Page 16 of Carnival Stalker

TILLY

Shame overwhelms me as I replay the coffee shop incident from earlier. How could I have given in so easily? The mystery man has a magnetic pull on me, and I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s not just his handsome looks or the air of danger that surrounds him; there’s something more—an intense connection that I can’t explain.

I try to distract myself by delving into my coding projects, but my mind always wanders back to him. The way he dominated me, the sharp edge to his voice, the way he made me feel so many conflicting emotions—excited, terrified, and undeniably aroused. I feel a flush of heat between my thighs at the memory of servicing him, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

My phone buzzes, breaking the silence of my room. It’s him. How the hell did he even get my number in the first place? I stare at the screen, my heart racing as I readhis text.

You know you wanted it, Tilly. Admit it. You’ve been yearning for my cock in that pretty little mouth.

I’m battling my conflicting desires. He’s right. I want to surrender to him, to explore these dark fantasies that ignite a fire within me. But it’s insane. He’s a literal stalker, showing up everywhere I go, and I don’t even know his name!

Then I remember the explicit texts he sent before the café encounter, teasing me, priming me. I was so wet, so ready for him. I wanted him to take me there and then. And now, he’s invading my thoughts again, making me question my sanity.

The phone buzzes again.

You can’t deny what’s between us. Embrace it. Surrender to me. I’ll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. I’ll dominate every part of you.

I feel my resistance wavering as my fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to respond. Part of me wants to tell him off, to assert my independence and cut him out of my life. But another part, a hidden, darker part, yearns to explore this twisted path. I shut my laptop with a snap, unable to focus. The mystery man has infiltrated my mind, and I’m unsure I want him to leave.

Stopcontacting me.

I text. But even as the words appear on the screen, I know they’re half-hearted at best. I don’t know if I want him to stop, and I fear he knows it.

Why? Are you scared to admit what you want?

I sigh, my resolve weakening. I should block his number, report him, and do anything to get this psycho out of my life, but something holds me back. I can’t bring myself to do it.

You’re obsessing over me.

I text back. I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t resist the thrill of this dangerous game.

You’ve got no idea how much I’m obsessing. I want to consume you, brand you as mine. I want to be under your skin, in your head, and in your heart.

I shouldn’t encourage him. I know that. But something about his confidence is so damn sexy.

Why me? Why are you so fixated on me?

I tap my foot, waiting for this psycho’s response. He’s insane and I shouldn’t be indulging him.

Because you’re special, you shine brighter than anyone I’ve known. I saw you at the carnival, and I couldn’t look away. You’re like a flame, captivating and untouchable, and I’m drawn to you.

My heart flutters at his words. No one has ever described me like that. I feel an odd satisfaction that I’ve captured his attention over all the other girls there.

Please, leave me alone. This is ridiculous. I don’t even know you.

You will, Tilly. Soon, you’ll know every part of me.

Biting my lip, I struggle to find a response. I want to give in, to let him consume me, but there’s this nagging voice of reason that tells me it’s a bad idea.

I focus on my coding, losing myself in the familiar world of computer language to escape the chaos in my mind. But as soon as my fingers touch the keyboard, a video starts playing. I recognize the mystery man’s eyes immediately peering through the holes of his skull mask. He’s stroking his cock slowly, his eyes intense behind the mask. He’s hacked my computer. How is that even possible? I have robust security, yet here he is, invading my privacy again.

The video continues, and I can’t tear my eyes away. Wetness pools between my thighs when he groans, the sound filling the room. His intense gaze pierces through the screen as if he can see me. The sane thing would be toshut it down and report his ass for this, but something holds me back. My body responds to his slow, deliberate strokes.

Carrying my laptop, I head for my bedroom. I need to do something about this overwhelming need. Once inside, I climb onto the bed and grab my dildo out of the nightstand. I shimmy my thong off and then spread my legs, hiking up my skirt. And I whimper when I slide the toy inside me, watching the video play.

“That’s it, Tilly,” he says.

I pause, my eyes widening. A live feed? Is he watching me through my camera?

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