Page 3 of His to Watch
And privacy. And no security cameras, unlike most other areas of the museum.
She nods jerkily and steps sideways, clearly intending to lead the way but reluctant to turn her back on me. Smart girl. She should be wary. I'm barely holding myself together, barely restraining the primal part of me that wants to bend her over right here on the cold stone floor.
I imagine spreading those soft thighs, watching her pussy stretch around my thickness. How tight she'd be—I know she hasn't been with anyone. I've made it my business to know everything about her. How she'd gasp and cry when I push into her virgin hole, how I'd whisper "Daddy's got you" as I fill her completely. How her belly would look swollen with my seed, and later, with my baby growing inside her.
God, I want to breed her so badly my hands shake with it.
"After you," I manage to say, gesturing down the hall.
She hesitates, then turns and walks ahead of me, her perfect ass swaying slightly in that tight pencil skirt. I clench my fists to keep from grabbing those hips and grinding against her from behind. Eight months of watching, waiting, wanting. Now she's here, alone with me, with nowhere to run.
I follow a few steps behind, letting her lead while I devour her with my eyes. Every curve, every movement, every nervous glance she throws over her shoulder. My cock is so hard it's painful, straining against my zipper with each step.
The museum stretches dark and silent around us, witnesses of ancient civilizations looking on from their cases. Kings, warriors, gods watching from their pedestals. None of them matter. Tonight, this museum is just a cage for the two of us—predator and prey—though she doesn't fully understand that yet.
But she will. By morning, she'll know exactly what I want from her. What I've always wanted.
She'll know she belongs to me now.
Mylittle girl.
three
. . .
Tatianna
I've never heardJerald's voice before tonight. Eight months of silence, and now his words reverberate through me like thunder—deep, dangerous, and oddly thrilling.Little girl.The way he said it, rough and possessive, should make me indignant. I have a PhD candidacy and a professional position at this museum. I'm not anyone's "little girl." But the words settle into my bones like they belong there, and the heat spreading across my cheeks has nothing to do with anger. What's wrong with me? I quicken my pace down the dark corridor, keenly aware of his massive presence behind me, following like a shadow given weight and mass and…hunger.
"Maybe there's a window we could—" I start, but my voice cracks embarrassingly. I clear my throat and try again. "A window we could signal through? If anyone passes by?"
"Three-inch bulletproof glass and steel security bars," Jerald rumbles behind me. "Museum houses over four hundred million dollars in artifacts. You're not getting out through a window."
The way he says it—you're not getting out—sends a shiver down my spine that's equal parts fear and something else I don't want to examine too closely.
"Right. Of course." I wrap my arms around myself as we pass through the Egyptian wing, sarcophagi looming in the dim red glow. "I didn't think."
"You cold?"
The question surprises me. I glance back at him, barely able to make out his features in the crimson-tinged darkness. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes…God, his eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
"A little," I admit, though it's not entirely the temperature making me shiver.
He doesn't offer me his jacket or any other gallant gesture. Just nods once, eyes never leaving my face. "Break room has blankets in the emergency kit."
We check the administrative offices first, but the phones are dead. No dial tone, no cell service in this fortress of stone and steel. Each door we try is another disappointment, each darkened corridor another reminder that we're completely cut off.
The silence becomes unbearable as we move through the Renaissance gallery. I've never been good at small talk, but the weight of his stare on my back makes me desperate to fill the void.
"The security system is modeled after the Louvre's post-1911 upgrades," I blurt, my academic brain defaulting to facts when social skills fail me. "After the Mona Lisa was stolen, they completely overhauled their?—"
"I know," he interrupts, his voice like gravel. "I helped design this one."
I stop mid-step and turn to face him. "You did?"
In the dim red light, I catch the slight upward curve of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close. "Military before this. Security systems specialist."
"Oh." I blink rapidly, recalibrating everything I thought I knew about the silent giant who's been haunting my peripheral vision for months. "I didn't…I mean, that's impressive."
