Page 39 of Jealous Stalker

Perfect. Completely fucking…perfect.

I can’t look away. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do a single thing beyond the staggering need to touch that pussy. Put my mouth on it.

Eat her until she come and comes and sobs for me to stop.

Will I?

Fuck no. Studies show women can come ten, eleven, a dozen times with the right care and attention.

I want to watch Ella unravel until she loses her mind. And I’ll still keep eating her juicy pussy.

Fuck, I’m already shaking from the taste of the coffee she made her with her two hands when I reach into my pants, drag out my desperate cock?—

As she moves.

I freeze. Will this be the night she wakes? Catches me red-handed? Screams her head off for me to be carted off to the nut house in chains?

My throat moves as I swallow saliva that has stopped gushing since I saw the treasure between her thighs.

Jesus. I have to leave. Now. Before I do something I can’t undo.

But then she goes and hitches one leg, behind it at the knees, displaying the tiniest hole on earth to me.

I stumble back, my cock still in my hand. One step, three. Five. I don’t stop until I’m in the trees. Then I drop to my knees.

One stroke. Two.

And I bust my load all over the forest floor.

For endless minutes, my vision blurs, my heart prancing like a racehorse in its final furlong. I barely remember making my way to the place I called home until I met my obsession.

I only force myself to go to sleep because it means tomorrow will arrive quicker.

Tomorrow. When I’ll see her. In public. In daylight.

Jesus.

How will I fucking stand it?

Ella

If this were a movie,I’d be the girl everyone was screaming at.

Don’t go, Ella. Don’t be that girl. Don’t fall for the faceless man who breaks into your room and whispers to you in the dark.

And yet here I am.

Wearing my softest sweater. The one that makes me feel touchable, even if no one ever touches me.

Sitting at the far corner table in the coffee shop, just like he asked. Facing the window, heart thudding like it’s trying to break through my ribs.

I haven’t looked back once.

Not even when the little bell over the door chimed ten minutes ago and Ifelthim walk in. Not saw—felt. The air shifted.My lungs forgot how to work. My fingertips twitched where they rested on the cup.

His cup. The one I ordered. No fussy black coffee.

Just the way he likes it.

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