Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Suddenly, Chloe wobbles on the stool. For a split second, I forget myself entirely. I’m halfway to my feet, ready to burst through the window and catch her before she falls. But she steadies herself, letting out a soft laugh that I can hear through the glass.
I sink back down, shaking. That was close. Too close. What if I had given myself away? What if she had seen me?
But another part of me, that dark, hungry part, whispers: What if she had fallen? What if you had saved her?
The fantasy unfolds in my mind. Chloe, falling. Me, crashing through the window in a shower of glass. Catching her in my arms, feeling her warm body against mine. Her looking up at me with those amber eyes, full of gratitude and awe.
And then, as if in slow motion, she’d lean in closer. I’d feel my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat. Her lips would brush against mine, soft and sweet, tasting faintly of strawberry lip balm. The kiss would deepen, and I’d lose myself in the moment, forgetting about anything else but Chloe.
All I’d think about is Chloe. Only her. Always.
I shake my head, dispelling the image. It’s a dangerous line of thinking. Not to mention bat shit crazy. I can’t afford to get lost in such fantasies. I need to stay focused, stay hidden.
The detector chirps again. Taunting her.
She struggles to open up the detector but is unable to do so. She pounds on it with her fist and is rewarded with another chirp.
“Fuck this,” she says as she disappears into the other room. She returns a moment later with a broom. “Take this, you dirty bastard.”
I literally feel a part of my soul die a slow death as I watch Chloe raise the broom, preparing to strike the smoke detector.
No, no, no! God no. That’s not safe. She could damage it, leave herself unprotected. She could burn alive in her sleep. She could—just no. You don’t do this. The scenarios play out in my mind, each more horrifying than the last.
The urge to intervene is overwhelming.
Chloe swings the broom, connecting with the smoke detector. It comes loose from the ceiling with a crack, dangling by its wires. She lets out a triumphant “Ha!” that I can hear even through the ringing of my ears. The girl is going to cause me to stroke out.
The smoke detector swings like a broken pendulum, its incessant chirping now silenced. She looks pleased with herself, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.
Bad, bad girl!
I want to burst through that window and explain the dangers, lecture her on fire safety, spank her naughty and perfect ass, and then beg her to let me fix it properly.
She yawns, stretching her arms above her head. The movement causes her shirt to ride up again, exposing a tantalizing strip of skin. I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the broken smoke detector.
I need to fix this. I need to keep her safe.
An idea forms in my mind. It’s risky, but I can’t bear the thought of leaving her unprotected. I’ll come back tomorrow, in my firefighter uniform.
I’ll knock on her neighbor’s door, flash my most charming smile. I’ll be Nice Jack, Gentleman Jack, Fireman Jack.
And then I’ll be inside her house. In her space. Surrounded by her scent, her belongings, her life.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine, that copper-penny taste flooding my mouth once more.
I watch as she turns off her computer and pads back to her bed. She slides under the covers, reaching for her book once more. The bedside lamp casts a warm glow over her features, softening them. She looks angelic, peaceful. Completely unaware of the fact that hives are practically forming on my skin.
She broke the firefighter code. Never. Disable. An. Alarm.
Thinking of punishing her again for her naughty acts has my cock twitching in my pants. I force those thoughts away, disgusted with myself. I’m here to protect her, not . . . not have an inconvenient boner.
I watch as Chloe’s eyelids grow heavy. She marks her place in the book and sets it on the nightstand, then clicks off the lamp. The room plunges into darkness. I need to go now. I’m no longer looking into a lit room where I can see her, but she can’t see me. If she looks out her window, there is a chance she’ll see me once her eyes adjust to the darkness.
But I still wait. It’s as if I’m cemented in place.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest, counting her breaths, waiting for them to slow and deepen. One, two, three . . . By twenty, I’m certain she’s asleep. Only then do I allow myself to move, my joints stiff from standing for so long in the cold.