Let’s hope for her sake, that seed is good and planted.
I reach for my phone, then snatch my hand back and twist my bottom lip with my fingers.
This street is dark. That’s good for me, but it’s shit for her. What the hell is she thinking walking around at night in this neighborhood? Can’t she feel all those eyes on her? The predators, the criminals, the psychos?
I have a lot to teach my little Charlotte. So much more than just how to control her emotions.
Have to teach her to heel, and bend, and take every inch of my cock without gagging.
My semi becomes a raging hard-on, and I shift in my seat. I could have ignored it, forced it to go away, but then a shadow falls over the window and resolves a moment later into Charlotte’s silhouette.
Fuck.
She’s no longer wearing her bulky clothes. In fact…I don’t think she’s wearing anything at all.
Temptation washes over me, too hard, too fast to push back.
I can’t do this here. This street is dark, but is it dark enough? If someone walked past my car and looked into my window, would they see me with my cock in my hand?
Groaning, I unzip my pants and haul out my dick before it snaps in two. Charlotte stands by the window, and it takes me a second staring up at her through slitted eyes before I figure out what she’s doing.
Smoking something. A cigarette? No—I didn’t smell tobacco smoke when I was up there yesterday. A joint?
Bad girl, Charlotte, standing there naked smoking weed. Don’t you know the entire street can see you? Or is it that you don’t care? She’s on some strong anti-depressants. If she already took her nightly dose then she could be on the no-fucks-given spectrum of things already.
I stroke my cock, imagining she’s kneeling in front of me, mouth open, ready to swallow my cum. Ready to swallow my dick.
I climax before she’s done with her joint. And by the time I’ve cleaned up, she’s already stepped away from the window.
But her light stays on.
I need air. To clear my head. I can’t stay out here all night, but it’s as if I’m glued to the spot. A quick walk up and down the street should clear out the cobwebs.
I make sure not to slam the car door. Then, shoving my hands in my pockets to ward off the brisk wind, I head for the end of the street.
A man is standing a few yards away. A street pole had blocked him from my view. I doubt he could’ve seen anything through the windshield, but as I draw near I hunch my shoulders and give him a sidelong glance, just to make sure.
It pays to be careful.
The man notices my look and gives me an amiable nod. There’s a dark light in his eyes that I don’t like one bit, but I straighten and head away from him.
“Every Saturday night,” the man says.
I stop walking. Did I hear him right? When I turn back, he’s staring up at Charlotte’s window.
My stomach twists. Acid shoots up my throat, and for a wild second, I’m convinced I’ll puke.
But I breathe instead. Fight past the physical response to a psychological reaction.
Charlotte? My Charlotte?
I look up. Her light is off. The man pushes away from the wall he’d been leaning against and gives me another smile. Like we’re brothers, him and I. Sick, perverted kin lurking out here in the dark, spying on an innocent girl.
My girl.
“The fuck you say?” I growl at him.
He shrugs, laughs. Pulls a box of cigarettes from his pockets and even dares to offer me one. “Relax. Why do you think I’m here? Never could resist jailbait.”
My entire body tenses. He takes back the box of cigarettes, lights himself one. “Nearly got me thrown behind bars.” He waggles a finger in the direction of Charlotte’s window. “And she knows it. They all know it. With their short skirts, and their slutty makeup.”
It’s dark on this street, but even so, I should never have done what I did.
It’s a culmination of so many things. The man’s filthy mouth. The fact that he dared look at my Charlotte. That he called her a slut. Jailbait.
So many goddamn things.
I walk back to my car, the man’s phone a dead weight in my pocket. I don’t know why I took it, except it probably makes sense that I did. Thinking is too difficult right now—all I can smell is blood.
When I climb into my car, I sit for a second and let that smell suffuse the pocket of air inside the cab. Then I roll down a window and let the crisp wind chase it out.
I look up at my girl’s dark window.
There’s another reason I did what I did. And it’s because of you, my girl.
I have your file, Charlotte. I know what happened to you. No names, or dates—I’m not privy to that level of detail for security reasons, but that doesn’t matter.
I know you.
I know what happened to you.
How it changed you.
Why you’re in my class in the first place.
And I’m happy to inform you, Charlotte Ash, that before we part ways, you’ll be back to your old self, with one important distinction.
You’ll be mine.
Chapter Six
Charlotte
I wake up with a pounding heart. For a second, I think I’m still trapped in my nightmarish dream. Someone holding me down, the click-click-click of a camera nearby.
But the sound isn’t coming from my dream. It’s coming from my living room. And when I sit up in a rush on my bed, I can see a pale glow under my bedroom door.
Someone’s in my house.
There’s a scream bottled up in my throat, held captive by a sudden restrictive terror that refuses to let me go.
Click. Click.
No.
Please God.
It’s him.
It’s the man who locked me in his special room. The one who stole my freedom for seven days.
Not just my freedom—my sanity.
I choke out a sob before I can stop myself, and then clap
