Page 8 of Fixation
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 soright.
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.
