Page 41 of Jealous Stalker

I pull out my phone. My thumbs hover for a moment over the screen. The message feels obscene in its simplicity. Intimate. Dangerous.

I send it anyway.

Me: [10:09 a.m.]

You look so beautiful. I thought moonlight suited you but sunlightsets every inch of you ablaze in gold and makes the whole world jealous it can’t touch you the way I want to.

I watch her read my message. Catch her sweet delicate shiver. See the way her body squirms a little in her seat before she stops herself. See the blush that creeps up her cheeks before she starts typing.

Ella: [10.11 a.m.]I wish you would. Touch me. Please.

God, this beautiful creature. The way she dances into fire with a song on her lips and sparkle in her eyes.

I swallow. Snatch in a breath. Then reply.

Me: [10:12 a.m.]

Drop your left hand.

Her shoulder tenses. Just for a second.

Then her hand lowers slowly, sliding from the cup to the edge of the bench. Resting palm-down on the seat beside her.

Trust.

It radiates off her in warm waves.

I move like a man in a trance.

My own hand drops, two fingers grazing the wooden chair leg between us. Then one. Then?—

Our pinkies brush.

She gasps softly but doesn’t pull away. Not at the feel of my callused hardness against her softness. Or the coarse hairs on my knuckle.

Not even when I wrap mine around hers, that single point of contact making my entire body lock tight, scream with need and restraint.

I sit there, unmoving, holding her pinkie like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.

Neither of us speaks. Neither of us turns.

We justare.

Back to back.

Two shadows tangled in silence and heat.

By the time the coffee’s gone, I’m breathing like I’ve run ten miles. And when I finally slide my pinkie free, I swear I hear the hitch in her breath, like letting go costs her something too.

I leave without a word.

I don’t look back.

Me: [10:47 a.m.]

My sweetest Ella. Today was the best day of my life.

Ella

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