Page 219 of Love Me Stalk Me
I chuckle, shaking my head, my chest tight with so many fucking emotions I don't even know where to put them.
And then, I hear it. The soft creak of a bedroom door. I don't need to turn around. I already know what's on the other side. I close out of the app, setting my phone face-down, adjusting the growing ache in my jeans. I look up and there she is.
She lingers in the doorway in the outfit she sent me. I let out a slow breath, pulse hammering as I take her in. She moves just enough to show the nerves beneath the surface, but her gaze lifts, reading every inch of my face.
She knows. And she’s daring me to show it.
“Fuck me,” I breathe out, unable to stop the words.
She steps forward, slightly. Her lips curve into a small, teasing smile.
"So?" she murmurs, tilting her head.
"What do you think?"
Am I really going to do this with her? Because I shouldn't. I told myself I wouldn't. Not until I came clean. Not until I told her the truth. That every seductive word I've whispered in her ear as Caleb—it's been me. That every time I turned her on, made her moan, built her confidence through the phone and through thatvibrator—it's been me.
I need to be honest with her now. I should pause this moment and confess before we cross this line. I should speak the truth.
But then I look at her, standing in the doorway, wearing that lace, that fucking sinful lace, her body on display, her confidence soaring, her lips quirked in a teasing smile as she waits for me.
And I can't.
If I tell her now—it could ruin this.
Not just for me.For her.
For the first time in her life, she's feeling herself. She's standing there in that outfit, owning it, showing me exactly what she wants, stepping into this version of herself that isn't weighed down by insecurity or doubt or fear. If I stop this—if I put any hesitation in her head, make her feel like this isn't exactly where she should be right now—I'll be taking that away from her.
And I can't fucking do that to her.
Not now.
Not tonight.
I inhale, steadying my voice, forcing the words out, deep and controlled.
"Come here, pretty girl."
ORGASMS: 3 SEX: 0 MATH ISN’T MATHING.
IZZY
I stepout of the bedroom, the soft lace of the lingerie clinging to every curve of my body. My stocking feet move silent against the polished hardwood floor, each step sending a small thrill of nerves through me.
Cal is sitting on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the back, the other holding his phone, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. His dark hair is slightly tousled, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt, the sleeves pushed up to reveal those forearms I love to stare at. He looks completely at ease, utterly unaware of how the simple sight of him sitting there makes my heart race.
Because the moment his eyes lift, the moment they land on me, everything changes.
For me, for my nerves, for whatever hesitation I might have had about this. His entire body goes still, tense with sudden awareness, and his lips curve into a slow, devastating grin.
"Fuck me." His voice is rough, almost reverent. Not a request but an expression of pure, unfiltered appreciation.
I swallow hard, my skin burning under his stare. Heat spreads through me, starting where his eyes touch and radiating outward until I'm flushed from head to toe.
“Come here, pretty girl.”
Before I can overthink, second-guess myself, or worry—I move.
