Page 27 of Hellebore

Terrible Lie by Nine Inch Nails.

The beat is raw and angry, perfect. She moves to it, hips swaying, long black hair brushing the small of her back. Every step, every bend, every subtle shift of her body sends another pulse of heat straight to my groin.

My mind drifts back to last night. She felt so good beneath my fingers, so soft, warm and wet. The memory alone makes my cock twitch violently in my hand.

I pull myself free. The cool air of the car contrasts sharply with the burning heat of my skin. The silver piercings along my shaft glint as I wrap my fist around the thick length and stroke once, slow. Precum beads at the head, slicking my palm as I rub over the sensitive metal. The friction pulls a low groan from my throat.

I zoom in closer on the screen, eyes devouring every inch of her.

Those full breasts move with every breath, nipples faintly visible through the thin lace. The butterfly tattoo on her hip shifts as she changes weight. My hand tightens around my cock, stroking faster now. The wet sound of skin on skin fills the confined space of the car.

“Briar…” I groan, low and broken, hips bucking up into my fist. “Look at you. My perfect girl, all changed but still so perfect.”

I imagine pinning her down, spreading her thighs, burying my face between them until she wakes moaning my name. I imagine the way her cunt would clench around my fingers again, the soft sounds she made even in her drugged sleep.

My strokes turn rougher, almost punishing. The piercings drag against my palm with every upward thrust. Precum drips down my shaft, making everything slick and obscene.

“She is mine.” I growl through gritted teeth, eyes locked on the screen as she bends again, ass presented like an offering in the lamplight. “That tattoo. That body. That fucking smile she gave that prick. All mine.”

The pressure builds fast, coiling tight at the base of my spine. I stroke harder, faster, thumb pressing over the head on every pass, smearing the slickness.

A broken sound tears from my throat as I come, thick, hot ropes spilling over my fist and onto the steering wheel. I keep stroking through it, milking every last pulse, hips jerking, breath ragged in the quiet car.

When it finally ebbs, I sit there panting, cum cooling on my skin, eyes still glued to her.

She has no idea what she does to me.

She has no idea how close I am to breaking every rule I set for myself.

I wipe my hand on a black cloth from the glove compartment, tuck myself away, and stare at the screen one last time.

Soon, my love.

Soon I will not have to watch you through a screen.

Soon, I'll have you where you belong, and there will be nothing and no one left between us.

I place the last camera.

The entire bakery now rests under my surveillance. The small space feels almost intimate in the quiet dark.

She works in the back, surrounded by trays of fresh muffins and half-decorated cakes. I pick up the black notebook lying on her station. Her name is written on the cover in her neat, careful handwriting. Inside are delicate sketches of cake pops, towering birthday tiers, and elegant wedding designs, filled with meticulous notes about colors, textures, and sugar flowers.

She was always good with her hands. That is why she wanted to be a doctor, a surgeon. Steady fingers. Precise. Apparently those same hands now create beauty out of sugar and buttercream.

Briar is a perfectionist. Whatever she sets her mind to, she does not stop until it is flawless. That is why her leaving college without finishing feels so wrong. So out of character.

I close the notebook and set it back exactly where I found it. Outside the window, night has fully claimed the alley. No rain now, only thick fog that swallows the streetlights until they glow faint and distant.

Time to leave⁠—

A soft thud echoes from the front of the shop.

I move instantly, silent and fast, slipping behind one of the large counters and dropping into a crouch. I pull my mask up and tug the hoodie lower, hiding every inch of my face. My breathing slows until it is almost nothing. The beast inside me stirs, alert and hungry, pressing against my ribs.

A shadow enters the bakery, dressed entirely in black.

Is he robbing the place?