Page 28 of Jealous Stalker

Me:

You don’t have to pretend anymore.

P.S. I didn’t look while you showered. I swear.

But I wanted to. So bad it hurts.

Her response shatters me. In the best way possible.

Ella:

I should be angry. Should be scared, right?

But I read your words and felt… hot. All the way down to my toes.

I felt seen. Feel owned. And that should terrify me.

But instead, I find myself leaving the bathroom door unlocked.

You say you didn’t look. But you wanted to.

So maybe next time… don’t look away. Maybe I want you to see.

Maybe I’m done pretending I don’t feel you every time I close my eyes.

Maybe I want you to watch.

Jesus. I grip the paper until the edges bend under my fingers. My jaw ticks, body humming with need so sharp I feel it behind my eyes. My knees hit the floor before I even realize I’ve moved.

She has no idea what she’s inviting. None.

The hunger doesn’t scare her.

She wants to be devoured.

I enter her room in silence. The string’s tied around her wrist. A guardian thread. A tether. And fuck me, but I wish it tied her to me.

She’s sleeping on her side, one hand curled beneath her cheek, the hem of her sleep shirt riding high on her thighs.

She’s warm, so fucking warm she glows. I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

And the softest part of her—the part I imagine when I’m fisting myself raw—rests just above the line of her sheets.

I kneel beside the bed.

Slow. Careful. My hand hovers just above her hip. I’mstarvedfor her.

One touch.

That’s all it would take. Just one whisper of skin. A graze. A stroke. I could press my mouth to her thigh. Slide two fingers beneath the waistband of those pink panties and stroke her clit. She’ll be wet. I know it. But?—

No.

Not yet.

I lower my hand.

Instead, I pull down the sheet, feast my eyes on her mound, that sweet shadowed place between her thighs, envy the fuck out of the scrap of pink nestling against her pussy.

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