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A LOVE LIKE THIS SHOULD BE KEPT IN A JAR
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Zayn —
Istanbul, Turkey.
Istanbul is famous for many things. The minarets that pierce the sky. The Bosphorus, a dark river of glittering lights cutting a continent in two. This city is very old. It has seen kings and wars come and go. It holds countless secrets in its streets.
And I am one of them.
My name is Zayn Yilmaz. I am thirty-two years old. By day, I am a king. My family is rich and powerful. People call me "sir" and step out of my way. My life is meetings, money, and the slow, cold war my family has fought for seventy years against the Demir family.
But my nights belong to me. And to HER.
The house I am in is a shell. Empty. Silent. I bought it just to sit in this one room. It is three blocks from the Demir mansion, a palace they call the "Star Manor." This empty house is my church. And my confession is the sin I commit every night.
I lift the heavy binoculars. My hands are steady. I have done this a thousand times. The lenses find her window, a perfect square of gold in the dark stone wall. My whole body goes still. The city noise fades. My world is now only as big as her room.
She is home. Selena. Selena Demir.
I have a habit when I think of her. I twist the ring on my right hand. It is a thick black ring, a family symbol. When I watch her, I turn it around and around on my finger. The metal is cold. It reminds me who I am. It reminds me she can never be mine... and that I will take her anyway.
Turn. Turn. Turn.
She is moving around her room. She just came back from a party. She is still wearing her dress, a deep green that makes her skin glow. She is laughing at something, a memory from the evening. I can't hear it, but I see her shoulders shake. I see her throw her head back. The sound is only in my mind. I imagine it. I have imagined every part of her life for three years.
She takes off her earrings. She places them carefully in a little box. I know that box. It is mother-of-pearl. I have watched her open it a hundred times.
My finger turns the ring.
Turn. Turn. Turn.
This is my stalking. It is not just watching. It is collecting. I collect her moments. I collect her habits. I know she always touches the locket at her throat when she is nervous. I know she bites the left corner of her lower lip when she reads something sad. I know the exact brand of tea she drinks at night-chamomile with honey. I have a box of it in my other home. Sometimes I make a cup and just smell it, pretending she is there.
She walks to her window now. My breath catches. She looks out, her eyes scanning the gardens below. Does she feel the weight of my stare? Does something, deep in her animal brain, whisper that she is not alone?
Her hand goes to her locket. She is feeling something.
My ring turns faster. The skin underneath is raw. I like the small pain. It keeps me focused.
She turns from the window and begins to undress. This is the part where I should look away. A gentleman would. But I am not a gentleman in this dark room. I am something else. I am a shadow with binoculars.
The green dress falls. She stands in her underwear, unaware that seven hundred and twenty meters away, a man is memorizing the curve of her spine, the slope of her shoulder. I don't just look. I study. I note a new, tiny freckle on her right calf. A mosquito bite on her ankle. I add them to the map of her that I keep in my head. A perfect, stolen map.
She walks to her dresser and pulls out a soft, worn t-shirt. For a second, I think she will put it on. But she doesn't. She just holds it for a moment, then puts it back in the drawer.
My breath goes very quiet.
She reaches behind her back. Her hands unhook her bra. She lets it fall from her arms onto the chair. She is turned just enough. My eyes don't blink. I don't want to miss a single second of this private ritual.
Then, she hooks her thumbs into the sides of her white panties. In one smooth motion, she slides them down her legs. She steps out of them, kicking them lightly aside with her foot.
Completely naked. She never likes to wear anything to sleep. She has told her friends this, laughing about it. I know. I have listened. She says it makes her feel free.
Too innocent. Too trusting. She believes the high walls and the locked gate keep her safe. She believes the night is private. She has no idea that her safety is a lie I help create.
She simply walks to her bed and pulls back the blanket. 25 mins. I know the exact time. She will be asleep in twenty-five minutes.
The drink she had with her friends tonight. The last one, the cocktail. It was special. My man behind the bar made it for her. He knows her order. He is very good. He slipped the powder in when her friend was looking the other way. The powder is tasteless. It dissolves completely. It is not to hurt her. Never to hurt her.
It is to give her a good, deep, healthy sleep. That is what I tell myself.
Sometimes, it is her nanny. A kind, older woman who loves Selena like her own. She has a grandson who needs a very expensive surgery. I paid for it. Now, she puts the powder in the warm milk Selena drinks on every nights.
But Selena didn't drink milk tonight. She had alcohol. So I had to make another plan. It is my responsibility. To ensure her rest. To ensure she sleeps so deeply, so soundly, that not even a bad dream can touch her.
The ring on my finger turns slowly. Turn. Turn. Turn.
She is so peaceful. So perfectly still. The blanket rises and falls with her gentle breathing. She is mine in these hours. More mine than anyone else's. Her father, her friends... they see the version she shows them. But I see this. The real Selena.
And soon, I won't need the binoculars to watch over her sleep. Soon, I will be close enough to hear that breathing.
The twenty-five minutes are up.
I stop turning my ring and let it sit on my finger. Then, I pull the black hood of my sweatshirt up over my hair and leave the apartment. The night air is cool. I walk the three blocks like I own the street, because in a way, I do. It's more is more familiar to me now than the hallways of my own home.
The Demir mansion stood ahead. It was huge and white, glowing under the moon. A palace. Kadir Demir, Selena's father, was the richest man in Istanbul. My family were the second richest.
