Page 17 of To Love a Monster
She knew I was watching.She knew that it’d piss me off if she went yet she did it anyway.She tested me,daredme, and it’s made my blood burn.
I wanted to drag her back out by her hair.Bend her over his porch railing.Make her apologize for even letting another man breathe the same air as her.For smiling.For laughing.I wanted to silence her with my palm over her mouth, or better yet, stretch her lips wide around my cock until the only sound she could make was a deep moan.
If I didn’t have orders, I’d have broken that door down, shoved her up against the wall right there in his fucking kitchen and made sure the only name she remembers is mine.I wanted to make her cry out, let her beg with her ass bent over the counter.My hand in her hair, my belt around her neck.That pretty mouth whimpering things she’d pretend to be ashamed of later.
But I don’t move.Because I made an oath, because I’m under orders.Because Matteo wants intel, not chaos.Not yet, at least.
But I’m not a patient man.And she’s fucking testing me with every laugh, every challenge.
So I’ve simply been watching.And waiting.
She walked into his house like she was in control.But with those two simple words, she just handed me permission to show her who really is.
— N
Chapter Seven
Lila
Not even a breath.The silence hangs too heavy, bloated with something unseen, something unspoken.Like the moment before a downpour.I turn back to the stove and reach for the wooden spoon.The pan hisses softly as I stir the sauce in slow, circular motions that feel more like following a ritual than a recipe.Homemade Bolognese.The kind I only bother with when I need grounding.
The air is thick with the scent of garlic melting into hot oil, crushed tomato bleeding into basil, rosemary, and cracked pepper.It curls around me like a memory.A soft hum slips past my lips.Wordless and familiar.I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’s there, breaking up the silence.
The wine bottle is already open—one of the good ones.A deep red with notes I’ll never bother describing but always feel in my chest.I pour slowly and it glugs into the glass.I take a sip of the warm, dry liquid.Let it coat my tongue as my hip leans against the counter and I stare down at the boiling water that refuses to start.Everything feels too still.Too expectant.
I glance at the clock.9:04 PM.
The sauce thickens and the pasta sits in its box.Suddenly, my skin begins to prickle, and then I hear it.The familiarBuzzof a text coming through.My phone lights up and I glance down at the screen.
Smells delicious.
My heart starts beating a little faster.But not because I’m afraid.Because I waswaitingfor it.Because he’s here.The air around me shifts like static crackling before a lightning strike.The hair on the back of my neck lifts and my pulse trips.I whip around toward the deck door.
The curtains haven’t moved.Not yet.But I feel him there.I look down, tempted to type back but, like always, the message is gone before I can reply.
“Show yourself,” I whisper into the quiet.My voice is soft, but it slices through the air like a dare.“If you’re going to watch me, why hide in the shadows like a scared fucking kid?”I challenge, quickly grabbing a knife off the counter.
