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As it's not that late, I run a bath with the rose-and peony-scented oil I bought on my trip to Jo Malone yesterday. When it’s ready, I put on Billie Eilish and jump into the bathtub, resting my head against the back and closing my eyes so the stress can drain away from my body.
I stay in there for over an hour until the water turns completely cold and the music stops. I force my weary body out of the tub and make my way into my room with a towel loosely wrapped around me. As I'm about to take it off, the strangest feeling comes over me.
I’m alone, but…
I feel eyes on me.
That’s weird, but I actually do feel like someone is watching me. And it’s not just any old pair of eyes either. It feels like his—Dante’s.
No… it can’t be, and it isn’t. I know I’m being absurd again, but the feeling is so strong I look around the room and feel foolish again because unless he has the ability to turn himself into a ghost, he’s not here.
The last place to look is through the window at the building opposite me, which is far away. Too far to even see the inside of the rooms, and I’m sure the windows are made with that thing covering them so you can’t see inside anyway.
Unless you can.
What if you could with the help of a pair of binoculars?
That’s entirely possible.
I stand there pondering, really contemplating this idea that’s wedged in my mind.
On the off-chance that a person would do that, why would he?
He’s not the kind of guy who would need to do that, and of all the women he could spy on, why would he pick me?
So, I’m imagining this.
But… what if I’m not?
The other night, I felt like he was watching me. It feels like that again now.
Sure, I’ve been jonesing for this guy like a polecat during mating season, but I don’t get like this.Ever.
So, if I am right… is he really watching me?
Could he be?
This is the part where I should freak out again because that would definitely make him a stalker.
I should be thinking of calling Miko or the building security so they could check it out, or better yet, one call to my father, and he would send the actual army to come and investigate.
But I don’t freak out at the thought of Dante watching me, and I’m not scared. Instead, the possibility that he could be watching sends a jolt of desire straight to my pussy, and the pit of my stomach tightens with a need that only he can satisfy.
My mouth waters at the memory of the way he touched me and the same mischievous spirit that possessed me at the club to dance for him that first night reappears to haunt me now.
If heiswatching, what if I gave him something to enjoy?
Like the way he watched me dance. I gave him something to look at then. I’ll never forget that magnetism that rippled from him to me and me to him. It was something I couldn’t ignore.
I feel it now, and it won’t allow me to push it away and cast my suspicions as foolishness.
I stop thinking rationally and allow the towel to fall from my body. It pools at my feet, and I turn slowly in a small circle, showing off my naked body.
That silly feeling evaporates because I imagine him—wherever he is—looking at me the way he did when he shoved me against the wall of that room and ate out my pussy until I came. I came so hard that night from the pleasure his tongue gave me.
The mischievous spirit whispers another crazy idea in my head and I stride across to the bed, walking slow and purposefully, like a cat taking a lazy walk on a thin wall.
When I get to the bed, I open the drawer on my nightstand and take out the hot pink dildo Harper gave me on Valentine’s Day. It was her idea of a joke because I turned down a date with a really cute NFL player.
