Page 14 of The Watcher's Bride

A flood of fear mingled with my arousal, but I was so close that I shuddered over the edge, orgasming while his eyes were on me.

The worst part is that part of me liked it. I liked the feeling of a stranger watching me.

God help me, I’ve never orgasmed so hard in my life.

In the aftermath, I expected him to run away. Surely, he’d assume I’d call the cops or scream in terror. I don’t know why I didn’t scream. Instead, I slowly and calmly removed the vibrator, still slick with my juices, and licked it clean, never taking my eyes off where I knew he was standing in the shadows. Then, still naked, I calmly went and closed the curtains.

Maybe I wanted to shock him as much as he had shocked me? But it’s fucked up. All I must have done is encourage him.

I feel shell-shocked and I immediately take another shower and get dressed, throwing myself into housework, anything to take my mind off masturbating in front of my stalker.

What does he want from me? Is he just some perv who gets off on watching women? Or is it something more sinister?

If my fathersent him, surely he’d have done something by now, either killed or kidnapped me.

Any normal person would call the police, but I can’t. If my stalker wasn’t sent by my father, alerting the police could lead him right to me. I use another last name here, but I’d have to give my real name to the police. He has contacts all over the country, and it would inevitably get back to him and he’d come for me.

Dear old Daddy.

The man I fear more than the crazed masked man who’s stalking me.

I might not know my stalker’s intentions, but I know damn well what my father would do if he ever found me. That’s a fate I don’t ever want to face.

I’ll take my chances with my stalker.

***

I’ve never been more grateful for Monday to arrive. I’ve barely slept, hiding out in my apartment with the curtains closed, terrified of opening them and seeing him. Though it wasn’t so much what my stalker would do—more what he was making me feel. Which, I realize now, is borderline insane. What woman in her right mind masturbates knowing a stranger’s eyes are on her? I spent all this morning unable to concentrate on anything. I’ve just been waiting with restless energy for my shift to start in the afternoon.

I glance at Max’s door as I leave my apartment. I haven’t seen him since Saturday and there’s no sign of life in the apartment now. Part of me is glad that I haven’t bumped into him while the other part is yearning to know more about him. I know practically nothing about my mysterious new neighbor, and he doesn’t know me. Which, honestly, is probably for the best. He’d probably run for the hills if he knew half of the things going on in my life.

I can’t imagine leading the conversation with, “Oh hey, Max, before we date, you should know that I’ve been on the run from my father for the past five years. He’s the head of one of the deadliest, most ruthless crime organizations in the US and he’ll kill any man that tries to touch me. But don’t worry, because I have emotional issues and can’t bear to be touched by any man, so we won’t be able to be intimate. Except, I had no problems masturbating to thoughts of you while a masked stalker who may or may not have been sent by my father watched.”

Fifty shades of fucked up.

The library is busy when I arrive, and I breathe in the familiar smell of books, feeling at peace for the first time since Saturday as I throw myself into my work. I don’t even have to deal with Mike because he’s caught up with an endless stream of customers at the front desk.

“Excuse me, I wonder where the books on seducing cute librarians might be.”

The familiar voice startles me, and I whirl around from the shelves I’ve been stacking.

Max looks as devastatingly handsome as I remember. Even in the thick sweater and jeans he’s wearing you can see the definition of his physique. He looks like a movie star, and every woman in here is ogling him with naked curiosity.

“Max, how did you know I work here?”

“You told me,” he replies casually. “It’s a cool place. You like working here?”

I don’t remember telling him that, but there’s a high possibility that I did. I like telling people about my job. “I love it. I find libraries so peaceful and calming,” I gush.

“Me too,” he replies. “Though the librarian in my hometown was a cankerous old crone. If I’d known there were librarians like you, I’d have moved to New York sooner,” he replies with a flirtatious grin.

“Where are you from?” I ask curiously.

“All over, to be honest. Army brat,” he replies evasively.

“So, what brings you here? I hope you’re not bothering me at work just to flirt,” I scold lightly.

“Would it be so bad if I was?” he replies with a slow grin that makes my knees weak. “I came to check out some books, but I figured while I’m here I’d find out what time you get off and if you wanted to get some dinner.”

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