Kadir thought his money made him safe. He thought his walls were high. He thought his guards were loyal.
He was wrong.....
His security is not weak. But I am smarter. And I have more money right now to pay people.
I walk to the back of the big property. Two guards stand by a small gate in the wall. They see me but don't move to stop me. They do not raise an alarm. They look straight ahead, as if I'm invisible.
Why? Because they do not work for Selena's father. They work for me. I pay them a mountain of money every month. To them, I am the boss. When I come, they look the other way. Money can buy anything. Even the loyalty of your enemy's guards.
One guard give me a tiny nod. The path is clear.
I put a hand on the top of the wall and pull myself over, landing softly in a flower bed. The smell of roses is strong. It's ignored by me.
Above, attached to the side of the house, is a security camera. Its little red light is off. Broken. It's been broken for two weeks. Not bad luck. An arranged "accident."
A small, old door waits. A servants' door from long ago, almost hidden by thick vines. The stairs inside lead up. Up to the second floor. To her hallway. To her door.
The key-a perfect copy-slides into the lock without a sound. A gentle turn. A soft, final click. The door gives way.
And then, I'm inside.
The room is pitch dark. Only a little moonlight comes from the window. I can just see the shape of her on the bed.
I walk closer and kneel down beside her bed. My finger finds the small lamp on her table. I click it on.
A golden light fills the space around her bed.
Oh, my Selena.
She is sleeping so well. So deep. The drug worked perfectly. Her face is turned towards me. Her lips are slightly parted.
She is so beautiful. It hurts to look, but I cannot look away. I see the tiny beauty mark on her right cheek. A small black dot. I have seen it through my binoculars a thousand times. But now it is real. I could touch it.
This is where my dark secret truly begins. Not in the empty apartment. Here. On my knees beside her.
The room has a smell. Vanilla. She loves scented candles. She lit one before. The scent is still here.
This is my worship time.
My eyes travel down her neck, to her shoulders. The blanket covers the rest. It is in my way.
Gently, so gently, I take the edge of the blanket. I pull it down, just to her waist. Her bare skin is revealed. Her breasts rise and fall with her sleeping breath. I watch them. I cannot look away.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
It's like a hypnotic dance just for me. My eyes are stuck there. On the soft curves. The hunter's heat. I feel my own breathing get harder. Just watching... It's a sweet torture. It's never enough. I need more.
My rule is a good rule. It keeps me in control. One nipple. One per night. It makes the worship last.
Tonight..... tonight is for this one. The right one.
I bend my head lower. My shadow falls across her. I close my eyes and let my tongue out. I touch it to the very top of her nipple.
The taste is..... Her. A shiver runs through me. My jaw feels tight. I don't just lick. I lick it. I let my lips close around it. Gently. So gently. I suck. Just a little. I feel it getting hard in my mouth. My own body is screaming.
Then I use my teeth. Just a little. A soft chew. A gentlest pressure. To mark her without leaving a mark. To claim her in a way only I will ever know.
She makes a sound. A sleepy murmur from the back of her throat. Her head moves on the pillow. But she doesn't wake. The drug is strong.
This is mine. This moment. This taste. This secret.
I pull my mouth away. My lips are wet. I look down. Her nipple is dark and wet too from my mouth. It looks.... Loved. It looks like mine.
My whole body is buzzing, shaking with what I have done. I know I'm a sinner. But that's the fun. What do I get from being a gentleman? Nothing. There is no heaven for a man like me.
The blanket is still covering her from the waist down.
No more.
My hand closes on the soft cotton. I pull. It slides down her legs, over her feet. I throw it behind me. It lands on the floor without a sound.
The blanket kept her warm long enough. It is not needed now.
I am here. I will be her warmth.
My eyes go where they always want to go. Between her legs. My mouth feels dry. Her pussy must be throbbing for my tongue. It must be calling for me. In her deepest sleep, her body must know her owner is here.
I climb onto the bed, over her. The mattress sinks under my weight. She does not stir. I take her knees in my hand and spread her legs apart. I open her to the light. To my eyes.
Oh.
She has shaved today. Smooth and perfect. She didn't know she was doing it for me. But she was.
I look. Always look before I lick. I like to watch. To see the colour. She's pink. A wet glistening pink. Like a flower that has just opened. The pretty folds are soft. I can see the faintest shimmer of her want.
My mind wanders. I think about when this pussy will be ready to take my cock. That will be when she's awake. When she sees it's me.
I don't lean down to her. That is not how this works. I pull her to me. Bringing her close to my face, I put her legs over my shoulders. Her body is so light in my hands.
In this position, only her head rests on the pillow. The rest of her body is in the air, held by me. She has no idea of the intimacy she's giving me.
I lean in the last inch. And I LICK.
A long lick from the bottom to the top. I taste her. Salt and sweetness and sleep. Her own unique flavour. She's so hot inside. My tongue pushes a little, tasting the heat. I'll not waste a single drop. This is my nectar. This is my holy wine. The room is silent except for the soft and wet sound I make.
This is my dark prayer. This is my twisted worship.
My hands squeeze the soft flesh of her ass, holding her firmly to my mouth. I speed up. My tongue is not just tasting now. It's thrusting. Searching. Claiming every hidden part of her. I'm lost in her.
Her legs begin to tremble over my shoulders.
Shit.
The AC. I switch it off every night. But tonight I forgot. The room is cold and she's feeling it. Her body is reacting.
And then... Her eyes open.