I knew what her schedule was today and had memorized that, as well.
She did charity work at one of the local food banks, serving breakfast to those in need for two hours.
After that, she ate lunch at a little café she liked. She always ordered the same thing.
A vanilla cappuccino and a ham and cheese croissant.
And then after that, she wandered over to the garden across the street.
Although the flowers would be good and dead this time of year, she still liked to walk the cobblestone path that weaved its way in and out of the landscaping.
And I knew all of this because I’d had Nikolai get all the information for me as soon as I realized where Gio had sent her.
We’d had someone watching her, documenting her schedule so that when I got out, I would know exactly where to find her.
And there she was, close enough I could see her face clearly. My cock gave an appreciative jerk in my pants, digging, abrading the zipper. The fucker reminded me that for the last two years I’d been needing to get inside of her in the worst kind of way.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I was rock-hard to the point my cock throbbed.
And her outfit was what my wet dreams were made of. I’d pictured her in this little religious schoolgirl outfit as I jerked off more times than I’d ever admit out loud.
Her black Mary Jane shoes. Those white knee-high socks. That pleated, plaid skirt that fell to the top of said socks and just barely showed a sliver of tanned skin.
And then there was the fucking top. Her blazer had the emblem of the convent. And the white, button-down shirt was stretched tight across her tits. I knew it wasn’t supposed to be as arousing as it was, and to anyone not obsessed, to anyone fucking normal, it probably would have been a mundane outfit.
But when it was on her—for me—that modest attire was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen anyone wear.
She hadn’t noticed me as she took a right and headed down the sidewalk toward the food bank. I kept a respectful distance away, not sure why I was trying to keep myself hidden.
What I wanted to do was tangle my hand in her long locks, jerk her head back, and latch my mouth to her throat. I wanted to lick and suck at her, leaving my mark so everyone knew who she belonged to.
I wanted to press my body to hers so she felt how hard she made me.
A groan nearly ripped from me so loudly it would have given me away. It would have shown her where I was, that I was stalking her gorgeous ass.
Speaking of ass… Claudia had the perfect one. All plump and round. Built like a fucking apple. And I fucking loved apples.
When she got to the food bank, she stopped, gathered her hair into a high ponytail, and secured it with an elastic band.
My fingers twitched to gather those strands and twist them around my hand, keeping her close as I whispered all the obscene things I had planned for her.
I walked toward the alleyway between two buildings, leaned my shoulder against it, and settled in to watch her through the large window in the front until she left. And then I’d follow her again.
My only plans today were to stalk her and to come up with a way that I didn’t scare the fucking hell out of her when I demanded everything from her.
But it didn’t matter how much I thought about it or how I spun it. I wasn’t a gentle man. Never had been. I took what I wanted, dominated the situation, and that wouldn’t be any different when I made Claudia mine.
Chapter 28
Claudia
Since leaving Sisters of the Immaculate Heart this morning, I’d felt… weird. There had been this tightening on the back of my neck and this tingling on my arms. It felt as if someone had been watching me all morning, and I couldn’t shake the feeling.
No amount of looking around, seeing if I noticed anyone’s gaze on me, had gotten rid of the sensation. And every time I checked, I always came back with nothing.
But the paranoia was real, and it was something I’d never felt before. It unnerved me.
For the last six months since being at the convent, I’d done what Gio said. I kept my head down, worked on my religious studies, and followed the rules. I acted as if I enjoyed being there when that was the furthest thing from the truth.
I was modest and polite and knew when to keep my mouth shut and listen.
Although it went against every part of me—the part that rebelled at being told what to do—I still obeyed.
I knew this stubbornness in me was a lasting effect from my traumatic experience and abuse from the shit my father had put me through.