I sit at my computer and pour over everything I can find on my soulmate. She and Tim live in a house not far from here. They own it, no mortgage, and I’m stumped by how they afford it. He works as a landscaper, and while he makes decent money, he’s undoubtedly not raking it in. Buying a house in cash at twenty-four doesn’t come from a six-month-old landscaping business.
Seraphina doesn’t work, which is bizarre given the disparity between the house and Tim’s income. She also doesn’t go to school or have social media. However, she has a bachelor’s degree from a state school out west in theology.
Tim has a degree from the same school, but he’s not working as the engineer he trained to be, and rather than advancing his degree, he’s currently enrolled in a bachelor’s program at the local state school, business management. And he has social media. It doesn’t take me long to figure out there’s more to this situation than Seraphina realizes.
On Tim’s Instagram, nothing is damning, but there are no pictures or mentions of his wife. When I click the profile of one of his frequent commenters, however, I see multiple images of him hanging on scantily clad women. None of these pictures prove anything since he’s not kissing or groping, but they speak volumes. I can’t imagine Seraphina out with her arm slung around other men. At that thought, I decide against showing her these pictures. There are plenty of ways to get rid of Tim without causing her more pain.
“Well, well, I wonder if his dick works for them.”
I save the pictures to a file and continue looking through the information. There’s a virtual tour on the real estate website from when they bought their house, and I can see the layout. The primary bedroom walks out to the backyard and overlooks the inground pool. A row of neat hedges lines the sliding doors on either side. It would be an excellent spot to watch her if they haven’t changed the landscaping much.
I close my computer and head out, satisfied I have enough to get close to her. I tell Tasha to cancel my one appointment in the afternoon as I walk past, not allowing her to respond or question my decision. She gapes at me, but I hop into the elevator with an easy smile on my face—I’m going to see Seraphina. Tasha will probably leave as soon as she’s sure I’m gone. The truth is, I don’t care that much.
My steps eat up the tile as I head toward the parking lot and my car, a dark blue Mercedes sedan, safe, nondescript. I didn’t buy it to stalk women, but I can’t deny how well it works for that purpose. I’ve never needed to follow my prey before. This wolf has always been invited in.
I click the fob, the beep letting me know I’m one step closer to where I need to be. I climb inside and settle into my seat. The push-start hums to life, and I pull out of the lot. The incessant beeping won’t stop until I buckle my seatbelt. I curse, you win this time, and snap the belt into place.
It hasn’t been long since I’ve seen my little Angel, yet I’m itching to be close to her. My skin is practically turning inside out with the need to connect with hers. I know I can’t do that tonight, but there’s no reason I can’t watch her, and catch a glimpse of what she’s hiding beneath those boring clothes.
I’m not used to this tiny decaying city, and each time I pass through it, I take it in with interest. I grew up in a different sort of place. How does this depressed little slice of life look to Seraphina? Is it big or small compared to her home? Does she like it here? I find it hard to imagine she does, but I may be letting my own misgivings color my worldview.
I drive into their neighborhood, quickly finding the house, a big blue colonial with white shutters and a red door. The first time I pass, I don’t even slow, quickly taking in the blue truck in the driveway. Two lights illuminate rooms on opposing sides of the house. The rest is dark.
On my next pass, I slow and turn on my left-hand blinker. The empty street seems lucky, but people looking out of their windows could still see me. Appearing lost is a lot better than the truth, and I observe their home while pretending to read the numbers on the left.
The light in the primary bedroom and the den are both on. I park a few blocks over on a quiet street with other cars—my black jacket clings, the panels and stitching nondescript. I don’t cover my face. Skillfully hiding it is much more effective than a mask that immediately draws attention. I prefer no one to realize what I intend to do.
Thankful for the lack of streetlamps and the dim moonlight, I cross the lawn and stick tightly to the house. I’m almost sure I’m going to trip a motion detector, but no lights came on as I leisurely cross the backyard. This wouldn’t be a bad place to raise our children. Seraphina will decide once she sees her options; with my trust fund, she has many of them.
I peek into the den window, checking if either is inside. Tim sits on a couch, his head in his hands. His phone lies beside him, open to a text exchange. A bottle of beer rests haphazardly on the arm of the couch, begging to be knocked over. Guilt pours off him, and I wish I could see what the fuck those texts say.
I use his distraction to move past the window, not even bothering to be quick about it. Instead, I think about Tim and Seraphina as I slip through their backyard. What has their married life been like? Do they use this patio furniture, and does he touch that silky soft skin of hers? He’s married to her, so he must have kissed her at least once.
Filled with murderous rage, I’m thankful for the cool night air that seeps the worst heat out of me. I’m holding the last straw of my emotional control when I come to the sliding glass doors of the primary bedroom. They’re uncovered, letting light pour out. Why shut the curtains when your bedroom faces the backyard?
