Page 2 of Fixation

ANDERSON

S ixteen years ago, in order to kill my first victim, I learned how to pick a lock online.

This week, right after I moved into my brownstone, I picked up a new skill—installing cameras in the home of the woman I can’t stop thinking about.

Once I had the basics down, I waited for her to leave for her morning jog. Since then, I’ve been here, making sure every angle is covered. Living room. Bedroom. Bathroom. Even the basement where she does her laundry.

The cameras work perfectly. Every single one, including the one I planted on my terrace with a view of hers.

The feed streams in crystal clear on my encrypted phone.

And though having eyes on her twenty-four-seven won’t loosen the knot in my gut from being apart, it’ll help.

God, it’s been agony, this entire week of not being able to see what she’s doing at any given moment.

Because surgery keeps my hands busy. But Harper keeps my mind full.

Harper Arlington. What a beautiful name. Another detail I’ve learned from my online research.

I need her.

Nothing can explain this. This need at first sight that started the moment I saw her.

But as much as I love it here, I need to head out. She’ll be home from her run in ten minutes, give or take.

Of course I know that part. I’ve timed her last three jogs, made time for it around my hospital schedule. I have them down to the second.

That’s not the only thing I’ve learned about her while I’ve been stalking her, both here and online.

Harper is a workaholic.

A successful workaholic who owns a famous jewelry company.

Possessiveness and pride bloom in my chest, as if she’s already mine.

She is yours.

Yes, she’s definitely mine.

Enjoying my last minutes here, I walk up to her mantel, past the rust-toned couches and oak furniture.

Not for the first time, I check out the picture of her with her dad, her mom, and her younger brother.

A picture-perfect family, owners of a Hollywood production company.

They must be rich. Still, she acts like this job is life or death. Like if she lets go for even a second, it’ll all fall apart.

There’s not a moment she isn’t hard at work.

Unless she’s creating pieces that I assume are custom orders—since a delivery guy has been here to pick up one box at a time, she’s attached to her pencil. Angrily sketching what must be bracelets, rings, and necklaces.

I got a glimpse of her wastebasket by the dining table earlier. Crumpled sketches fill it up.

Proof of the frustration I’ve seen through the window.

The undercurrent of violence is there.

Which is confusing. Even I—someone who only wears a watch on occasion and has never bought a piece of jewelry in my life—am impressed with her creations.

More than impressed. My jaw dropped the moment I clicked on the link to her website.

She’s more than a jeweler. She’s an artist.

I’ve been drawn to her creations, needing to see them on her body instead of the models’. To see her with them and nothing else and?—

Fuck, I’m hard.

And concerned. And protective.

I’ll figure out what’s bothering Harper.

I’ll fix it for her.

When I have her.

Later. Not this minute, when I’m walking on thin ice here. When I have no reassurances that Harper won’t be home early.

Yet I can’t leave before I take one last look at the picture she has on her mantel.

Growing increasingly attached, my knuckles turn white from the tight grip on the frame.

It’s the second time I’ve seen her today, and it’s hardly enough.

First time was when I got back from my shift.

I caught a glimpse of her in her sports gear from my car. I knew my window of opportunity was limited after that, so here I am, tired yet satisfied.

Rationally, I’m aware that I’ll see her on my phone when she gets back.

My obsession doesn’t care about reason.

There are many things to learn about her through a single moment in time.

Her dad is the easiest to recognize. The red-haired man with green eyes reminds me of Harper.

Next to him is a smiling woman with brown hair and brown eyes. They’re nothing like Harper’s and are everything like her son’s, her brother.

They’re her family, and soon they’ll be mine too.

You have to get out of here.

“Yeah, yeah.” My thumb, my pulse, my very fucked-up being are drawn to her face.

I stroke the cheek of the woman I’ve been stalking for the past seven days.

This is as close to Harper as I’ve ever been.

I’m not out there in the street. Not on my terrace that’s overlooking hers, or pressing my ear to the wall we share.

