Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 109096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I open the app I use to track her phone, scrolling through her messages. Robin, Robin, Robin. Someone from the plant nursery. And Raphael. Over and over again, his name pops up. Fucking Raphael!
I snarl at the screen as I start reading through their messages.
I had a great time last night :)
Me too. I want to see you again soon, Dove.
You can. Are you going to kiss me like that again?
I feel like I'm about to fucking explode. That slimy fucking bastard kissed her. He put his lips on my woman, my property, my little bird. And now he has to die.
A snarl rips itself from my lips as I inspect more of their texts. There are so many. They've been texting all day today. She even told him about Sam.
I toss the phone to my shitty motel bed. I can't accept this. She trusts him. She spends time with him. He's her friend, and he'll soon turn into something more if I don't intervene. But I have another ace up my sleeve – I know about Raphael and Elise. And I'm more than fucking willing to expose their sordid affair. I'll do any-fucking-thing to get my little bird back in my arms... even if it means breaking her sweet little heart.
***
I parked my bike a couple of streets over, and now I'm standing in the shadows on the street where Raphael lives. My teeth are gritted together as I wait. I know she'll come. I'd bet anything that the girl showed up here every single night since Raphael started seeing Dove.
And as if on cue, the ridiculous bubblegum pink car pulls up, and Elise exits. Her dog is stuffed into another one of those ridiculous overpriced purses, and she rings the doorbell incessantly. I watch her argue with him over the intercom until she finally smiles and he comes downstairs to deal with her.
Fuck.
He didn't invite her up. Why didn't he invite her up? Doesn't he want her anymore? Despite her many shortcomings, Elise is fucking hot. There can only be one reason as to why Raphael doesn't want her in his apartment.
He's starting to like Dove more than this designer Barbie doll.
My nails dig into the palms of my hands as I watch Elise burst into tears on Raphael’s doorstep. He's telling her off, explaining she can't stay, and ordering her to go back home. As his whiny mistress cries, the stupid dog starts yapping again. My head hurts. I can't fucking stay here.
I wait until Elise leaves with her shoulders slumped before getting on my bike again. I follow her, knowing full well who she's going to see next. And I'm right. She pulls up in front of a terracotta apartment building downtown. Robin, Dove's brother, opens the door for her, concerned when he sees the traces of tears ruining her perfectly painted face. She dismisses his worries, waving her hand as if it's nothing. Little fucking liar.
So, Elise is a fucking mess, but what else is new? Now I just need to wait until the perfect moment to hurt all four players involved in this sick little game. The perfect moment to drive a wedge between Dove and Raphael and make sure they don't end up together.
Another short bike ride later and I'm back in front of Dove's house. The lights are off, except the one she keeps on in her bedroom. The desire to go back inside her house is fucking overwhelming. I want to be close to her. I want to watch her sleep, to caress her cheek, to inhale her scent. I want another pair of her panties.
I fist my hands in my pockets, making sure the street is empty. I shouldn't, but I have to be near her. I need to see what she's doing, what her life has been like today. I can't bear the thought of waiting for her outside all night. I need her.
I use the spare key hidden beneath a flowerpot. I saw her use it when I stole her bag. I let myself in, allowing the forbidden shivers to go down my spine as I enter her private space. Quickly, I check if everything is in place on the ground floor. I snatch another pair of panties – dark red, lace – from her hamper, holding them to my nose and filling myself with her sweet scent. But that's not enough, not this time, so I lick them, taste her sugar on my tongue. She tastes so fucking good. Even sweeter than I remember.
I stash the panties in my pocket and head upstairs. The door to her bedroom has been left ajar, and I'm worried as fuck she's going to wake up, since she's such a light sleeper. But I brought reinforcements this time because I want to stay longer tonight. I want to play with my toy, and nothing is going to fucking stop me.