Unable to see her at first, my heart races at the movement in the fluffy nest of blankets. I’m not just excited by the thrill of being caught or the wrongness of my actions. Even with the glass and her marriage between us, her nearness exhilarates me. My stomach is full of butterflies, and I can honestly say I’ve never felt like this. Seraphina lays on the bed, her golden-silk hair fanned out, and she’s crying.
My cock is hard in an instant, the urge to go in there almost wholly overwhelming me, but I don’t. I plan to marry this woman, and that kind of thing can’t be rushed. Because she’s crying for a reason, and her pain stirs something tender and violent in me, I’m torn between comforting her and murdering him.
I’ll kill him if I have to, but not tonight and not before I’ve exhausted my options. He’ll be easy enough to manipulate, an asshole and a macho man who always thinks he’s better than others, if not for his looks, then his good standing with God. I’m handsome too, but I never felt godly or pure. Tim’s ego will work against him. As will his obvious and desperate need for male approval.
Seraphina rolls over in bed, drawing her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her panties peek out from beneath her oversized nightshirt, revealing the incredible curve of her ass. I get so close to the glass my breath fogs it. Each cheek is full and round, soft. Long legs splayed over the bed make me desperate to see what lies between them, but I still can’t see her tits. I hold in a frustrated noise at being denied her nipples. Despite my baser nature, I don’t spend too much time looking. I’m so fucking hard as it is I don’t need to make the situation worse.
Seraphina is so tiny in that position my urge to protect her overwhelms me. It’s as strong as my need to bury myself inside her tight, untouched cunt. I watch as her breathing evens out, and she falls into a deep sleep. I continue staring at her until I’m sure she’s dead to the world. Even as I stare at her, I can’t explain how I know she’s mine, but the thought alone rings true in every cell of my body. Maybe she isn’t intended for me, perhaps I’m crazy, but that doesn’t fucking matter, and it never will because I won’t let her go.
It takes all my effort to pull my gaze away from her, but ogling is not the only reason I came here tonight. Returning to the den, I find Tim asleep on the couch beside his phone. Perfect.
I quickly decide to enter through their bedroom door rather than the front. A single decorative rock sits beside the sliding glass. They may as well have engraved it with “spare key,” and a flash of fury fills me. How can she be so flippant about her own safety? I haven’t seen any cameras either, but I’m hopeful they have one on the front door. The pane moves easily beneath my hands, and I worry the chill will wake Seraphina. I close it quickly, but my Angel doesn’t seem to notice the drop in temperature.
God, she is breathtaking.
Exercising restraint like never before, I stand stock-still, needing to be near her but knowing I can’t. I hardly trust myself not to spread those pretty thighs and take her. I have never considered such barbaric behavior before. Even when I’ve played with my patients’ emotions for my amusement, I’ve never felt the urge to take from them physically. But Seraphina makes me crazy.
Walking toward her on silent feet, I sit carefully on the edge of the bed. I wait until her breaths are deep and steady before my fingers twine in the lengths of her hair. It’s just as silken as I remember, and a charge runs up the base of my spine. I want to touch her more thoroughly, but I don’t know how deep of a sleeper she is yet.
I’ll know that and everything else because Seraphina will love me so much she will need me to breathe, and I’ll love her the same way. I’m not entirely crazy; I’m well aware that lust is what I currently feel for her, but I’m also confident that I’m headed for a short, hard fall.
Her pretty lips part, and a single word escapes her, “Please,”
I have no clue what she’s dreaming about, what she’s begging for, but because I’m selfish, possessive, and covetous, I pretend I know what she wants. I lean forward, kissing her so fucking sweetly. It’s soft and brief, but she sighs into my mouth, and her tongue darts out just once to taste me. She’s velvety and luscious, and her tongue against mine is an indulgence that makes my cock leak in agonized anticipation. I pull back, practically killing myself in the effort. The gentle kiss will have to be enough for now.
I stand and head to her bathroom, where I find her still-wet towel from her shower and the panties she wore today lying on the floor. When I pick them up, I find the crotch wet. Shoving them against my face, I inhale her scent. Fuck, she smells sweet. Popping the fabric into my back pocket, I continue into the den, where Tim sleeps.
Aware of the unnecessary risk, I go to Tim’s phone, an older iPhone with a fingerprint scanner, and gingerly press his finger to the glass. Sorting through the contents, it doesn’t take me long to find evidence that he receives a lot of nudes and sexts, but nothing so far confirms he’s actively fucking around.
That’s okay. Conversations with these women will clear up any questions I have about Tim. I forward everything vital to myself and then delete the messages. It’s not a high-tech solution, but he’ll never think to check.
Heading to Seraphina’s room, I look at the pictures on the walls. I’m in better control of my anger now and am at no risk of taking it out on Tim tonight. It’s dark, so I can’t make out many details, but I notice a stark lack of family. Some people might consider that odd or sad, but I find it comforting. Our family will be her only family.
I take one last look at her.
“He won’t be making a fool of you for much longer, Angel,” I whisper to her before kissing her ever so gently. Then, I slip out the way I came, wishing more than anything else to stay beside her.
