And here's the usual update for the day ;) LOVE how this wound up landing.


-64-

You know what they say about curiosity. It killed the cat. So what would it do to the dumbass FBI agent falling for his subject, who may or may not be a serial killer?

All I intended to do was check in on Bella and make sure she was okay. I feel like an ass for basically leaving her high and dry, but I'm also glad I had the strength to pull myself away from her. I can't imagine all the fallout that would have come from doing what she and I both wanted...needed…

But there was this extensive list of reasons why we can't go that far.

Watching her now feels different. It's a strange sensation—a mixture of guilt, knowing I shouldn't even have access to this, let alone be taking advantage of it, familiarity, knowing her the way I know her now, and pure, unadulterated desire.

I've never wanted anything as bad as I want Isabella.

I can tell she's restless in her movements. She's fidgeting, changing her position in her bed too frequently, staring at the laptop I'm watching her through without actually doing anything. She has the document pulled up that started all this, so I'm antsy to see if she does another journal entry about me before she goes to bed.

Instead, she casts the laptop aside, and my view changes...drastically.

She's leaning over the side of her bed, rustling around for something. I'm on pins and needles, wondering what that something is, but I'm also fucking distracted because the way she's twisted emphasizes every last one of her curves and pushes her ass out towards me.

I mean, towards the camera…

It's the perfect shot; her round cheeks hugged by the flimsy cotton of her panties, the bottoms peeking out. Her thighs pressed together, and fuck me if I don't also get a glimpse of the outline of her pussy lips.

Blood rushes to my cock so fast it almost makes me dizzy.

Part of me itches to drive to her apartment and do all the things I know we both want to do. Part of me knows I should shut the camera off and go about my business and vow to stop watching her and actually fucking do it this time.

It's a mental battle of epic proportions. A fork in the road. A devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. Tale as old as time.

But when she sits back up in the bed, holding a sort of toy that frankly looks a little intimidating, the choice is stolen from me.