Vicious Little Darling (Love So Cruel #3)

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

JAXTON

T he look on Ember’s face has my dick rock solid. She was so fucking scared of me. I love that, and I already know I’m going to come so hard when I finally have her body beneath mine. I rub my hands together as I near her apartment, hanging in the shadows as I wait. I got the code for the door the other night. Now, I just have to make sure that jumpy, nosy old lady isn’t going to fuck it up for me.

Or I could scale the building to her window. My gaze scans the brick wall as I imagine clambering up to the second story window. It would be a task, one that could lead to me breaking an appendage if I slipped, but it would avert a run-in with the nosy, cooky lady. I weigh my options and then opt against anything athletic. I also don’t need a camera catching me climbing the wall. That’s an automatic foul.

Anyway, I don’t have an excuse for trying to enter her apartment through the window.

With that, I head for the front entrance, punch in the code and slip through the doors. I stay on high alert as I take the stairs to the second floor, eyeing every nook and cranny for signs of movement. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. The apartment building is small, and that always leads to complications in my experience. People know who belongs inside and who doesn’t.

I’m able to figure out which door is Ember’s by directionally aligning myself with what I saw from outside, as I walk down the hall. There aren't that many doors to choose from, anyway, and I stop at the second door on the left. It’s not a coded lock, which makes it an easier entrance for me. I shove my hand into my pocket, and grab my lock-pick, trying the easiest method first.

Luckily for me it works.

I don’t linger in the hallway, and quickly slide into the darkness of the currently uninhabited space. The hardwood floors creak beneath my weight, and I make note of that. I check the time, and then close the door behind me, sliding the deadbolt home. It wasn’t locked before and might serve to trip her up when she gets home, but it’s a warning I could need.

After my eyes adjust to the dim light, I frown. This place is an absolute shithole. There’s barely any furniture, the TV might have a thirty-inch screen, and while the place is clean, there’s only so far clean can help an apartment.

“Raise your standards, Ember,” I mutter, shaking my head. I don’t have the mask on anymore and I keep it in my pocket as I step into the tiny kitchen. A drip-drop of the faucet hits my ears like nails on a chalkboard, and I grimace, reaching out to the old stainless-steel sink and trying to put it to an end.

But nothing fixes it.

Grinding my teeth, I make a mental note that the next time I visit her, I’ll fix that. I grab a cup from her cabinet and set it under the unsteady stream, at least silencing the problem for now. My cock strains uncomfortably against my pants as I head toward the bedroom and bathroom. The doors to both rooms are wide open and the scent of her—a musky, feminine scent—reaches into my lungs and fuels my body with desire.

I peer into the bathroom, and am once again disgruntled by the state of the place. The shitty one-person shower has cracked white tiles and, while it might be clean also, the years of wear and tear have caught up with it. The sink has her makeup bag open on it, and is lined with other products. I know they’re cheap, from the generic drug store brands.

I’ll fix that for you, Ember. It’s not something I usually do for my victims, but that’s only because most of the time, they’re already breaking the bank to have those things. This woman doesn’t seem to care, and I find that intriguing. She’s not my type. Nitpicky, controlling women seem to be who I go for.

I close the bathroom door, focusing my attention on the treasure trove of her room. It’s much less bare than the rest of the house. It has a queen-sized bed with a wrought iron headboard, a rustic white dresser, two matching night stands, a bookshelf, and a black writing desk, which is shoved in the corner.

It looks as if she literally took as much shit as she could and crammed it into this tiny room. It shows where she must spend most of her time, and I have to turn my six-foot-four body awkwardly to maneuver around all of it. I begin the process slowly, taking my time as I pour over her things, opening drawers and searching for tidbits of information about who she really is.

Unlike my more recent, boring women, I find myself wanting to know this woman better. I’ll be her secret keeper; the one that she doesn’t have to hide her dark desires from—if she has them.

No, I reason with myself , everyone has them . I know it’s the truth. I don’t care what people think about themselves. They all have the capability to be dark and dirty. Some people just have that part of them so locked up they can’t reach it. Or they are afraid to. And apparently, Ember doesn’t like to have many personal possessions… even in the privacy of her own damned room.

