Page 17 of Deceptive Desires
I’m disappointed to see her long, brown waves in a tight bun, but she’s still gorgeous. She could shave her head and still be irresistible.
As Cecilia glides her way through the crowd gracefully, she’s oblivious to the man following her. Decades of stalking my prey has made me invisible to her. She’s far too trusting and unaware for how alluring she is. It could be a monster with horrible intentions following her instead of a monster with good intentions.
But I’ll never allow anyone to get their hands on her.
I follow her as she takes her turns. After about a mile and a half, she ends up in front of a physical therapy clinic. She enters, and I stare through the window. She goes through a door that leads to the area where they handle patients.
I look up the clinic and see their hours end at five thirty p.m. Good, she’ll be here a while. I’ll come back at four p.m. in case she gets off early.
I retrace my steps and end up back at the decrepit apartment. I walk through the lockless front door and up the steps. When I get to their unit, I stand outside the door for three minutes, listening for noise. When I don’t hear any, I knock and step aside out of view of the peep hole. After another three minutes, I decide Gracie isn’t home either. I take out my tools and work the lock. It takes less than thirty seconds to get the door open, and I slip inside.
There are two bedrooms, and I enter the one furthest from the front door first. I can instantly tell it’s Gracie’s. The black comforter was the only clue I needed. I quickly go through her things, taking inventory of what she has.
I peek inside her nightstand and am pleasantly surprised to see a pistol. I doubt Cecilia knows about it, but it comforts me that she has someone protecting her.
There are textbooks on her dresser and a schedule written on a calendar. She’s a grad student and a grad assistant. She has back-to-back classes today and won’t be back for a few hours.Perfect.
Once I have a general idea of who Gracie is, I make my way into the other bedroom. Cecilia’s bedroom.
The olive-green comforter compliments the multicolored rug under her bed. She has meditation posters and calming paintings on her wall. Unlike Gracie, her bed is made. She has seven pillows, which take up the top half of the bed. I pick one up and sniff it. I don’t stifle my groan at the scent. Her smell is intoxicating.
I go through her closet and see most of her clothes are floor-length flowy skirts and dresses, lightweight linen pants, andthose shirts that connect to pants like overalls. I go through her dresser and see a lot of athletic outfits.
I land on her panty drawer. She has a mix of them, but my eyes drag to a yellow lacey thong. I pick it up and inspect it. It looks well used. She’s clearly worn it many times. I debate for a minute before pocketing it. I refuse to analyze my action, but I know I’ll be using it later.
She has a yoga mat curled next to her dresser, and I sneer at it. I can’t believe I asked her to teach me yoga. If my brothers knew about that shit, they’d never let me live it down. If my men found out, they’d lose all respect for me. And if my enemies found out, it’d tarnish the ruthless reputation I’ve spent so long cultivating.
But for her, I’d do anything. I’d even learn yoga.
I see a folder on her dresser and open it up. The gasp of horror I let out is justified. All her important documents are out in the open. Her birth certificate, social security card, passport… They’re all just laying on a folder in her dresser.I need to get her a safe. Or better yet, she can just use mine.
I check her passport and see she visited Colombia and Ecuador a few years back. Maybe she has relatives there. She does speak Spanish and has a Spanish name.
After putting everything back exactly how I found it in its nonsecure location, I explore the bathroom.
They share it, but it’s obvious whose side is whose. Gracie’s is a mess of hair products, face products, and dark makeup. Cecilia’s a neat row of hippie headbands, organic face products, and light makeup. There’s also perfume.
I spray it and groan. It’s her scent. It smells floral and sweet. I check the label, but it’s in Spanish. I don’t know what ‘ylang-ylang con notas de vainilla y ámbar’ is, but I’m already making a mental note to stock up on this, so she doesn’t ever run out.
I picture her, fresh out of the shower, spraying her naked body with this scent and harden impossibly.
Without giving myself time to be reasonable, I unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants, push down my boxer briefs, and free my cock.
My pants crinkle when I lower them, and I remember the treat in my pocket. I fish out her sweet, yellow panties and spray them with the perfume. I bring them up to my nose and inhale the intoxicating scent of her perfume and her pussy.
With one hand, I hold them to my nose and with the other, I stroke my aching cock.
All I can picture is what she does in this bathroom. She undresses, then showers naked. She proceeds to dry off. Wet hair cascading around her waist. Water droplets dripping down her tits.
After a few strokes, I’m weak in the knees. I bite down on the panties and use that hand to grip the counter. I swipe my tongue on the lace and wrinkle my nose. The chemical taste of perfume is nothing like the sweet scent, and I grab them with the hand that was working my cock.
I wrap them around my length. The rough material adds a prick of pain that only amplifies my pleasure.
I only last three more passes before I’m coming in her sink. The orgasm rips through me. I’m blinded by my release, white dots clouding my vision.
Once I’m able to see again, I notice the cum on her panties.
That won’t do.
