Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Damien

Sweet, naive Francesca. She has no idea what's coming. I watch her saunter away, that sway of her hips that screams both seasoned cop and seductive temptress.

Efficient strides, yet undeniably feminine. My eyes track her to the counter, drinking in the way she flashes that guileless smile at the young barista. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper as I savor these stolen moments when she doesn't know she's being watched. If only she knew.

"Excuse me." Her partner deliberately jostles me, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes before he joins Francesca.

I study their casual interaction, easy banter and camaraderie. The bond of partners, a united front. For now. But every union can be broken, with the right pressure applied to the fault lines. I'll drive the wedge between them, make Francesca question his loyalty, his motives. Until she trusts no one but me. But that's for later. Now, I watch. Catalog every minute detail of my beautiful obsession.

Her smile slips, a crease forming between her brows. She's thinking of me, her phantom killer, the one who haunts her waking thoughts and invades her dreams. If she only knew I'm just a breath away, close enough to inhale her scent and feel the frustration rolling off her.

I slip out onto the sidewalk, dropping into one of the coffee shop's steel chairs. I pull out my phone, mimicking the mindless drones around me. But my eyes aren't on the screen. They're locked on Francesca.

The coffee shop door swings open and she walks out, her partner a step behind. "This is just what I needed," she sighs, the weariness in her voice making her careless. Oblivious to the potential threats around her. To the predator mere inches away, drinking in her presence like a fine wine. So, trusting. So vulnerable.

I palm my straining erection through my slacks and head back inside, my mask firmly in place as I appraise the trio of baristas. The one with the nose ring is too jaded, too cynical. The blonde is too eager, desperation rolling off her in waves. But the perky one with the wild curls is perfect. Bubbly and naive, blind to the darkness of the world. Putty in my skilled hands.

"Hi there," she chirps, her smile wide and genuine. "Back for another fix already?"

I flash my most disarming grin, the one that puts people instantly at ease. "I'm afraid I accidentally bumped into the lovely detective and spilled my coffee."

"Of course," she beams, already reaching for a cup. "Columbiano, black, right?"

"Impressive memory…" I check her nametag, "Wendy. Thank you."

A pretty blush stains her cheeks, and she ducks her head, pleased with herself. "It's my pleasure, really." Her smile reaches her eyes.

"Beauty and brains," I say. "I bet the boys are just lining up to take you out."

She fidgets, suddenly self-conscious. "I wish. They're not exactly beating down my door."

Shy. Unaware of her own allure. I can certainly use that. "And how old are you, Wendy? Twenty? Twenty-one?"

"Twenty-one. Why do you ask?"

"Men your age can be such fools. They chase after the shiny, flashy types." I nod toward the blonde barista, all push-up bra and fake smiles. "When what they really want—what we all want, in the end—is a woman like Detective DeMarco. Stunning, brilliant, tough as nails."

Wendy's eyes widen. "I know, right? She's such a total badass, but still looks amazing, even after a long shift. Who knew lady cops could be so hot?"

"You know her well, then?"

She leans in, eager to share her secrets with a sympathetic ear. "Oh, not well, but she's in here a lot. Like clockwork, every morning at nine on the dot. Sometimes, she comes in with the older guy—her partner, I think. They always get matching Americanos, black. It's kind of their thing."

I don't even have to push. Wendy spills Francesca's secrets willingly, desperate to impress. "Sounds like you've got quite the memory. Ever thought about becoming a detective yourself?"

"Me?" she laughs, flattered by the suggestion. "Thanks, but I don't think I'm cut out for that. I just pay attention, I guess." She preens under the praise, standing a little taller. "You know, you're a real nice guy, mister. I don't meet a lot of guys like you."

"I do my best." I flash another megawatt smile. "And while I'm at it, I think I'll grab one of those ham and Swiss baguettes. Detecting is hungry work, or so I've heard."

As she rings up my order, she can't seem to stop talking, the words just tumbling out. "Detective DeMarco usually skips the weekends, though. I guess she's probably only here this late because of that body they found in the park. You know, the one that's been all over the news?"

I widen my eyes, feigning shock. "A body? In the park?"

Wendy nods, eyes round as saucers. "Yeah, I heard it was just dumped there, right by the fountain. One of our delivery guys said the vic was all cut up, gutted like a damn fish."

I shake my head, clicking my tongue in manufactured sympathy. "How awful. Things like that…they're not supposed to happen. Not in this neighborhood."

"It's terrible, right?" Wendy shudders delicately as I tap my card. "I mean, whoever did that…the guy must have seriously pissed someone off, don't you think? To do something like that?"

"I'm sure you're right." I agree, fighting the urge to laugh at the sheer irony of it all. If she only knew she was face to face with the very monster who delivered the brutal justice Ryder Beaumont so richly deserved. "I appreciate the coffee and the sandwich, Wendy." I slip an extra-large bill into her tip jar—a little something to remember me by. To make an impression.

