Page 84 of Love Me Stalk Me

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Before I can process that—or the warmth spreading through my chest—she suddenly gets a second wind.

"Okay, I'm gonna change," she announces, perking up. Before I can react, her hands are at the hem of her dress.

I freeze.

"Whoa—Izzy."

She shimmies the fabric up her thighs, her fingers inching higher.

Oh, fuck no.

I grab the door handle, shove it open, and all but push her inside.

She laughs, stumbling forward.

Then, with zero shame, she reaches back, grabs the zipper of her dress, and starts dragging it down.

I slam the door shut.

Hard.

My jaw is so fucking tight I think I might break a tooth.

Jesus Christ.

I press my forehead against the door, inhaling deep, slow, measured breaths. The wood is cool against my skin, pulling me back from the edge—just enough. I need to get my shit together.

Because now I'm in her apartment.

Now I'm in her space.

And everything smells like her. The vanilla and floral scent that clings to her skin seems to permeate the entire apartment, filling my lungs with every breath. I push off the door and make my way toward her.

"You, there," I say, nudging her into her bedroom, guiding her in before she can get herself into even more trouble.

She stumbles forward, laughing under her breath.

And fuck me, I want to follow.

I want to step inside, close the door, press her up against it.

I want to drag that dress off her myself.

Take my time with it. Undo the zipper slowly, feel her shiver under my hands, let my fingers trace every inch of bare skin I reveal.

Jesus.

I grip the doorframe tighter.

Not tonight.

Not like this.

"You get decent," I tell her, voice gruffer than I mean it to be.

She half-turns, lazily lifting a brow. "Definedecent."

I shut the door in her face.

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