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I take a pack.
Moving to the last door, I open it and feel that chill roll across my skin again.
Behind the fourth door is another door. A heavy metal one, just like the one we came through to get in here. But this one is leading the other way. Toward the backyard. Where nothing else should be.
I slam theclosetdoor shut and hurry back to the chair.
The wheels slide around a little bit as I pull the oversized socks onto my feet.
A handful of the views on-screen are of the dilapidated house at the end of our little cul-de-sac, but I don’t spend time looking at those feeds. I don’t know why he has cameras on that place, but he’s not going there. He’s going to my house.
My house, which is featured in the majority of the camera angles.
I reach up and touch the screen that shows my large living room windows.
Since it’s dark outside and lights are on inside my house, it’s easy to see straight inside. I can see my couch, part of my work desk, and part of the opening that leads into my kitchen.
Hans has sat right here—I grip the chair armrests—and he’s looked right into my home.
Heat swirls in my belly.
My reaction to Hans has always beenmore.
I’ve been more interested in him than I should be.
I’ve focused on him. Wondered about him. Fantasized about him. Thought about stripping down in my bedroom window just for the hope that he might see me. And want me.
I never did it, but I wanted to.
Andthis… Him watching me. Or whatever this is. I know it’s not right.
And I know it’s not right for me to feel so fucking good about it.
But I don’t really feel like fighting it.
I know who I am. And I’m a lot.
My scattered attention span. My attempts at baking that I know are nowhere near as good as my mom’s. My ultra-curvy body that I have no intention of changing.
All my relationships have been surface only. Fun while they lasted but nothing special.
My parents raised me to have good self-esteem. And I mostly do. But a part of me has just assumed I’d be one of thosesingle foreverwomen. And I was okay with that. I accepted it.
I look around at the other screens, wondering if he can see into my bedroom.
My core muscles tighten just thinking about it.
Could he see me touching myself?
Would he have sat here, gripping that big dick of his, jerking off while he watched?
My eyes bounce around as I look for my bedroom window, but I don’t see a good view of it.
I move my attention back to my living room and yelp.
Because Hans is there.
Inside my house.
