Chapter Text
If nothing made him believe in God, he definitely believed that he was gifted with a strong sense of smell and sight. The parted curtains from your French windows in your bedroom gave him a clear sight to his sore eyes of your back, naked back. He closed his eyes and slightly threw his head back in the air as if almost being able to sniff the scent of vanilla with a tint of sweet lavender from you, the only time he could smell you properly was when you had introduced him as his new neighbor.
He sat on his armchair, laid back as his beguiling hazel eyes thirsted after the picturesque beauty in front of him, where you were completely oblivious of the predator that stalked its prey. You turned to your side, making Hannibal take a sharp breath in, to the chest exposed in front of him. You brushed down your fingers over your perked-up nipples, down to your little plaided skirt, that he hated. He hated when you wore it and went to meet other people, giving them a chance to ogle you and have their dirty minds set after your luscious body.
His hand gazed around his thigh, trying to control the excitement that flowed through his vein. His lips parted and his breath stiffened at the sight of your succulent breast. His imagination set no bounds when came to you and what he'd do to you. One of his hands palmed over his clothed dick, imagining to bit and licking down your neck to the breast, sucking on your nipples as he'd elicit moans from you.
You wore a white satin tank top, leaving your back and neckline exposed. He looked at it hungrily, as he'd devour it when he'd have you under him, naked, withering, and whimpering. He'd graze the skin between his teeth, to mark you shamelessly. Your back would be arched against him, tightly gripped, both panting and sweating, as he rutted you from behind. Your small frame would look so fucking good when he'd have you pined up against the wall or anywhere in the house.
Unable to restrain himself any further both mentally and physically, he pulled down his pants and took out his dick, wrapped his dexterous fingers around, in his mind substituting it with your small ones. He watched you as you got dressed, with dark eyes, glazing with lust ogling with dirty thoughts set after you, the irony hanging on air. Everything was done, except for the nude stocking you wore, with a garter in the end. He rubbed his glans, pressing it between his forefinger and thumb, as pre-cum oozed out of it, his breath hitched and cursed under his breath, fuck.
Quickening his pace, he'd imagine you on top of him, at this moment, in this outfit spread out for him. He was so deprived of you, that his vision blurred with lust, as he almost imagined you riding him, bucking his hips against you, coating your inside fully. His thoughts conflicted with lust, anger, and jealousy. People who get to see you in this outfit are lucky and if you have a boyfriend, he needs to hunt him down to be Chesapeake Ripper's new victim.
He had delved too much into his pool of thoughts, having no sense of awareness that you had left your room. On opening his eyes to the empty room of yours, a wave of loneliness washed over him, he longed for you, too badly. Did he ever regret watching over you? No.
Suddenly a knock on the door brought him back to reality, it was Alana. He was with Alana. They lived together, slept together. But did that thought, really churned him to a pool of guilt of what he did a few minutes ago? No, he'd rather do it again, again with you, this time.
He would do it soon, tonight probably. He'd stop by your house, your room. Then do it, probably again, but after he'd never let you go, never once let you go, even if for that he had to tie his little neighbor up.