30. Behind Closed Doors

CHAPTER 30

Behind Closed Doors

WREN

Skipping school isn’t my usual style. Routine brings power—every step in the halls, every glance I draw is a reminder that this is my domain. But today, the ordinary holds no appeal. Today is for something bigger, something that demands my undivided focus.

Restlessness simmers beneath my skin, a coil wound too tight since the first moment she crossed my path. She’s in my blood, in my veins, and every second that passes without action increases my need.

I pace the length of my room, back and forth, checking my watch as seconds tick toward the delivery time. I’ve already cleared a space, and soon, it will be filled with new equipment. This preparation gives me a sense of control, a purpose. But the truck is late, and until it arrives, all I have is time to kill.

When the rumble of tires against gravel finally breaks the quiet, I head downstairs to meet the delivery man. He barely gets a word out before I cut him off, signing quickly and ignoring the instructions he’s rattling off. My eyes are fixed on the boxes, stacked neatly, containing everything I need to start.

This. This is where it begins.

Cameras. Tripods. Darkroom equipment.

Tools for creating a world where every detail bends to my will.

Inside, I carry each box to my room one by one, feeling the weight of them, the promise they hold. Setting up the darkroom will come later. Today is about preparation, about laying the groundwork for what’s to come.

I sit by the window once everything is inside, anticipation curling tighter in my chest. My thoughts go to her, the way they always seem to do now. The way she looked in the auditorium. The look in her eyes when I slowly dragged up her top. The mix of fear and desire. The way her breasts lifted with every breath. The outline of her nipples through her bra. The way they felt in my palm.

I lick my lips, and take out my cell, scrolling through the photographs. Each one is a trophy. My thumb hovers over the image of the mark on her throat, dark against her skin. It won’t last forever. But that’s fine. I’ll leave others—deeper, more permanent ones.

Another photograph catches my eye. The outline of her nipple, visible through her bra. My hand tightens around the phone, while I imagine how it’ll feel to suck it into my mouth, the sounds she’ll make when I tug and bite it.

She’s mine.

I swipe to the next image, and smile. Her breasts are bare in this one. Nipples hard, slightly tilted upward, dark pink, begging to be bitten.

My dick strains against my zipper, impossible to ignore, and I reach down to pull it free from the confines of my jeans. How will it feel when her hands are the ones stroking me? Her mouth sucking me?

I close my eyes, the images on my phone blending seamlessly with the fantasies playing out in my head.

I’d strip her naked, and put her on her knees. Her legs would be spread so I can see her pussy. My fingers would wrap around her ponytail so I could pull her head back, arching that perfect throat. Her eyes would be wide and dark, a mix of fear and desire. Her lips would part as I pulled her closer. Her tongue would lick the length of my dick when she takes it down her throat. Tears will smudge the mascara around her eyes when I drive myself deeper.

A low groan escapes me and I stroke faster, the tension building with each passing second. While I’m fucking her mouth, I’ll immortalize it in photographs. I’ll frame every second of my dick stretching those lips. And when I’m done, I’ll spread her legs and fuck her pussy.

Tension zips through me, muscles tightening.

Maybe I should pay her a visit. I bet she’d taste sweet after a day of looking for me. She’ll taste of fear. Of need. I imagine the way her skin will flush, the way she’ll moan and cry. Of how pretty she’ll look with my cum marking her inside the way my teeth will mark her outside.

My breathing speeds up, my jaw clenching.

Fuck.

Orgasm hits hard and fast, wetness splashing over my hand, dick jerking against my fingers as I come.

Yeah … maybe I will pay her a visit once the day is over.

My legs are unstable when I stand up and go into the bathroom to clean up.

If that’s what just thinking about her can do, I can’t wait to find out what happens when I actually get her on her knees.

Stepping out of the bathroom, my mind shifts to my plans for the day. There’s still a lot to put into place, and today isn’t just about waiting. I need to set things in motion, ensure her world keeps spinning exactly the way I want it to.

I reach for my phone, and call Monty. He picks up after the second ring.

“I need you and Nico to make her feel me today.”

There’s a pause, then a low laugh. “Subtle or obvious?”

“Subtle. Enough to keep her thinking about me, but not so much that she bolts.”

“Got it.”

I end the call, tossing the phone onto the bed. They’ll do their part, ensuring she feels my presence even when I’m not there. A whisper in the back of her mind, a constant reminder that she can’t escape me.

The rest of the day is spent setting up the equipment, testing connections, adjusting angles. By the time I’m done, the room feels transformed. A command center designed to capture every detail of her existence.

I stand in the center, surveying my work. The cameras are linked, accessible from anywhere. My phone, my laptop. Every device is a window into her world. The idea of how much power I’m going to have over her life makes me almost as hard as the thought of fucking her does.

She has no idea of how closely I’m going to be watching. How every move she makes, every expression she wears, will be mine to study, to dissect, to own.

But control isn’t enough. Watching isn’t enough. I want to touch her, to strip away every layer of resistance until she’s nothing but what I’ve shaped her into. I want her to feel me in every breath she takes, to know that her body, her thoughts, her very existence belongs to me.

I’ll make her surrender, make her give in to the darkness that’s growing between us. I'll teach her to yield completely, to accept that her only purpose is to be mine. When I finally take her, it won’t be just about possession—it will be about making her realize that her resistance was always futile, that she was meant for this, for me.

I stand up, moving away from the window. The morning sun casts a golden glow over the room. There’s still so much to do, so many pieces to put in place. But I’m ready for it.

Patience.

The word steadies me, though the hunger remains. I’ll wait for the right moment. And when it comes, I’ll take everything she has to give … and more.