"Thank you, Mr. Wolfe. Have a great day." She hands me my receipt with a smile, not even a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

I slip out of the coffee shop, an anonymous face in the thinning crowd. It's a short walk, just two blocks to the garage where I left my black Mercedes.

Twenty minutes later I'm entering Detective DeMarco's Hollywood neighborhood. My new Hollywood neighborhood, too. The second the news broke about Gavin Kowalski, Francesca's face flashed across every news channel, and I knew it was time to make my move.

I bought the perfect house. The ideal vantage point to watch my beautiful prey, to savor our intimate moments through the unwitting invitation of her open windows.

The house was on the market for just over a year, abandoned by the children of the elderly owner after her death. The back yard butts up to Francesca's back yard. When I saw this home, I knew I had to have it. Just a block wall between us, the only barrier to everything I crave.

A wall and so many dirty, filthy secrets.

For reasons I'll never understand, Francesca never bothers to close her blinds, not even to sleep. Maybe she enjoys the kiss of the night breeze on her skin. Or maybe, deep down in some dark, hidden corner of her mind, she wants to be seen. Lucky for me, I'm more than happy to oblige. And she doesn't even know I'm here, watching. Wanting.

Her bedroom light flicks on, slicing through the darkness, and she dumps her oversized bag onto the bed. Nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on her coffee-stained blouse, revealing the tantalizing curves of her breasts, barely held by black lace. A bra that's begging to be slowly torn off with my teeth.

In an instant, I'm rock hard, my cock straining almost painfully against my zipper. I palm myself roughly through my slacks, eyes riveted as Francesca shimmies out of her slacks to reveal high-cut black lace panties. "My pet loves lacy things," I purr to her. She turns away, her fine ass on display just for me. "Fuck, yes, baby. Show me everything. Don't be shy now."

The wicked, forbidden thrill of our clandestine little peep show has my cock throbbing, aching with a bone-deep need. My imagination runs wild, spinning out vivid fantasies of our sweat-slicked bodies tangled together in the sheets.

The stubborn little furrow between her brows as she concentrates. I'll smooth that worry from her forever. The thought brings a smile to my lips.

My hand dips into my slacks, wrapping around my throbbing cock. I imagine those bedroom eyes of hers dilating with lust as she submits to me. I'll have her on her knees, my cock sliding down her throat until she's gagging, those big, beautiful eyes watery with tears. But she'll be smiling, a fierce, defiant smile. That spark of spirit will be the first thing I crush.

I pull my cock out, my fist pumping slow and steady strokes as I picture her bent over, hands spreading her asscheeks as I slide my cock into that virgin asshole. I'll sink into her slowly, patiently until she begs me for more and then I'll give her what she wants. The man. The monster. She'll cry out my name, but it won't be from pain.

"You like that, kitten?" I whisper, my fist flying faster as I imagine her sweet, slick heat wrapped around me. "You'll take it all, won't you? Every fucking inch." Her pussy, a plump, wet oasis, beckons to me. I picture sinking into her, her walls clutching at me, begging for more. "That's it, baby. Ride my cock. Take it all."

A tremor rocks my body as I stroke harder, faster. I can't stop thinking about having her all to myself.

Owning her. Mind, body and soul.

"You'll never get enough, will you? Always wanting more. More of me." I growl. "You'll never want another. I'll brand myself into your soul, make you mine forever."

The image of Francesca's lush body splayed out beneath me is too much to bear. "Fuck, Francesca. My perfect, dirty little fuck toy. Can't wait to wreck that filthy cunt."

Pleasure coils hot and tight at the base of my spine. My whole body trembles, practically vibrating out of my skin with the need to taste her, fuck her, make her mine. A groan builds in my throat, and I grit my teeth to keep quiet. Can't have the whole fucking neighborhood hear me claiming what's mine.

"Fuck, Francesca, yes! Gonna fucking ruin you. Ahh, Christ." Even as I shoot my load, I know it's only a taste of what's coming. She'll be screaming my name soon enough. In pleasure. In pain. It's all the same to me.

My back arches and my legs tremble as I paint my fist with thick ropes of come. It feels like it goes on forever. It's the most intense orgasm I've had outside of actually fucking. And it's all because of her. My Francesca. My goddess. My ultimate obsession.

As she turns to head for the bathroom, I'm treated to one last perfect view of that delectable ass, my favorite part of her body.

Suddenly, the distance between us feels unbearable. I need to be in her house, in her bed, inside her, anyway I can take her.

"Sweet dreams, Detective," I rasp to the empty room, my voice raw and ragged. "You and I will be seeing quite a bit of each other. Very, very soon."