Page 4 of Stalked By the Hockey Player

Her moans fill my ears, and I finally find release, collapsing back on the bed,spent.

But it is not enough.

It will never be enough until she'smine.

The box slams shut. I begin to pace. These traces are no longer enough. I need more of her. To watch her up close, hear her voice say my name. I've been too cautious, biding my time. No more. I'll make her see me as I see her. Make her feel this burning need.

Tomorrow, I'll get closer. Speak to her. I must earn her trust first, lure her in. But soon, very soon, she'll be only mine. Nothing can stop me from claiming her. From taking all of her. She just doesn't know it yet.

I hide in the shadows, watching Emila exit the coffee shop. Her laughter rings out as she talks with a friend, igniting a spark of jealousy within me. She brushes a strand of vibrant red hair behind her ear, eyes bright with joy.

My pulse pounds as I trail behind, keeping my distance. I've gotten good at moving unseen through the streets, tracking her movements. It gives me a thrill, this secret dance of pursuit and evasion.

Emila says goodbye to her friend, continuing on alone. I feel exposed in the afternoon sunlight but I can't let her out of my sight. As she walks, she digs through her bag for her lipstick. That bold red I know so well. She reapplies it, pressing and smacking her lips. The mundane gesture inflames me.

I want to grab that lipstick and mark her skin with the color, claim her soft mouth with my own. Make her gasp and surrender. The vivid fantasy floods my mind, blurring reality. My hands curl into fists, body taut with desire.

Get control, I tell myself harshly. Patience. Win her slowly. But the waiting eats at me, wild emotion churning. I want to seize and consume. Make her utterly mine. She quickens her step, ponytail swaying. And I follow in the shadows, longing to step into her light.

I told myself today, dammit, but something holds me back.

Emila glances back over her shoulder, a flicker of unease in her eyes. She must sense my presence, a phantom just out of view. I freeze, pressing myself against a brick wall until she turns away. The close call sets my heart hammering.

I've gotten reckless, allowed my fantasies to distract me.

When Emila reaches her house, she hurries inside. I linger down the street, watching her bedroom window on the second floor. The light clicks on, and I imagine her within, removing her bright lipstick, letting down her ponytail. A vision of intimacy that eludes me.

My phone buzzes with messages from teammates, asking where I've been lately, why I keep blowing off practice. Hockey was my whole life once. Now it's just background noise compared to the all-consuming symphony of Emila.

I skip my evening classes too, grades slipping. None of it matters except the chase. When I finally drag myself home, I add the day's photographs to my growing collection. Hundreds of images of Emila, each one precious. I caress them tenderly, wishing I could touch her soft skin.

At night I lie awake, thoughts racing, plotting how to get even closer tomorrow. My need for her consumes me, an addiction spiraling out of control. I want her to belong to me, surrender everything to my embrace. Then maybe this hollow ache insidewill finally fade away. As darkness falls, I make a dangerous vow—tomorrow, I'll take the greatest risk yet.

I have to.

The next morning I skip my classes again and head straight for Emila's high school. I lurk across the street, hidden behind a tree, watching her laugh with friends on the front steps. She looks so beautiful, so carefree. If only she could see how perfect we'd be together...

When the bell rings, the other students file inside, but Emila lingers, touching up her bright lipstick in a compact mirror. This is my chance. I emerge from my hiding spot and stride toward her.

"You dropped this!" I call out.

She turns, surprise flashing across her face. Her blue eyes staring directly into mine is enough to floor me. "What?" Her pretty brow furrows in confusion as I hold up a notebook I snatched from her backpack in preparation of this moment.

"Oh," she smiles at me. "I've been looking all over for this. Thank you..." she trails off and looks up at me questioningly, prompting for my name.

I'll gladly give her that and so much more. Hell, if she wants my last name, she can have it.

"Tyler," I tell her. "My name is Tyler, and yours?"

"Emila."

"Emila," I say her name like I haven't tasted it a thousand times since I first saw her.

She cocks her pretty little head to the side. "Are you a student here?"

I can't stop staring at her and admiring how even more beautiful she is up close in person like this. "Not here. I go to State U. Are you a hockey fan? I play there. Maybe you'd like to come to a game sometime?"

She blinks and stares back at me before she gives me another slow smile. "Never really been a sports fan, but I'd love to come to one of your games, Tyler."

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