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Adeline Reilly.
I smile. Well, that used to be my only reason for living. But now… now I’ve discovered a new meaning to life.
ME: I can still taste you, little mouse.
I stepped back for all of two days before I could no longer resist.
I’ve beat my dick like it was an opponent in a boxing match, and I’m so fucking tired of the feel of my own hand.
There are zero expectations for her to reply today. I’m sure she’s still nestled comfortably in that corner of her head where she hates herself and is convinced she’ll never give me the time of day again.
But that corner is a farce, and we both know it. The feel of my gun inside her scared her. But the feel of my tongue on her pussy, and how hard she came will fucking haunt her.
She’ll cry about it for a little while, but soon she’ll fall right back into temptation.
ADDIE: Did you know a stalker killed my great-grandmother?
My brows shoot into my hairline at her text.
Not only was I not expecting one at all, but the fact that she replied with real words and not some empty threat. Hers don’t necessarily hold weight like mine do.
ME: Do you have proof of this?
Based on the few journal entries I read, she and her stalker had a passionate relationship. And he was also tossed up with some bad people according to the entry of him visiting her with unknown injuries. It didn’t seem like he showed signs of aggression or violent obsession. But who really knows?
Addie’s great-grandmother could’ve just been seeing what she wanted to see, and he really did kill her.
Or maybe her husband caught her having an affair and flew into a fit of rage.
Both possibilities are equally likely, just as it’s likely that whatever shit her stalker got mixed up in could’ve bitten him in the ass. And bite they did—right where it would’ve hurt him most.
His obsession.
After I poked through the diary, I became curious and looked deeper into her great-grandmother’s story. The pull of history repeating itself was too intriguing.
The crime scene was trampled over, and the detectives handling the case were complete imbeciles.
ADDIE: Not yet. But I’m going to find it. And I’ll be proven right. All stalkers are just fucking psychotic freaks.
I purse my lips, a smile threatening to take over. I’ll let her stew on her response for a few minutes. Let her think she pissed me off or hurt me. Whatever she’s convinced herself my reaction would be.
She thinks she knows me already, but my little mouse couldn’t be further from the truth.
I stalk her because I’m fucking addicted. I’m fascinated with every move she makes, every word that comes from her pretty pink mouth. And now I’m addicted to her scent, her taste, and the way she sounds when she’s scared for her life—just as much as I’m addicted to the way she sounds when she’s begging for more.
It’s not something I can explain. When I saw her, I fucking nearly fell to my knees with need, and I will have her.
But not because I’m psychotic and delusional. I’m not going to make a goddamn shrine of her and convince myself that we were destined to be together by the gods or whatever weird shit people believe in these days.
I’ll have her because she’s the first thing that made me feel something good in so long, and I’ve become obsessed with keeping it.
I don’t have very many something goods in my life, and I don’t care if it makes me selfish for wanting to hold on to it.
The only way I’ll be able to truly keep her is if she sees me at my worst.
I would rather just off myself than trick Addie into loving me as a good man, just to break both of our hearts when she realizes I’m not a good man at all.
So, my obsession with her is just… is what it is.
