Page 25 of XO Karma

By day she stalks me, gives money to the homeless, and spends time at a local coffee shop. My favorite local coffee shop. I’ve never noticed her there before, but I suppose it’s because I’m typically grabbing my jolt of java as the sun rises.

By night she leaves flaming shit on people’s doorsteps while wearing a girly little Ghostface mask that matches the color of her hair.

Who. Is. This. Woman?

I’ve spent the last week scraping up info, but her digital footprint is—well, scarce. It’s also been tricky balancing our game of mutual stalking, although it certainly adds to the exhilaration of it all.

I’m still unsure of her motives. I’ve got her routine memorized, but finding any relevant information on her is nearly impossible. Like right now, as I look through her room for something, anything, that could give me insight into who she is. Who she really is.

The sun’s nearly setting, and I should have an hour until she’s returned from her Pilates class. Maybe she’ll be hot and sweaty and need a shower.

Fuck. I shove the dirty thoughts to the back of my mind. This is my stalker we’re talking about. Fantasies must stay in the same little lock box with the clown and the demons.

I rummage around her dresser drawers and come up empty. There’re a few bookcases along the wall with far more true crime novels than I’d have expected. She has three entire shelves dedicated purely to Goosebumps novels, and I find that adorable. My curiosity is piqued at a well-worn copy of Criminology for Dummies. Is she one of those girls who has a limerence for lawbreakers? Is that what this is?

In the desk, there are tons of sticky notes with random addresses and four-digit numbers, but I’m clueless what those refer to. The laptop is password protected so unless I cut off an appendage of hers for the fingerprint ID, there’s no getting it unlocked. When I open her bedside table, a grin splits across my face. There’re a few different vibrators, a strap-on, a riding crop, handcuffs, blindfolds… the list goes on. Damn, my girl likes things freaky.

Near her bed, my knees hit the carpet, and I glance under. There are a few boxes, and I pull one out with a small lock on it.

If the sex toys were free range, what could you have in here, little stalker?

After retrieving the lock kit, I spend a minute picking it until a glorious click fills the quiet air. I open the lid, lips parting in surprise.

Knives. Wigs. Mace. A few different kinds of masks. Rope. Metal Handcuffs. The kind that look especially hard to get out of. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was half a kill kit. But I’ve looked hundreds of killers in the eyes, and when I looked into hers, I didn’t see it.

The darkness. The anguish that so many of us feel.

All I saw was blue skies, summer, and warmth.

Maybe this is another part of her kink?

Great, and now I’m hard.

A slamming door echoes through the house, and my heart freezes in my chest. Shit. With the stealth of a ninja, I return the lid to the box, relock it, and slide it under the bed. Frantically, I glance around for an exit, finding none besides one that would surely lead me to her. Or worse, Detective Dickwad. Then I’d be arrested or murdered, or both.

Footsteps thump up the stairs. My gaze pauses on the closet, and I rush over, squeeze myself in it, and slide the door closed. A thin slit gives me a view towards her bed, and I’m hoping it’s small enough she won’t notice my hiding place.

A minute later the door to her room closes, and soft footsteps pad across the floor while she hums to herself. Please, please do not let her need anything in here. Lily belts an a cappella rendition of the 90s hit “Kiss Me,” and a smile breaks across my face. Each time she passes, I get a glimpse of her with one fewer article of clothing, but it’s not enough. I want more. A laugh. A smile. I want it all.

I’m so screwed.

Hopefully she will need a shower and I can slip out. Or watch.

She skips by again, and only a sports bra and panties remain. Sexy. Satin. Panties.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t be watching her. All those jokes about her being a stalker, and I’m in the closet getting a hard-on while she strips before her shower. Yet I can’t look away. I have to look away. Damn it. After an excruciatingly difficult pep talk to remind myself that I can, in fact, do hard things, my eyes flutter shut, and I take a quiet, calming breath.

Buzzzzzz. Buzzzzzz.

My eyes pop open. She’s not…

Squinting my eyes, I peek through the small gap. She is!

My jaw drops at the sight of a fully naked Lily spread open on her bed, pussy bare, as she swipes a vibrator between her legs.

Every single drop of blood in my body rushes south. There’s hardly enough left in my brain to prevent me from doing something ludicrous, like revealing I’m here and begging her to fuck me.