Page 13

Connor

Iwasn’t supposed to be watching her.

I had told myself I’d only check in every few days—only when necessary—to keep track of her movements, to see if she was planning her next kill.

But that was bullshit, because every night, like some sick ritual, I had found myself in the same position, outside of her apartment building watching her.

But now...

now it was even worse.

Because now, I was staring at my screen, watching inside of her apartment, waiting for her to return home.

My apartment was silent except for the hum of my PC, the glow of the monitor the only light in the room.

The live feed from the hidden cameras flickered across the screen, her empty apartment staring back at me, she hadn’t been home all night.

I had known she had gone out for her birthday, that dress, those god damn heels that accentuated her legs in a way that left my mouth dry, but the gnawing discomfort in my gut refused to settle.

It wasn’t just that she was gone, it was where she was gone to.

She was out drinking, out celebrating, probably in a nightclub where other men could touch her.

I clenched my jaw, drumming my fingers against the desk as I took a sip of the whiskey I had poured myself.

Maybe she’d just gone home with Lara, she was probably just too drunk to –

Ping

[Movement detected in Maxine’s living room].

I clicked the notification instantly, the screen shifting to show her front door swinging open, the sight making my stomach drop, because she wasn’t alone.

A man followed her inside – tall, broad, dark hair.

Smirking like he had won the lottery.

I couldn’t blame him for the expression on his face, he basically had won life’s lottery, being able to go home with her.

I fell still as my vision tunnelled, my blood roared in my ears as I watched him place his hands on her, pulling her against him.

Her head tipped back in laugher, that gorgeous fucking sound cutting through my skull like a goddamn knife.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly bone dry.

I should look away, I should.

But I didn’t, I couldn’t.

Instead, I sat there, locked in place as she grabbed his shirt and dragged him further inside, her lips never leaving his.

I watched as they were against the door, her hands sliding up his chest, her lips pressing deeper to his as he pulled her close by the back of her head, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Something ugly, something primal, twisted inside me.

I wanted to rip through the screen, I wanted to rip through him.

She wasn’t supposed to be with him, she wasn’t supposed to be with anyone, she was definitely fucking single, I made sure.

How fucking dare she, no, how fucking dare he?!

She’s.

Not.

Yours. Connor.

I exhaled sharply, gripping on to the edge of the desk like that would somehow ground me.

But the rage didn’t dissipate – it coiled tighter, darker.

Because even though she wasn’t mine, I wanted her as mine.

I wanted her hands on me the same way she was touching him, and watching her with someone else felt like something inside of me was dying.

I switched the feed to a different angle of the living room, clenching my fists so tight my nails cut into my palms, creating a hot sting that matched the pain that was rolling through my chest.

She was on top of him, straddling him on the couch, I watched how her hips rolled on top of him, slow and deliberate, she was in complete control.

I could see it in the way she gripped his jaw, in the way she was fucking owning the moment, like she was using and abusing him for her own perverse pleasure.

Blinding hot rage poured through me as I watched her drop to her knees between his legs.

The way she took his cock into her mouth without hesitation, the way he groaned as her thick, dark red lips wrapped around him.

My cock twitched in my jeans, despite the anger roiling through me.

Shit.

My head was a fucking war zone, fighting between pure, hot, unwavering fury, and complete and utter desire.

I wanted to destroy him and yet I wanted so badly to be him.

I pushed away from the desk, my chest heaving as I paced.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Before I knew what I was doing I swung, punching at the mirror that sat at the end of my bed against the wall, shattering it completely, glass flying everywhere.

I stood panting, looking at the mess on the floor before a sound pulled me back to the present.

Ping

[Movement detected in Maxine’s bedroom.]

I moved back over to the screen, leaning my sweat slicked palms against the desk, blood dripping from my knuckles, my chest heaving.

She dragged his shirt off, tossing it aside, raking her nails down his chest slowly.

He groaned, his hands sliding up her thighs.

My jaw locked as a sharp, dark feeling expanded inside of me, suffocating as it splintered through my ribs.

This shouldn’t be happening, she should be on top of me, breaking me.

Heat licked up my spine, burning through me.

I was hard – painfully hard.

Despite the ongoing battle in my head, knowing I shouldn’t be watching her, I couldn’t stop.

Because this is what I wanted, I had wanted this from the moment I laid eyes on her.

To see the way she moved in the bedroom, to see the way she would roll her hips, to hear her moan the way she was with the bastard she was currently on top of.

I had always wanted a woman to break me, to pin me down, to drag her nails down my throat, my chest whilst drawing blood.

Leaving me completely at her mercy, to be pushed so far past my limits until I was nothing but a desperate, shaking mess.

I wanted to be held at breaking point, but no woman had ever understood.

Not my ex, at least, Jasmine.

God, the memory was like acid.

She had laughed at me, the first time I told her what I wanted – what I craved – she had fucking laughed.

“Jesus, Connor.

That’s so fucking gross.

You want to be hurt?”

She had wrinkled her nose, staring at me like I was diseased.

I had never felt more disgusting in my entire life.

She shamed me for it, calling me ’sick’ and ’fucked up’.

After that, I never told anyone else, I just buried it.

Buried that need, buried the fucking ache for something I thought I could never have.

Until now.

Because watching Max —watching the way she owned the situation, the way she was using this man like a fucking plaything, never once letting him take control— made me want to be ruined by her.

I couldn’t tell if that scared me, or excited me.

Her moans were building, his breathing ragged.

I couldn’t take this, I couldn’t fucking breathe.

I pushed away from the desk, pacing the room like a caged animal, the glass crunching beneath my feet, the sting bringing me a form of relief.

I wanted to storm over there, I wanted so desperately to tear that fucking door down.

I wanted to kill him.

That realisation hit me like a freight train.

I wanted this man dead, and not because he was a monster, not because he deserved it.

But because he had touched what I wanted, what I had claimed as mine without her even knowing about my existence.

I ran a shaking hand through my hair, inhaling deeply, trying to get a grip.

This wasn’t me, this wasn’t fucking me, not anymore.

But she was doing something to me, undoing years of therapy and self control.

I exhaled through my nose, dragging myself back to the screen.

The last thing I saw before I cut the feed, before I lost all sight of her, for my own fucking safety, was the sight of her head thrown back, her long black hair, swaying around her back as she rode him.I stormed over to my bathroom, stripping off the joggers and boxers I had on before plunging myself under a freezing cold shower.

I stood, watching the blood from my knuckles and feet wash down the drain, breathing slowly with my palm pressed against the cold tiles as I tried to calm myself.

Maxine Pochon was sinking her nails into my fucking soul, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

This woman that I had never even met, had a vice like grip on my sanity.

She had no idea I was watching, no idea I was losing my fucking mind over her.

But she would, one day.

One day, she would fucking know.

But for now? I was going to start planting little parts of myself into her world.

Starting with a single black rose on her doorstep.