No man had ever driven me to the point of obsession before, where I felt like I’d die without him by my side, let alone filling my greedy little hole.
I groaned as my hand slid down my body and gripped myhardening length. But just as I slid my fist up and down in a teasing temp, my phone went off with a text.
“Son of a fucking bitch.” It was the first of my days off, so it had better not be work. And anyone else better have a damn good reason for interrupting my time with my hand.
Knowing my sexy shower time was over, I quickly finished washing and turned off the water. As I stepped out, I grabbed the towel and quickly dried before I grabbed my phone off the edge of the sink and my breath caught when I saw the message waiting for me.
Nate
Are you free today? I was thinking maybe we could catch a movie and a bite to eat? Maybe that diner you love so much?
Are you asking me out on a date?
Nate:
Absolutely.
Then, yes. Actually, I am off today. But… I have a feeling you already knew that.
I bit my lip as I stared down at the screen. My eyes drifted around the room, brow furrowed. There was no way he could have known I’d just been thinking of him, right?
He’d admitted to stalking me, but I’d never asked how far it went. Maybe I needed to remedy that. But I didn’t think he actually would have gone as far as to break into a police officer’s house and what… Bug it? Set up cameras?
No. I shook my head. It had to be a coincidence. He had just been thinking about me at the same time I’d been thinking about him.
Didn’t stop me from worrying my lip between my teeth.
Nate
If I knew, I wouldn’t have been asking, little bird.
A thrill went through me at the nickname. There was something about it, somethingforbidden. In the back of my mind, there was a whisper of a memory, long forgotten, that stirred when he called me that name. But it didn’t elicit fear like the memories of my nightmares.
I’d love to go out on a date with you, Daddy…
Do you want me to meet you at the diner or the theater?
There wasn’t a response for a few minutes, so I trudged back into the bedroom and debated what to wear. Ultimately, I settled on a black jockstrap, tight dark wash jeans, and a soft dark gray sweater. I stared at my reflection and ran my fingers through my hair to tame it—and my heart, since Nate still hadn’t answered my last text.
I sighed, wondering what I’d done, or said, that had upset him and made him not answer me. My shoulders slumped as I made my way to the kitchen. But as I opened the fridge to find something for breakfast, my heart, or stomach, wasn’t interested in eating anymore.
How do I always manage to fuck things up so royally?
Leaning against the open fridge, I let out a frustrated groan and backed away, slamming the door closed. It wasn’t fair that I’d finally found a great guy, and I didn’t even know what happened, but in the span of a few texts, he ghosted me.
Men fucking sucked. And not in a good way.
I made my way back to the bathroom, yanked open the medicine cabinet, and grabbed my meds, since I had been so wrapped up in Nate earlier that I forgot about themand my head was still feeling all funny. I’d already felt the dark edges of anxiety creeping up on me from not taking my meds on time, letting me know I was in for a hell of a day.
And logically, I knew that was where my anxiety over Nate was coming from. But fuck logic.
Swallowing the two tablets dry, I looked at myself in the foggy mirror and bit back a sharp laugh at the funhouse-like image that stared back at me.
The fucked up, warped image reflected perfectly what I felt on the inside. It was no wonder Nate had realized he could do better than my needy ass and ditched me. I was pathetic. Saved me the embarrassment of ever having to tell him about my past.
My cheeks heated at the thought. It was the biggest reason I didn’t date. Letting a man see my scars and having to answer the inevitable questions was just too much. I couldn’t handle it. Didn’t want to handle it. So far, I’d lucked out and Nate hadn’t asked.
Probably should have taken that as a sign he hadn’t been serious about me. Men who were serious about relationships tended to want to know why their partners had scars from practically being gutted.
