Page 198 of Trick or Stalk

It takes her a few seconds.

I look up, loving the adorable way her brows draw together and a crease forms in the center of her forehead when she’s concentrating.

Presley: White. Creepy. Kind of skeletal.

I silently chuckle.

Me: Sounds like a fucking psychopath.

She reads the message, looking visibly upset.

She doesn’t like that I called myself a psychopath.

Of course, she also doesn’t know I’m the masked man.

Me: Did he come near the house?

Presley: He headed toward the house. And I’m pretty sure he was on my porch before that.

She’s right. I was on the porch, then stood beneath her bedroom window before walking toward the house.

I couldn’t help it. Her fear excites me.

My cock throbs inside my pants.

It excites me almost as much as the memory of her whimpers and moans in the bookstore.

Me: Did he threaten you?

Presley: No.

Me: Did he try to hurt you?

She pauses a moment before typing.

Presley: No.

She looks at Penny, then begins typing again.

Presley: He just watched me.

Just.

Interesting choice of words, little bookworm.

Me: Are you scared?

Three dots bounce, disappear, then reappear again.

Presley: A little.

My cock twitches.

Fuck.

I shouldn't like that as much as I do.

But we've already established that whatever normal moral boundaries exist inside other people don't work particularly well inside me.