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I loved that costume on her. She thought she looked dorky in it, and maybe she did a little bit, but considering I’d called her bug about two point five seconds after meeting her back in college, I thought it suited her.
When we first met? How the hell was that almost two decades ago? I wondered to myself. I pulled my phone out and called her.
It rang once, twice, and by the fourth time, I started to worry.
That wasn’t like my bug to ignore my calls. Not that I called that often. Not since the last time I went to visit her. It’d been freaking impossible to leave, and desperate times called for desperate measures. I was almost there, almost able to offer her everything and anything she could ever want, and I couldn’t mess it up. But putting space between us had almost killed me.
I placed the frame down, and my fingers brushed the satiny material of the garment I’d stolen from her place on my last trip. It was so fucking sweet and silky, a temptation staring up at me from my desk. I stared at it as my hands itched to grab it, all while wondering why the hell I didn’t have it in my pants pockets at all times. I picked it up and brought it up to my nose.
This is what my stupid plan had resorted me to. Sniffing stolen panties.
My free hand pushed my sweats down, and my cock sprung out almost angrily.
“Fuck.” I growled as I moved and sat down at a desk I’d set up in the guest room.
I placed the material on my lap and then rested my fisted hands on top of the soft fabric. I tried to breathe in deeply, but no matter how profoundly I inhaled, it wasn’t enough. Her unique scent was something I constantly craved.
Not even because I was surrounded by Kait’s things.
Shit I had stolen and snuck out of her house throughout the years. Hell, I sprayed the fucking room with her perfume. As calmly as I could, I started up the computer and covered the mouse with my giant paw. The icon for the video cameras I’d placed in her house mocked me.
When I had noticed our head coach start to go a little crazy over his woman, I had no right to pass judgment. I’d been crazy over my ladybug. Obsessed. I had been stalking her in plain sight for way too long. But the last year? The last year had tipped me to my breaking point, driving me to do things I would have frowned at anyone else even thinking of.
I clicked on the icon and watched as the screen filled with window after window. Five, to be exact. Five cameras I’d set up around her place when she asked me to stop by and water her plants when she went to a teachers training out of town. Five spots in her home where I would be able to see her, keep an eye on her.
And sure enough, my girl, a creature of habit, was on the couch in her living room. My mouth watered at the getup she was wearing. My bug had a side of her I had accidentally discovered. How the hell had we been friends for eighteen years, and I’d not been privy to it before the cameras were put in place fucking shocked me.
But the cameras had given her away.
My girl loved to dress in lingerie when she was home alone. Which was a lot. Cute, satiny, frilly, lacy things that made me ready to bust my wad. Her lingerie collection had grown since that new lingerie store, Tootsies, opened up off Main Street.
I picked up the phone and called again, but this time, I watched her. She looked at the phone and blatantly ignored it. Why? Is she mad at me? I tried to remember the last time we talked, but it had been a moment. Never mind that I watched her every moment I could. When I called again, she rolled her eyes and picked up.
“Hello.”
“Hey, bug, you okay?” I asked. She made a face. A face I couldn’t read. Another first. What the hell?
“I’m fine. How are you?” she asked. I frowned. I didn’t like the edge to her voice. There was a formalness I didn’t like.
“Good…” Say something, idiot! Something more than good!
“That’s… good,” she whispered. I watched her set her book down.
“How’s work?” I asked.
“It’s… work.” She smiled and then pressed her lips together. “You?”
My free hand unclenched on the desk, slid down to touch the material of the panties, and stroked it between my fingers.
“It’s good. Players are doing good. Ready for the new season.”
“Have you decided on the new QB?” she asked. Of course, she would. She knew all there was to know about football.
“Our rookie looks okay,” I shared. “The one I am more worried about replacing is our wide receiver.”
“Hmm. Hemingway Castro was a good player. I’m glad he was drafted the way he was.”
“Me too,” I muttered. “Any plans this weekend?” I asked and watched as she opened and shut her mouth.