I slam the second nightstand drawer shut, after coming across nothing more telling than tissues and an empty notebook. I drop to my knees, and look beneath her bed. Immediately, I spot a broken picture frame. I drag out the five-by-seven photo. The glass is cracked across an image of Ember and an older version of herself.

“Mommy issues?” I ask aloud, taking in the perfectly styled blonde hair and make-up of the older woman. She looks like the kind of woman I’d target. Looking at Ember, covered in tattoos with edgy hair and a crude band T-shirt, it’s pretty clear that she’s not like her mother. “Black sheep then,” I affirm, tracing my finger along the cracked pane. I stare at Ember a little longer, suddenly uncharmed by the pristine look of the other woman.

Funny, how taste can change so quickly. Maybe this was what I was missing all along. Maybe I was meant for the misfits. I run my tongue along my lower lip and set the frame on the nightstand before reaching back under the bed. My hand lands on a small box, and I drag it across the shitty hardwood floor, a grin peeling my lips upward.

Aha. I flip the lid open, revealing a mixture of photos and knick-knacks. I start sifting through the contents, immediately turned off by the pictures of Josh and her—and seeing how far back they go. I set every single one with him to the side. In fact, any picture with her and a man gets set aside. No person with a dick is going to be in this woman’s memory box.

Once I make it through the pictures, I start sifting through the things, which mostly consist of concert tickets, bookmarks, jewelry, and other odds and ends that I can’t make sense of. I don’t like that.

I have to get close to her somehow for her to explain these things. I pick up a locket necklace, tilting my head as I stare at the silver heart. I pocket that one, and then return the other items to the box—minus the pictures of Ember and men, of course. Those go straight to the trash beside the desk. I hope she fucking finds them, too.

As I get to my feet, I hear the deadbolt turn in the lock, and I go still, my heart picking up with excitement. This is exactly what I live for. I race across the room, pulling open the top dresser drawer and grab a pair of her lacey red underwear. Then, I slip silently into the closet.

“Oh my God,” Ember groans as her footsteps carry across the apartment. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to wear, Megan.”

Shit. Did she bring a friend home? I listen, realizing that she must be on the phone. I settle back into the depth of the clothing, reaching into my pocket and grabbing the mask—just in case.

“I don’t usually go clubbing. You know that, I know that. Everyone knows that. Yet, somehow, that ’ s where I’m supposed to meet Dylan? How could he possibly be my type if that is where he wants to go.”

I take a deep breath, anger rolling through my body. Why the fuck is she going out tonight? It’s a weeknight. She has to work tomorrow. She should be at home, stripping down and touching herself for me. I flick my jeans open, sliding the pair of panties along my solid shaft. The silky material nearly makes me groan, and even if it’s been washed, it’s still touched her pussy more times than I have.

But that will change.

“I’m just going to wear the black dress,” Ember’s voice draws me back as I stroke my cock. “That should be good enough.”

I pause at that, realizing that I am standing right there in the fucking closet. I glance around in the darkness, trying to figure out where I could sink into the shadows. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The door is cracked, too, so the chances of her hearing me rummage around is highly likely.

“I don’t know. I’m going to shower first. I’ll text you.” Her voice edges with irritation that happens to mirror my own. Shifting slightly, I catch sight of her tossing the phone onto her bed. “ Ugh. ” Her shoulders drop. Her body is angled away from me. I stroke myself faster as she drops her jeans.

Come on, baby. Take it all off for me. I drink in the sight of her bare ass in a black thong, the material shoved between her cheeks like I’d like my cock to be. Then, she strips off her T-shirt, and I nearly come right then at the sight of her glowing olive skin.

Biting down to keep from groaning, I feel my orgasm coming as she slides off her underwear, bending over and giving me a full fucking view of her little pussy. It’s not glistening with my cum like it should be, but it doesn’t stop me from filling my hand with my climax. It’s a full fucking load of juice, and I cover the red fabric in my pants with it. Then, I wipe the remainder on the clothes behind me.

I’m going to be all over this fucking apartment before she ever even gets the privilege of my cock deep inside of her.

And I have never been more excited.