Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(42)

The buzzing continues in the bathroom, so I acquaint myself with her bedroom while I wait.

There’s a tall dresser against one wall, and I sift through the drawers slowly, pausing when I get to her underwear.

I tell myself not to. That I don’t collect anymore.

And yet, when my palm closes around silk and lace, I can’t resist; I quickly stuff every pair of panties she has into my coat pocket and push the drawer back into place.

Euphoria tears through me, a comet blazing its path to destruction, and when it implodes I know I’ll be left with the usual disgust.

Right now, though, I can’t bring myself to care.

Turning, I survey the rest of the room; a multicolored floor lamp sits in one corner of the room beside a pink bucket chair. Like the rest of the furniture in the cabin, the bed is some kind of ugly pine material, and there are purple satin sheets stretched over the mattress.

A leopard print throw lays at the foot, and on top of that is a laptop with a snakeskin sleeve on the lid. Scoffing at the irony, I perch on the edge of the bed and pull it onto my lap, opening the top slowly, while listening for footsteps.

With my heart in my throat, I push the power button in the corner. The computer flickers to life, and my pulse increases its frequency, excitement drumming through me.

The lock screen pops up, and I frown. Racking my brain for every bit of information I’ve collected on Riley over the last three years, I try to think of what she might use as a password, but none of the words work.

Tapping my finger on the keyboard, I start to type something else, but then I hear it again.

“Aiden…”

My spine stiffens, my gaze shooting up to the door. The bathroom light is still on, no footsteps discernible, but I know I heard it that time.

Shoving the laptop away, I stalk back to the door. I can’t stop myself from turning the knob and pushing it slightly ajar.

I know her exact routine and have cataloged her every action. I know that when she takes her baths, she puts on a giant pair of noise-canceling headphones and slathers on some kind of green face mask.

I know she spends exactly twenty-three minutes in the tub.

And I know that when she gets out, she lathers up in that peppermint lotion that haunts my fucking dreams to this day.

I can taste it on her skin, still. Remember exactly how breathless she was, how flushed her face got when she told me about it.

Still, part of me expects her to notice when I walk in.

For her self-preservation to win out, and self-awareness to kick in, alerting her to the fact that she’s being preyed upon.

I almost want her to. Want her to see the monster she’s created before he inevitably destroys her.

But she doesn’t notice, headphones securely in place, and suddenly I’m staring at the most beautiful liar I’ve ever seen.

Her pale skin, slick with water and an undeniable sheen of sweat, glistens in the vanity lighting, and she lays with her head hooked over the lip of the bathtub, pink hair shimmering over the side.

Perky breasts with sweet, peachy nipples rise and fall with each ragged breath she draws, dispersing the water’s surface. I watch as it ebbs back and forth, the moon pulling and pushing at the tide, enamored by the way it seems to move for her.

Disappointment sizzles in my chest when I realize her blue eyes are pinched shut, but then my gaze slides between parted, propped up knees, and the air escapes my lungs.

My legs quake as her hands move, guiding the bulbous head of a vibrator back and forth over her clit.

Blood rushes south, and my palm comes down, pressing against the fly of my jeans. My tongue feels heavy and dry, her tiny moans making me dizzy.

As my own breathing starts to struggle, hers picks up. Her chest heaves, caving in and then pushing back out, and my lips tingle with the desire coursing through me.

It’d be so fucking easy to march over and draw the taut peaks of her tits between my lips. To draw out her pleasure, test her tolerance for pain by sinking my teeth into the puckered flesh.

Gripping the counter with as much force as possible, I keep myself in place, unwilling to reveal my presence before I know what I want to do with her.

My father wants me to expose her. Bring her back to the land of the living and prove myself to those who doubted me.

Technically, I want that too.

But I also think I deserve a little fun along the way, all things considered.

So, I remain still, cock leaking on my thigh as I watch Riley bring herself to orgasm; I can’t see all of her face from this vantage point, but I see her forehead wrinkle as she gurgles in delight, arching her back against the tub tile.

Goddamn. I’m feverish, bearing witness to divinity.

My jaw clenches so tight that stars dance around the edges of my vision.

The toy must be new, because I’ve never heard the sounds coming from her throat before. Not behind a closed door, anyway.

A fleeting thought flashes through my mind, and I wonder if the guy with her on the boardwalk gifted it to her.

If he’s used it on her.

Fury scorches a path across my chest, crimson splashing behind my eyes every time I blink. As she comes off her high, Riley disables the vibrator and goes limp in the tub, running a hand through her hair.

I’m stuck in place when she finally stands, reaching for a towel hanging on the wall, back facing me.

My throat constricts as she rises, droplets of water dripping over the curve of her perfect ass.