I finally make it back to my apartment, shedding my jacket and boots at the door.
Sliding the tripod into place, I set up my camera, angle it toward my chair with my bookshelves providing the perfect backdrop. It’s time for my monthly wrap-up video for TikTok.
The video posts smoothly, and I sink into bed with a sigh, pulling the blanket tight around me. My laptop hums softly beside me, an ambiance video casting flickering candlelight across the room. Cozy.
I open my new book, a dark stalker romance—shocking I know. I immediately get lost in the story. Page after page, the tension knots tighter, the thrill of danger and desire gripping me.
Then I reach a scene where the main character’s stalker is creeping close, taking photos through her window. My pulse spikes, and my panties quickly start to dampen.
I bite my lip, the flush rising in my cheeks, body warming with an ache that’s entirely distracting.
Every word twists the knot tighter. My fingers clutch the pages, heart pounding, breath catching, and I realize I’m hot all over, craving something like this.
Like the man on the pages who sits in her driveway pleasing himself to images of her.
My eyes flick up from the pages. I can’t stop thinking about him—my masked stranger. The ache for him coils tight in my core and I realize just how desperate I am to see him again.
I set the book down, tugging the blanket around me, and reach for my phone.
My thumb hovers for a moment and I type a message… then erase it. Five times. My heart hammers, and I bite my lip, cheeks hot.
Finally, a wicked sort of courage takes over. I type fast, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from shaking.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KELLAN
I’m leaning back in my seat, watching Opal’s latest TikTok, when her name pops up on the screen. I swipe down, and I freeze.
Her words hit me like a punch.
It would be too bad if I forgot to lock my door tonight and a masked stranger wandered inside to come take me in my bed.
Shit.
I nearly leap out of my seat, knocking over a half-empty cup from the holder. There’s no time to think. No time to hesitate.
My eyes flick up to her window and I throw the gear into drive, speeding out of her parking lot, toward my house.
It would be much more convenient if I kept my tactical gear in the truck.
I sprint to my bedroom, yanking the heap of black clothes off the chair where I’d thrown them last. Gloves, boots, tactical vest, long sleeve, mask, goggles.
I throw it all on, heart pounding in my chest. Truck keys in hand, I bolt out the door. The engine roars to life under my command as I peel out, tires crunching over gravel.
The ache that she’s put into words makes my blood run hot. Every single thought I have had this last week has been nothing other than her. And the photo she sent me a few nights ago. She has consumed my entire life—every thought, every breath—her. Not a moment goes by that I’m not thinking of Opal.
And it drives me mad.
Finally, I return to her apartment. The streetlights flicker off the black metal of my truck. I pause for a moment, reading her text again. I snap a quick photo of her building and send it to her.
I don’t wait for a reply; I jump out of my truck and start toward the building. Taking two steps at a time, I climb the stairs quickly.
I pause in front of her door. The handle turns easily. Unlocked. My chest tightens. I take a deep breath, and step inside.
The apartment is beautiful. Every corner, every detail—it’sher. Bookshelves lined with stories, fall décor tucked into every corner. Soft throw blankets of every color are draped over a plush white couch.
Sheer white curtains cover the large windows, the floors are a grey wood covered in rugs of soft muted tones. The walls are painted a sage green and filled with a variety of wall décor and artwork.