Still, this isn’t as close as I would’ve liked.

A smirk curls at my lips. I’ll be closer in a couple of nights. When I visit her for the first time. When I have a day off after my twenty-four-hour shift.

Then I’ll be ready to meet her. Touch her delicately without waking her up.

She must be beautiful when she sleeps. When her defenses are down.

Dammit.

These thoughts, these vivid images in my head, I’m feral over them.

The battle for control over my body is finally lost. I lean in to press a kiss to Harper’s photo before I pull back and gaze at her.

Emerald eyes shine at me through the picture. Soft lips are curved up in a sad smile.

My fingertip doesn’t miss a single line or curve on her face. Her neck. The rest of her body.

In less than three months, when my contract ends, I’ll walk through her front door in broad daylight.

My hands will be all over her.

The real her.

My sweet neighbor.

In less than ninety days, I’ll possess every one of her secrets.

Better yet, I’ll possess her.

Click, click, click.

On the fourth click , Harper’s lock gives.

As to be expected. My paperclip and lock picking skills always get the job done.

No one will notice me out here, in the dead of night, in the alley behind our street.

In my hoodie and dark jeans, I’m just another shadow.

One step into her home and I’m here. With her.

At last.

I close the door subtly behind me, checking the cameras on my phone. Good.

Breaking into Harper’s home hasn’t interrupted her sleep.

I’m not surprised. I’ve been watching her over the past few nights. A stray cat tried to scratch its way inside through the terrace outside her bedroom. And…nothing.

Harper didn’t wake up, no matter how loud the cat was.

That’s why I’m confident walking in here, late at night.

And tonight, Harper must be sleeping even better. An orgasm like the one she had? No wonder she’s exhausted.

I saw her touching herself. I heard her.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip to suppress a groan.

She was ethereal. Her hand slipped beneath the covers. Her red hair splayed on her pillows. Her hips rocked.

Then her lips pressed together. Her nose scrunched as her hand moved. She was stroking herself, slow, then fast.

I’ll never forget how her knees bent. Her other hand pushed her covers down to expose a hard nipple. Then—fuck—she rolled it between her fingers.

The silent scream when she came.

That does it. I’m done standing here, away from her.

No more imagining, fantasizing, or thinking about what it’d be like to come with her in the actual room.

My feet carry me to where my body yearns to be.

Where I belong.

The second floor of her house.

No creaking floorboards give away my steps; Harper must have remodeled, or she bought it this way.

She really is a perfectionist. We really are so much alike.

We’re so right .

The door to her bedroom is cracked open.

An invitation to walk inside.

I accept.

Stopping at the edge of her bed, I adjust my painful hard-on.

I breathe her in, taking in the sight of her.

My fucking God.

The woman steals my breath. My thoughts. My common sense.

She stirs a low, electric thrum beneath my skin.

And other things.

Dark things I’ve never felt about anyone else.

Like possessing her.

Owning her.

Having her like this. Defenseless. Breathing slowed, and her eyelashes fanned her cheeks.

I’m turned on.

I’m compelled.

Craving her pounds like a primal drumbeat in my chest. A hunger snapped awake inside me.

When I have her, really have her, I won’t be nice about it. I’ll give us what we need.

Even if she doesn’t want it at first, I’ll convince her.

She’ll find it in her to love me.

With my shadow casting over her, I take in this sweet, vulnerable woman.

Inch by inch, I peel the covers away.

Moonlight spills in, casting her in a soft light.

This angel.

Her nipples poke through her teal-green T-shirt. Her soft stomach peeks from beneath the bunched-up hem.

The damp spot in the center of her white panties is killing me.

I won’t be able to hold back the feral sounds reverberating within me for much longer.

Carefully, I lean in close to the top of her head without touching her. I inhale the scent of her shampoo, squeezing my eyes shut as I do.

The thick locks of her hair will be soft between my fingers when I finally pull on them. Her head will tilt back, lips parting in terror.

