently trying to get free of.
A huff—a soft, feminine huff—fills the air, then the room is silent again. The body next to her doesn’t react at all, so after a full two minutes of barely breathing, I continue on.
My body feels like it’s on autopilot as it leads me over to her side. Not only am I closer to the mark, but I was explicitly told to stay away from the wife. None of that stops me from approaching her first.
I need to know if she’s awake anyway.
Lying on her side, facing the fish tank, the woman has a gel-filled face mask covering her eyes and most of her nose, forcing me to look her over for other clues. Her lips are parted as her bottom jaw hangs loose and relaxed. Long hair so blonde it’s white is slightly wavy by her hairline from sweat, which explains her sticking a foot out from under the covers to cool off. The ceiling fan above the bed is on full blast, yet she’s sweating? She’s not wearing much clothing either, only a midnight silk tank and matching shorts that make her porcelain skin look even paler. Beneath the tank, the ribs above her small tits expand with each steady breath.
Everything about her says she’s sleeping except for her being overheated. She shouldn’t be. This room is fucking frigid, she’s got ice on her face, and she’s barely dressed. Did she just get in here? Was she just riding her husband’s cock?
Another glance in the mark’s direction gives nothing away. Some guys pass out seconds after a good nut. Him sleeping like a baby snuggled under their comforter right now tells me jack shit.
It’s her I need to worry about.
I reach a hand out to feel her eye mask, remembering my gloves a second before I make contact. The Velcro keeping the fabric tight around my wrist will make too much noise if I undo it, and the only other skin showing is around my eyes.
My mask doesn’t have any Velcro.
Lifting my balaclava over my chin, up to my nose, I lean down and touch my lips to her mask, expecting the plastic to be freezing and stiff. It’s not though. It’s room temp and pliant. She didn’t just go to bed; she’s been here a while.She’s asleep.
This close, I allow myself the smallest of inhales through my exposed nose, just to see what she smells like. Sweet vanilla with a hint of Jasmine, but there’s also an earthiness like being outdoors on a cold day. She smells fucking good.
She also looks good. I don’t need to see her eyes to know that. Everything about her, from her light skin to her even lighter hair, reminds me of the Snow White Hibiscus. Despite having white hair, she can only be in her twenties or thirties, so I’m assuming she dyes it that color. Probably to match the rest of this goddamn house. Other than the fish tank, there’s no color in here whatsoever except the pitch-black sleep set she’s wearing.
Why is she even wearing clothes? If she were mine, I’d make her sleep naked every night, giving me round-the-clock access to her pussy.
This further proves her husband doesn’t appreciate what he’s got. If he’s not careful, his wife’ll get swiped out from under him, too. I’d do it myself if I wasn’t working for Cyrus.
But I am. And I have my orders.
It’s a shame she’s not one of them.
Although, I wouldn’t hand her over to Cyrus. No, I’d keep her all to myself. She smells sweet, looks innocent, and probably feels soft—the exact opposite of my lifestyle.
Prying my eyes off her, I send another glance over to his side, and—
