Page 8 of The Watcher's Bride

She moans, throwing a slender leg over to turn on her side, giving me a glimpse of her ass, so round and peachy I want to bite it. As my eyes continue to explore her body, I notice the jagged scar on her leg that runs from her thigh to down below her knee.

I can’t take my eyes off of her. How vulnerably perfect she is. I’ve never been more turned on in my life just by the sight of a woman. My cock strains against my pants when I finally allow my eyes to drop to her panties, and I can’t help but picture how incredible she’d taste, how good it would feel to be inside her.Unable to resist, I pull out my aching cock, so hard just from the sight of her. I run my hand up and down my shaft, picturing all of the ways I’m going to make her scream when the time is right. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, hissing through my teeth. It’s taking every ounce of control I have to not reach out and touch her.

As horny as I am, I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize that if Nora saw me right now, she’d be more likely to scream in terror than pleasure.

She rolls back over, letting out a moan, her rosebud lips parting, and the noise is enough to send me over the edge. I jerk and twitch as the orgasm rocks through me and I come in my hand.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I’ve never had any desire to hide in the shadows and watch a woman for personal pleasure. If I want a woman, I go after her. I’ve never had any issues attracting the opposite sex. I’ve certainly never been one to masturbate over an unconscious and unknowing woman. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that turned me on. If just the idea of Nora was that good, how good would the real thing be?

But things are complicated with Nora. I can’t just go up to her and claim her. I have to be more subtle than that. I tell myself that if I keep watching, the attraction I feel toward her will go away. I’ll see something that changes my perspective, and I can go back to my life before I ever laid eyes on her.

As if my life will ever be the same.

After cleaning myself up in the bathroom, I return to Nora’s room. She shivers slightly and goose pimples appear onher skin, so I pull the blankets up around her. She snuggles in, satisfied, and while I no longer get to behold her body, I can content myself with the small smile that plays along her lips as she dreams.

I can’t resist leaning over and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers delicately tracing her smooth skin. Reluctantly, I move to sit in the chair in the corner of her room, telling myself I’ll only watch her for a short while before I go home and try to rest too.

As I watch her sleep, a new plan starts to formulate in my mind of how I can have her without angering Dimitri or jeopardizing everything I’ve worked for. One thing I know for certain is that I won’t hide from Nora who I am, I’ll show her every side of me, the good and the bad. She will want me too, and she will be mine, one way or another.

Chapter 7

Nora

Iwake up with a dry mouth and a slight headache. That’s what I get for drinking too much. My cheeks flush as the foggy memories of the explicit dream I had last night still linger, the faceless man at the bar the starring attraction. I groan, burrowing under the covers to block out the daylight that’s streaming through my bedroom window, as in my semi-inebriated state last night I’d forgotten to draw the curtains. I chastise myself for that oversight. It’s bad enough passing out without putting on my pajamas, but anyone could have looked in the open window and seen me. My mind goes back to my stalker, what if he followed me home? No. I dismiss the thought. I’d know if he’d followed me home. Wouldn’t I?

Deciding that only a cold shower, a tall glass of water, and strong coffee, in that order are going to help me, I climb out of bed and head into the bathroom.

After I shower, I settle down with a cup of coffee, feeling much better, but my rumbling stomach and empty cupboards remind me I can’t spend the whole day lying around on the couch.

An hour or so later, arms straining under the weight of groceries, I get off the bus and begin the short walk to my apartment. By the time I get close, my arms are screaming in protest, and despite the coldness of the air, I feel hot for the exertion. I’m grateful and a little bit surprised to find the front entrance held open by some boxes. I shuffle past them, wondering if someone is moving out. As I try to maneuvermyself to find my keys, the plastic bag gives up, splitting and spilling its contents everywhere.

“Shit!” I hiss in frustration, dropping to pick everything up.

A low chuckle alerts me to the fact that someone else is there, and I notice a man standing in the doorway of the apartment opposite me. My confusion over what he’s doing there is overridden by the acute awareness that this man is gorgeous. Like, cover-of-magazines hot. He’s tall, easily over six feet, but the main thing I’m aware of in my crouching position on the floor is that his crotch is in my eyeline. I can’t help but notice the sizeable bulge visible in the sweatpants he’s wearing. My cheeks flush and I swiftly avert my gaze, praying he didn’t notice me ogling him. I might not be interested in dating, but a girl can still appreciate a handsome man when she sees one.

“Sorry, I’ll just be a sec, damn bag broke,” I say, conscious of him watching me and that I’m blocking the corridor.

Without saying a word, he disappears inside for a second, and just as I’m about to die of embarrassment, he returns holding an empty cardboard box.

“I was certain this exact thing was going to happen to me today,” he says as he squats down to help me, loading my items into the box.

“Are you moving in?” I ask.

The question is rather redundant as I’m aware that the apartment opposite me has been empty for almost three years since the previous owner died, and I definitely would have noticed a neighbor that looks like this, so he must be new. Eitherthat or he’s a family member, but I’m pretty sure Josef would have tried to set me up with a hot young grandson or nephew if he had one.

However, I’m determined to make small talk to keep my attention off his rippled muscles that are visible through the tight t-shirt he’s wearing, his strong arms that are covered in tattoos that snake over his hands and up his neck to a chiseled jawline that could cut glass. He gives me an amused look. His eyes are brown, and I find I have trouble meeting his gaze, so I look away. But I can feel him watching me and my skin feels hot.

“Yep, seems we’ll be neighbors,” he says with a devastatingly handsome smile.

With the final heavy item placed in the box, he stands, lifting it with ease in one arm while offering his other hand to help me up. I usually resent the offers of help from people who assume that my disability means I can’t do anything unassisted, but the gesture is so natural and charming that I don’t see how I can refuse without seeming rude. Besides, he can’t possibly know I have a limp yet. I accept his hand, impressed by the strong, firm grip as I use him to pull myself up. The physical contact sends shockwaves through my body as my stomach tightens and my pussy clenches.

God, if this is my reaction to idle chit-chat with this man how the hell am I supposed to live across the hall from him?

A flush creeps up my neck and I squeak out a “Thanks,” turning quickly to hide it while I grab the other bag and unlock my door.

Without waiting for permission, he confidently strides into the room, placing the box on the countertop and casually leaning against it, studying me.

“Don’t you still need to get your boxes from the street and finish unpacking?” I ask, turning away to unpack my groceries so he can’t see the effect he has on me and to stop myself from eye-fucking him.

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