Page 2 of Stalking My Stalker

That’s what I’m dying for him to do.

So why hasn’t he done it yet?

He’s sat by the window, watching me. He’s crouched by my bed, smelling me. He’s stood over me, pulled back my covers, and explored my nearly-naked body with his eyes. So why hasn’t he advanced to the next step and taken me? Morality clearly isn’t high up on his priority list, so he should have no problem putting his hands on me if he really wants me.

Is it possible he doesn’t want me?

Fuck. Right now my daddy issues kick in? So the scumbag cheated on my mom and left her for another woman when I was eleven, ingraining in me an acute fear of abandonment that I fear will never go away.

But if my stalker didn’t want me, why would he do this at all?

If he was going to hurt me, he already would have by now. No, this man–whoever he is–hedoes wantme.

And I want him back.

I’ve taken things a step further tonight. I’ve gone to bed completely naked, so when he pulls back the sheets, he’ll see the whole show. I’m even sleeping on my back, just to make sure nothing remains hidden from him.

He’s by the window now, but I’ve grown so accustomed to his presence that although he moves without making a sound, I can feel him as he inches closer. I remain still as he steps up beside my bed. Despite having no clothes on, I’m burning up. It’s anticipation combined with a primal craving for this hulking man who clearly has no fear. My center is hot. I’m wet. Every fiber of my being is alive for my stalker as he gently takes hold of my covers and slides them slowly down to reveal what he’s come here for tonight.

I swear I hear his breath halt when he sees my nakedness. The rhythm of his respiration is always so controlled and predictable that the difference is noticeable. I can almost feel his eyes, like fingers, exploring my body as he gets his first look at my breasts, my nipples hard like little pink jellybeans. His breath jumps again, and I feel a blush breaking out over my face.

He’s looking athernow. My most private of privates.

I’m dripping. I want him so badly.

Does he feel the same? Is he hard beneath his pants?

Is he thinking about what I’d feel like if he were inside me?

The tension in my bedroom is palpable. I’m a smoldering cauldron of lust and desire. All I want right now is for him to reach out and touch me. Somewhere. Anywhere. I won’t fight him. He must know that by now. Just like me, he’s twisted. Deranged. Possibly broken even. And that’s why he comes back, night after night.

I know this is wrong. I should stop it now. I should have stopped it weeks ago. But I just lie there and allow him to drink in my naked body for what feels like an eternity. Then he leans in.

Closer.

Closer…

His body’s warmth warms mine. The heat from his breath grazes my bare breasts. It’s all I can do not to go stiff as I prepare myself for his touch.

This is it.

It’s finally going to happen.

It’s taking all my willpower to keep my breaths steady as though I’m asleep. In and out. In and out. Slow. My heart is pounding, and my pulse is racing. If this goes on any longer, I’m going to explode, but I just need to keep it together until he places his hand on me. Or his lips on mine.

But then, without warning, I feel him move away. An acute sense of loss sweeps over me, and I crack one eye open just in time to see him escaping out the window into the night.

“No…” I whimper, devastated. “Come back…”

My entire being deflates like a balloon. I sit up and swing my legs to the floor, then go to the kitchen for a glass of water.

How much longer can I really endure this?

It’s like being subjected to the world’s greatest tease.

I gulp down the entire glass and slam it down onto the counter, shattering it into pieces as all that lust and anticipationand thrill and adrenaline inside me melts and morphs into a ball of pure, glowing-hot rage.

Who does this guy think he is, anyway?

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