Page 4 of Stalking My Stalker

Ali was sleeping on her back for the first time when I snuck into her room and pulled the sheets back. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw her completely naked, her tits more perfect than I could ever have imagined. Her pussy was perfect and bare, a tiny slit gleaming with wetness. My mouth was instantly watering. I was two seconds from jumping on her. The only way I could restrain myself was by putting the covers back and escaping out her window immediately.

It was a close one.

And she doesn’t even have a clue.

“Hey there, Parker!” I realize I’ve completely spaced out while staring at the photo of Ali and quickly lock my phone and look up to see Janice, the blonde who works the front desk, smiling at me. She’s wearing another low-cut top today and heels. She’s pushing the limits of professional dress, if you ask me. But the other guys who work here don’t seem to care.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“Same ol’.” She shrugs. “You know everyone’s gone, right? Bosses left fifteen minutes ago.”

I glance at the time and realize she’s right. I was so focused on Ali’s photo that I completely missed all the traders from upstairs leaving the building. Some security guard I’m turning out to be. I keep this up and I’m gonna get fired.

“Look at that,” I reply. “Guess I should get going.”

Before I can head out, Janice grabs me by the wrist and oddly strokes my forearm like she’s petting a cat. “Doing anything tonight? I could sure use a drink. Anything to keep me from going back to that empty apartment, you know?”

This isn’t the first time Janice has hit on me. I’ve done my best to make it clear that I’m not interested, but she’s eithernot gotten the hint yet or she’s just insanely persistent. Neither would surprise me.

“I can’t,” I reply. “Thanks for the invite, though.”

Before she has a chance to respond, I gently tug my arm free and step out the front door, shaking off the ick I get every time she comes on to me.

I exit the building and head up the block toward my car. And that’s when I feel it again. The unmistakable sensation that I’ve felt for the last six days. The chill up my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck standing up. The unshakeable feeling that I’m being followed.

My hand instantly goes to the Glock on my hip, and I whirl around, ready for anything. An old woman just about faints and lets out a yelp like a dying penguin as she braces herself against a tree. “What’s the matter with you!?” she screams. “You trying to kill me?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” I reply, taking my hand from my holster. “I thought you were…I’m sorry.”

She continues to curse me out under her breath as I scan the block, searching for threats. But just like the last six days, I see nothing. Am I just losing my mind? Maybe all this time I’ve spent not sleeping and watching Ali is taking its toll on me.

I’ve got a wicked headache as I walk back up to my car, but just as I’m reaching for my keys, I’m stopped dead in my tracks. My body simply stops responding as a familiar scent wafts into my nostrils. Almond cherry. The shampoo Ali uses. But it’s not just that. There’s something beneath. Deeper. Call it her essence, call it pheromones, call it whatever you want. But beneath that manmade scent, I smell Ali. The realization crashes down on me.

Ali is the one who’s been following me.

The girl I’ve been stalking is stalking me.

My heart goes into overdrive, slamming ferocious beats into my ribs like it’s trying to pound its way out of my chest. My limbsgo hot and cold at the same time as I manage a deep inhale that fills my lungs with the wonderful aroma. I wipe the sweat from my face with a sleeve and try to ignore the pain of my massive erection trying to burst through my pants. I scan the area again but see nothing. It doesn’t matter, though. She can’t hide from my nose.

Ali’s jaw nearly falls off when I step into the alley and find her there, holding her phone, obviously ready to snap pictures or record video. I see the fear in her eyes as I advance on her.

“It’s not a good idea to follow around big, strong, strange men,” I say.

Her irises are blindingly beautiful. Bold and green, like tall wet grass in the golden sun. She takes a single step back but stops herself, then cocks her head to the side in a look of defiance.

“It’s not a good idea to threaten women either,” she counters. This is the first time I’ve heard her voice up close. Despite the sass, it’s like a massage from a master. “Unless you want to end up in prison.”

“Prison? Been there. Won’t be going back.”

I may be wrong, but I’m sure I see a spark of interest in her face to my reply.

“What were you in prison for?”

I shake my head. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Unpaid parking tickets?” she teases. “Breaking and entering?”

I stiffen. Now why would she ask me that? Is it possible she knows I’ve been sneaking into her apartment? Has she just been pretending to be asleep this whole time?

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