3. Nix

three

nix

I looked over my shoulder the moment I stepped into her apartment. There was no one in the hall. No one had even been around when I'd walked into the property. It was a testament of how fucking early it was, not to mention unsafe.

I shut and locked the door behind me and stood still. Silently taking in her space. My eyes closed slowly as my lungs took in a deep breath and I soaked in her scent. It was all over her apartment. It kicked the thing inside of me, the wild, feral one, into overdrive instead of sating it like I thought it would.

After talking to her and watching her apartment for the first couple of days, I'd thought about how easy I'd be to get into her space. Break in , a voice of reason corrected, and my jaw clenched.

Break in, indeed. I'd done just that.

Broke into her space while I knew she was safe at work and would be gone for a couple of hours. My eyes opened and my lips kicked upward.

I liked her place.

It was small and old, but she had definitely made the most of the space. She'd made it her own.

My eyes fell on a white satin bow on the small kitchen table she kept in the corner. I walked over and carefully, like I was handling priceless crystal instead of a barrette, picked it up. The soft pretty bow made me smile. She liked to wear these. It was rare when she didn't have a bow in her hair, and I fucking liked it.

No, I loved it.

I wanted to be the one to undo it at the end of the day and watch her long dark tresses cascade down her back before running my hands through it.

My fingers skimmed the material and frowned.

I was jealous of a fucking hair accessory.

It's touched her. Been with her all day. Just like I wanted to be.

I shook the crazy thought away and set it back exactly where I'd found it. If I was honest, I was tempted to take it like some sort of keepsake, but I resisted. Jesus, I sounded like one of the crazies I looked for. I've turned into stalker. One who knew what he was doing was wrong, crossing one boundary after another and not giving a shit because he couldn't stop.

Wouldn't stop.

I turned and looked at her kitchen. Noted the mismatched plates and cups on display on the open shelves above her stove. The kitchen was cute. Tidy with feminine touches. Soft and welcoming. Like my kitten. The possessive thought made my body harden. It was bad enough I'd been at half-mast; now I had a raging hard-on I had to ignore.

I moved through her living room. Looked through the books on her shelf. Vivi seemed to be a romantic. Shelf after shelf was filled with romance novels with half-naked men on the covers. I frowned, hating where my head went. I wanted to be the only man she looked at half-naked.

I hardly recognized myself.

I felt out of control.

You are out of control, the somewhat sane part of me whispered. But even that voice, that little bit of me that knew I was doing wrong, was getting quieter and quieter. Quickly being taken over by something darker inside of me. Something possessive and unevolved.

I had no idea how the hell my life had been flipped upside down with one look, but it had.

I was doing crazy things like following her to work and breaking into her place with hands that ached to touch her things only because they were hers, because she'd touched them.

Before I knew it, I was inside her bedroom, just a little past the threshold of her door. The scent of her perfume was stronger in here. Sweeter. Like juicy melon and honey. My eyes skated to her bed, and I wanted to get in it more than anything.

But I wouldn't .

I couldn't.

I knew what would happen if I did something like that.

Instead, I moved my attention to the vanity dresser on the side of her room. I touched the cool wood, noting, despite how much she worked, it was clean. A small frame sat on top, and I picked it up. It was of her with two other women. One about her age, while the other was older. From everything I had been able to dig up on my kitten, I assumed this was her best friend and her mother. She'd helped raise my girl. In the picture, Vivi looked younger, maybe eighteen, but even then, she had been beautiful. My thumb stroked her face as something inside of me pulled and tugged.

She was still too young for me.

I knew better.

Relationships and love, I wasn't good at those things.

Yet… Yet I knew.

I knew in my DNA, looking at her smiling face, I wasn't going to give her up. I was too far gone for her. A slip of a woman I had never spoken to. Despite that, she knew me better than anyone out there.

And I knew her, too.

I set the frame back down, and my attention moved to the tabletop of the vanity.

There were a lot of things.

All organized in one way or another.

Tidy without it being overdone.

Perfumes, lotions, makeup, some jewelry. My hands were greedy to touch things she might have felt. I picked up one thing after another, bringing it up to my nose to smell. There wasn't a thing I missed. I even brought her deodorant up to my nose. I was unhinged.

When there wasn't a single thing I hadn't touched, including a small pair of itty-bitty diamond earrings, the tips of my fingers tapped the top of her dresser. A dresser filled to the brim with her things.

Her clothes.

Her panties.

My nose flared trying to pick up on every note of her scent, trying to decipher through the perfume and lotions to get a hint of what she'd smell like.

Her skin.

Her pussy.

Her arousal.

My mouth watered, and my body felt like it grew ten degrees warmer. The curiosity of what she was hiding in those drawers overwhelmed me. She was so girly when she went out into the world. Feminine and soft.

With her pretty bows and hint of natural makeup, with her long hair brushed out neatly, always bouncing behind her. Do it. Open it, a voice chimed, and I couldn't stop myself. I pulled the wooden drawer open, and my eyes widened as my hands clenched the front of the drawer.

"Fuck," I huffed under my breath. Unlike her neat room and made bed, the drawer was a mess.

And I fucking loved it.

I wasn't just falling hard and fast. I was there.

Everything, every little detail about her made me yearn for her in a way I'd never thought possible. I'd thought I'd seen too much for my heart to ever want someone for longer than a night.

Just like I had with her perfumes and makeup, I went through her drawer, pair after pair, bringing each one up to my nose, angry I couldn't make out her scent through the fabric detergent she used.

I was a fucking animal.

I didn't recognize the reflection of myself in the mirror by the time I was done touching and sniffing every piece of fabric.

I was no better than the men I arrested on a daily basis.

The only difference was, I was determined not to get caught.

And I should have known better.

No matter how good the crazies are, they always get caught.