Page 44 of Jealous Stalker

“Of… what this is. What it’s becoming.”

His lips—hidden beneath the edge of that dark hood—find the top of my head in the gentlest kiss. “Me too.”

We don’t move for a long moment. It’s not awkward. It’s full. Like silence between notes of a song we both already know.

Then I slip my fingers between his. “Come lie down with me.”

He hesitates. Just enough for me to feel it. Maybe he’s wondering how the hood will look against my white sheets, whether I’ll ask him to push it back.

But then he nods.

My sheets are cool when I slide beneath them. He follows slowly, careful, as if he might break something sacred. He keeps the hoodie up. I let him.

We don’t touch at first. Just lie side by side in the dark, our shoulders barely brushing. But even that makes my whole body buzz.

“I used to think no one would ever really see me,” I say into the quiet. “Not like this.”

“I’ve always seen you,” he murmurs, voice muffled by the hood. “Even when I tried not to.”

I turn to face him. “Tell me something true.”

He does.

“I’ve been alone my whole life. But it never hurt until you.”

My breath catches.

I reach for him then—just my fingertips against the curve of his hooded cheek. The fabric is soft, but I feel the warmth of him beneath it. He closes his eyes, as if I’ve touched something deeper than skin.

And in that moment, I know.

This isn’t about obsession anymore.

It’s aboutbelonging.

Ella

I’ve never been soaware of a door closing.

The click echoes through his small apartment—bare walls, a low lamp, one sagging couch—and the quiet that follows is impossibly loud. He stands a few feet away, shoulders tense, hoodie up, black half-mask firmly in place. Everything about him radiates power, but tonight there’s a tremor beneath it. A vibration that feels like fear.

I let my bag slide to the floor. “It’s just us,” I whisper.

His gaze roams over me—hungry, uncertain, reverent. He crosses the space in two long strides and gathers me close. Every part of me fits against him like I was built for it. His arms cage me without bruising, and the shuddering breath he releases at my temple feels like a confession.

The mask presses cool against my cheek when he dips to kiss me. I taste hunger and apology and months of stolen moments.He kisses like he’s memorising the shape of my soul—and, God, I kiss him back because how could I not? But when I tilt my head, my fingertips brush the edge of that stubborn barrier.

Leather and metal where soft skin should be.

I pull back just enough to see his eyes. “I…” My voice is softer than I mean it to be. “Please. I want to see you.”

He flinches. It’s small, just a flicker, but I feel it like a crack in the floor between us.

“It’s better like this,” he says, low and rough. “Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” I slide my fingers to the leather strap at the side of his jaw. “That’s why I need to see all of you.”

His hands fall away. A breath—like he’s bracing for recoil. “Ella, I’m … half a man underneath. Skin that doesn’t belong to me anymore. People look once, and then they wish they hadn’t.”

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