Page 13 of Marked By my Stalker
“Yeah. I mean,” she grins, “I know it’s a few years away but … I think about it a lot. Not the perfect Christmas-card kind of a family, but the messy breakfasts, sleepy drives to school, late night science fair project kind of stuff. I want to take all that on with someone I love, ya know?” she says, her voice dipping into something tender, uncertain. “What about you? Were you ever married or have any kids?”
I keep my eyes on the road, but I feel her words settle in my chest. “No. Never.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I grip the wheel tighter as I talk, afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. “I guess I thought I wasn’t that kind of guy. I’m not great with emotional stuff and my own father wasn’t really around. I just… let life keep happening and now, I reckon it’s too late.”
She smiles softly. The kind that slips past a man’s defenses. “Seriously?You’re notthatold. You could totally havea family. I see guys all the time that do all this family stuff later in life.”
I chuckle low and hollow. “Yeah, well, maybe those guys aren’t as tired. I can’t imagine chasing after little kids anymore.”
She laughs. “You say that now, but I bet if you had one crawling into your lap, babbling about dinosaurs, you’d forget you were tired.”
I glance at her, and for the first time all day, I let myself smile without overthinking it.
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe, I’d just become one of those grumpy dads who sits on the porch making threats with a garden hose.”
Her eyes light up, her voice teasing as she says, “Oh, no. I’m getting strong ‘reluctant softie’vibes. I bet you’d say stuff like‘don’t touch that’and then secretly build a pillow fort when no one’s looking.”
I chuckle under my breath. “You’d be wrong.”
“I don’t think so.” She sighs and rests her head against the window, watching the horizon blur into gold and blue. “I just want love to be quiet, ya know? Not easy, but soft. Not mind games and drama, just… the kind where someone waits for you before they start the movie. The kind where I feel desired.”
There’s a lump in my throat I didn’t invite. So, I just drive, wind humming through the open windows as I pull into the grassy patch that leads to the overlook I’ve been searching for. “There it is. The prettiest spot on Rugged Mountain.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she says, staring out at the view.
I glance toward her, freckles on her cheeks, hair falling onto her shoulders, a soft smile on her face as those thick thighs sit within reach. “It really is.”
I kill the engine of the truck, and she turns to me slowly, that smile fading into something quieter, more uncertain. The air shifts and it’s thicker now, charged with something new. Hereyes flick to my mouth, just for a second, and I feel it like a spark down my spine.
Permission.
I lean in, slow enough to give her time to pull away, fast enough to ignore how wrong this is. Her breath catches, her lips parting slightly, and then she meets me halfway.
My hand finds her throat, and the kiss deepens, like we’ve both been holding back something we don’t know how to name. Her pulse flutters beneath my fingertips, wild and uneven, like it’s trying to outrun the moment. My thumb brushes her jaw, and her thighs squeeze together as an aching moan echoes from her mouth into mine.
It’s poison. Poison I gladly drink as I slide my hand between her soft thighs and onto her soaking panties.
A truck drives by the lookout, and though I know the driver can’t see us, I imagine the horrid things he’d think if he could. Me, some old asshole, touching the tight, little pussy of some nineteen-year-old girl. He’d call me a pervert, a fucking monster for betraying my friend.
Heat passes between us as my fingers scrub her clit through her soaking panties. I’m not technically touching her if there’s fabric between us, right?
She moans all the same, folding into my arms with fevered whines that send shocks of desperation into my hard cock. Her small hand rolls over my bulge and I growl, biting back every urge I have to toss her into the truck bed and ruin her for everyone else.
She pushes the truck seat back and pulls me in, tugging her leggings down, spreading her thighs wide.
“Fuck, little girl. What the hell are you doing to me?”
I press two fingers against the sopping fabric at her entrance and thrust as far as the material stretches.
I should stop. I know this is wrong in every fucking way, but I can’t. I can’t stop.I can’t fucking stop!
I will the fabric of her panties to slip to the side for a brief second, but they don’t. They fucking don’t.
She sighs as I continue to work over the top of them. “Right there. Please… oh my God, I need it.”
“Oh baby, you know I can’t. We have to stop.”
