Page 10 of He Sees You

That’s something else I love about her. She’s so easygoing, I have no doubt in my mind that, once I explain to her that we’re perfect for one another—and she gets to know me—she’ll agree.

And then I won’t have to force myself to leave her alone in her bed when, fuck it, that’s whereIbelong.

He sees you when you’re sleeping… he knows when you’re awake…

I know Dove’s schedule. Waverly’s closes early on Christmas Eve. Instead of eight like usual, they closed down at four. Pictures with Santa finished a little earlier. Telling all of the kiddies that he needed to get ready for his midnight ride, Dove would’ve taken her last picture at two. I assumed she’d need to close up her department, make her deposit, put her equipment away all before heading home.

So I took a much-needed nap. I set the alarm on my phone for three o’clock, figuring Dove would be at her apartment by then. Waking out of a dream where I was wrapped around her in her bed, my eyes were barely open before I was reaching for my phone, turning off the alarm, and engaging the app so I could see Dove’s reaction when she opened my latest gift.

I specifically put a big, gaudy ‘do not open until Xmas’ sticker on it because I’d put money down that Dove wouldn’t be able to resist tearing the wrapping paper off as soon as she brought it inside her place.

Only one problem: she’s not home yet.

I scroll through the app, hitting every camera feed there is. Bedroom. Bathroom. Kitchen. No Dove. Living room. Nope. The hallway that separates the narrow, cramped rooms. Nothing.

Where is she?

I close one app and open another. It was easy to install a tracker to the underside of Dove’s car, and though I was worried it might fall off with all of the snow and ice we’ve been dealing with this season, it hasn’t yet. As of this morning when I checked to make sure that Dove made it to Waverly’s safely, the tracker app put her car in the parking lot of the oversized department store.

It’s still there.

For the next twenty minutes, I obsessively go back and forth between my camera feed and the tracker app. Maybe her car broke down and she ordered a ride. Maybe she caught the bus. Maybe something happened and she had to stay late at work. It’s Christmas Eve. I watched Dove bring in a few shopping bags and more than a few delivered packages inside these last couple of weeks, plus a very amusing evening last week when it was Dove versus a roll of wrapping paper, and the wrapping paperwon. She might not be spending Christmas with her family, but she sent gifts out for her parents and her brothers days ago. Does that mean she’s not doing some last minute shopping? Of course not, but I’d feel better if I had eyes on her.

Would it be too insane to reach out to Burns and see if there’s been any report of some kind of disturbance at Waverly’s? When I’m off duty, I’moff, but I can make an exception when it comes to Dove.

Three-thirty. Still no movement from either the tracker or the camera.

Three-forty-five.

Four-oh-five…

Just when I’m about to go searching for a pair of shoes and my car keys, the tracker finally beeps.

I sink down on my couch, staring at my phone. I don’t think my anxious heart begins to slow down to normal until her car starts its usual path toward her apartment building.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s walking into her apartment, carrying the long, skinny box that’s about twelve inches tall in one hand. In her other, she has her phone, plus a gift bag with Santa’s face plastered on it hanging off her wrist. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, and I bet she’s thanking God that the Christmas season is finally over.

Oh, my precious Dove… a small smirk tugs on my lips as I adjust my seat on the couch, getting comfortable… for you, Christmas is only just beginning.

I follow her through the apartment, switching the camera feed so effortlessly because I’ve watched her so often—and she’s such a creature of habit—I instinctively can tell what she’s going to do before she does it.

She shrugs off her coat, tossing it on her couch. Still holding the present, she crouches down, plugging in the lights to her Christmas tree. Dove smiles at the flickering red and green and white lights while tucking the box under her arm.

For a second, I think she’s going to put the box under the low-hanging boughs. When she doesn’t, a flash of excitement mixed with anticipation runs through me. My body goes tight even as my cock starts to come to life. Well, no. It did that the moment I had eyes on Dove again, but now it begins to harden as she sticks out her chest, using her free hand to rub the back of her neck before trudging toward her bedroom.

Dove kicks off her work shoes as she goes. Her adorable toes are painted the same shade of glittery red as her manicured fingernails, though only on her hands does she have itty-bitty candy canes drawn on her middle and ring fingers.

Inside her bedroom, she gets rid of the gift bag—and considering where she puts it, I can tell there’s no present in there—before dropping down on the edge of her bed. I watch her eyes light up as she focuses on the wrapped box in her hand. Setting her phone next to her hip, she taps the ‘don’t open ‘til Xmas’ sticker, snorts, and tears off the wrapping paper.

I hold my breath as she opens the white cardboard box. She frowns when she peeks inside of it, but I picked the right kind of box. It’s the perfect fit so, unless she tips it over, she won’t be able to see what’s inside.

Dove figures that out at the same time. Flipping the box, she shakes it, pausing when the soft tinkling of a more than one Christmas bell sounds.

I grin.

She shrugs, then lets the entire object fall out into her waiting palm.

It’s just about seven inches long, not counting the extra inch added to the base to my specifications. I purposely chose red for the material because I knew I intended it to be a Christmas present, and though the company I worked with to make the sex toy only created an exact replica of my erection out of silicone, I spent my last day off… improving it.

---