She’ll beg me to be gentle.

I won’t be.

I’ll be what she needs.

Breathe in, breathe out. Pretend you’re in the OR. That there’ll be consequences to losing your goddamn mind.

That’s impossible when she’s so beautiful.

So mine.

I’m seconds away from tearing into her. Waking her up with my cock railing her sweet pussy. Showing her what a real orgasm can feel like.

That’s not what I’m here for. This isn’t the right time.

Theoretically, I don’t have to wait for anyone. I could kill Sergey, the head of the Bratva, and his second in command, Stas, tonight.

I’d rather end it peacefully.

Besides, the darker side of me prefers her like this. Quiet. Still. Mine.

Another thought edges in, sharp and unwelcome.

Is she a virgin? Will I be the first to take her every hole?

Irrelevant, really.

Whatever happened in her past can stay there. In the past.

It’s okay.

Those days are over.

From now on, I’m her one and only. Her present and future.

Me.

The conviction slams through me, locking every muscle.

My cock is out of my jeans and in my hand, hard and throbbing. I jerk off while I imagine her opening her eyes, inviting me into her bed.

Her scream would be music to my ears.

I wouldn’t bother taking off her panties. I’d push them aside and thrust into her.

I’m big and she’s so small. So fragile.

A drop of precum trickles down my shaft. In my head, I hear her cries of pain. I feel her as if she’s really clinging to my arms, clawing at me, begging me to at least go slow.

The fact that she’s sleeping as I imagine all of this unfolding only makes fucking my fist that much better.

Knowing that she’ll take me is just…

Fuck .

I rub myself faster, rougher, like I’d fuck her. I’d teach her to want me. I’d stretch her to the shape of my cock.

Harper would understand that this needs to happen. Us.

She’d be addicted to the pain and pleasure I’d give her. She’d understand what I’d be telling her with my hands, with my cock.

She belongs to me. Her words, beauty, and brains are mine.

I’d burrow under her skin and never leave.

But— I’m so close —I’m not an idiot. I know it’ll be a while before she comes to terms with what we have. Before she needs this unhinged, obsessed man to take over her life.

That picture of her begging is what gets me off. It sends a shockwave through me, and I aim my cock at her panties, to that soaked gorgeous spot, and empty myself on it.

On her. Marking and claiming her as mine.

I want more.

While I catch my breath, I watch for a sign of her waking up.

Poor thing, she’s so overworked that she doesn’t even stir.

I’ll take care of her. Will make every part of her life better. Later.

At the moment, her exhaustion works in my favor. I trace a finger over her panties and rub some of myself into her, mixing our orgasms.

Unfortunately getting someone pregnant isn’t that simple.

Which reminds me…

I tuck myself in, then pull the covers over her.

Time to make my second stop for the night.

Her bathroom. More accurately, the drawer beneath the sink where she keeps her birth control pills.

Jealousy claws at my chest, wild and furious.

Other men…Other motherfucking men touching her…

White-hot rage pulses behind my eyes.

For a brief moment.

Her past is her past. I’ve already established that. I can’t and won’t go on a killing spree to eliminate all her exes.

I breathe. Calm myself down.

Maybe she’s never had anyone. Maybe she just takes these to regulate her period.

I silence the beast in my head. Second by second, I return to myself. I feel even better once I empty the birth control pills from Harper’s case into my hand, then into my pocket.

I saw them when I installed the cameras and bought the exact same brand.

Before I slot the mints into her case, I take note of when her prescription runs out, so I’ll be ready to swap them next month.

The tightness in my shoulders loosens. The corners of my lips twitch.

There, all done.

Harper won’t have a clue that I’m preparing her body to carry my children.

Ours. No one else’s.

If someone asks her out, I’ll know it.

If someone snoops around her house, I’ll know that too.

No man is coming in here.

No man will put his babies inside her.

No one’s getting close to what’s mine.

Never.