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Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
If I were to finish and sleep, there’s a chance he’ll eventually just walk away, right? He’ll get what he needs from . . . whatever the fuck this is and then slip back out the window or the door or however the hell he’s getting in here and be gone.
Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them away, not wanting my fear to be evident in the way I breathe. I can’t have anything alert him to the fact that I know he’s here. Hell, maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe he’s searching for an excuse to kill me.
My heart has never raced like this, not even when finding out that Crew had been killed. Then before I end up like him, I close my eyes and tip my head back, letting out a shaky breath as my fingers thrust deeper inside my cunt.
I gasp, my body still so worked up that as the fear mixes with my arousal, it suddenly makes everything feel so much more intense, and the new groan that slips from between my lips is as real as the ones out in the hallway.
The familiar sound of a zip fills the room, and I suck in a breath, listening intently to every little sound as my eager thumb works over my clit. I hear the subtle noises as he releases his cock from his pants, and as he really starts working himself, he pants heavily through gritted teeth.
I work myself faster, so fucking hungry for it, and as he jerks off, the strangest thrill shoots through me, and I find myself desperate to please him and hear how he sounds when he comes. “Oh fuck,” I groan, tipping my head as my back arches off my mattress.
I kick the blankets off, giving myself more freedom, and his sharp inhale of breath sends goosebumps soaring across my skin. Fuck. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. I want him to touch me. I want him to do nasty things to me.
“YES,” I cry out, my fingers splitting inside of me again, working my walls, but damn it, I need to be stretched, I need to feel the fullness that only the mistletoe monster cock attached to my wall could offer me, and until I get it, I’m never going to truly feel satisfied. But damn it, this fucked up moment of insanity is coming in a close second.
I listen as my stalker furiously fucks his hand, feel his heated gaze locked on my body as though he can somehow see through the darkness. I hear as he shifts on the armchair, and every panting breath he takes, I’m right there with him, despite how fucked up it might be.
That familiar tightening starts deep in my core, and my eyes roll in the back of my head. “Oh God,” I groan again, the intensity quickly building, but I don’t dare let up. I keep massaging, keep rolling my thumb over my sensitive clit until finally, I explode, coming hard as I cry out.
My orgasm tears through me, shattering me as my pussy spasms around my fingers. I clench my eyes, my head tipping back as my toes curl, and damn it, I’ve never felt so alive, not even when Crew fucked me within an inch of my life.
A deep, guttural groan tears through my room, and as I pant, I grin wide, knowing he finished with me, and damn it, why does that get me so excited? The fear fades into a distant hum, still there, hidden beneath the surface, but it’s overpowered by the thrill of giving him a show. I know come morning when I start wondering what the fuck is wrong with me, that fear is going to return ten-fold, but for now, all I can do is bask in the undeniable pleasure pulsing through my veins.
That felt so wrong in all the right ways, and I fucking loved it.
My body finally starts coming down from the high, and as I pull my fingers free and struggle to catch my breath, I hear my new creepy friend tuck his cock back inside his pants. Then as I pull my blanket back up and snuggle against my pillow, trying to pretend he’s not here, I close my eyes and listen, hyperaware of every sound within my room.
He gets up from the chair, and I track the sound of his soft footsteps through my room, my heart racing faster with every step he takes closer to me. He stops at the edge of my bed, crouching down until I feel his warm breath gently brushing across my collarbone.
I keep my breathing shallow, goosebumps rippling across my skin just as he reaches out and strokes something across my bottom lip—his thumb, maybe. But there’s something left on my lips. Is that . . . No. Surely not.
It’s his cum.
“Roll your tongue over your lips, Kyah,” he murmurs into the darkness, his voice so low it’s impossible to make out any distinctive tones, but one thing’s for sure, he’s more than aware I’m not asleep. “Show me how you taste me.”
Nerves rip through me, leaving my hands shaking under the blanket. Then not knowing what will happen if I refuse him, I let my tongue roll out over my lips without hesitation, tasting him there and hating my soft moan that betrays me and lets him know just how much I liked it.
“That’s a good girl, my sweet, sweet Kyah,” he tells me, his voice still so low, only now there’s something more to it—a raspiness—something I’ve only ever heard when a man is right on the edge, almost pained from pure desperation. “So fucking pretty when you come, but next time you tease me like that, I won’t be able to resist you. I need to have you, Kyah, but something tells me that’s exactly what you want.”
And with that, he’s gone, slipping away into the darkness like the devil in the night, leaving me gasping for air and wondering why the fuck he’s so right.
24
KYAH
Whatthehelliswrong with me?
I work on my client, shaking my head as I almost screw up a simple text tattoo—a few cursive letters of the woman’s child’s name—because my head is stuck on the fresh hell that happened in my bedroom last night.
Did I really get off for my stalker? Did I really lick my lips to see how he tastes? And shit, do I really want him to do it again? He terrifies me in the worst ways, so how the hell can I justify feeling like this?
I need to focus on Alex and how he makes me feel, because honestly, I’ve never felt a connection like that. I know it’s only been a little while, but every time those dark, sultry eyes find mine, I see my whole future. I see something there that needs to be explored. But am I putting him in danger by allowing him to get so close to me? What kind of lines is this stalker willing to cross?
Shit. Maybe I need to pull away from Alex until this goes away. It’s only been two weeks since I lost Crew. I can’t lose Alex too. I’m not strong enough to withstand that kind of devastation again so soon.
The same bunch of haunting thoughts circle my mind all day long, and before I know it, it’s the end of the day, and I watch Big Jim scoop up a pile of papers—applications for all the artists who are hoping to replace Crew. “You ready to get out of here, kid?” Big Jim asks as my pencil hovers over my sketchbook, starting and re-starting the same design over and over again, unable to focus.
