She wasn’t mine, she wasn’t anyone’s. But she looked like she was.
Clinging to him like she’d been bought and wrapped and gifted just for his pleasure.
And that…
That was enough.
I didn’t need her name. Didn’t care who she was to him — a girlfriend, a fucktoy, a date, a prize.
All I saw was the way she smiled. How she touched his shoulder. How she whispered in his ear. The way her dress rode up when she laughed, crossing her legs like she didn’t notice her thighs were exposed.
She didn’t know what she was doing.
But I did.
And it made me hard.
Not lust. Not even desire.
This was hunger. Rot. That black curl of heat that sank its claws into my spine the second I saw her laughing for someone else.
She had no idea what I was. But she would.
I followed them. Watched from the corner
