From the rear booth where I’m sitting, I have a good vantage point overlooking the café, but no one strikes me as suspicious. A couple of teens hanging out, some women catching up, a couple groups of tourists doing brunch.Is this a joke?
Across the room, a middle-aged man smiles politely when our eyes meet. I return my focus to my textbook, willing it to open a swirling vortex into the text and suck me into a dark void.
My stomach knots. Please, not him.
Unknown:
It’s not him
I scoff and roll my eyes.They’re in my head now, too?
I know I chose this, but I never anticipated being stalked—actually being stalked—could be such a mind fuck. And the worst part?
It’s working.
I hesitate before typing.
Me:
Are you enjoying this?
Unknown:
Immensely.
A thrill runs through me—sharp, electric, wrong.
Me:
Was the cat collar and bell necessary?
Unknown:
Yes.
Were the red lace panties necessary?
My stomach drops. A new message arrives—a photo.
Me. In bed. Face down, ass up, the red lace barely covering me.
I stop breathing. Heat crawls up my neck. “Motherfucker,” I mumble aloud. The lady at the next table shoots me with a daggered glare. “Sorry,” I whisper as I bury my head in my hand, mortified.
Unknown:
Does my little pipsqueak need another latte?
Decaf perhaps? You look a little on edge.
I look around the café again. The idea of being watched is such a thrill. My heart is racing, my breaths short and shaky. I can feel my panties stick to me as they begin to gather my arousal. Licking my lips, I suck in my bottom lip, biting it as I press my thighs together trying, yet again to focus on my textbook.
Unknown:
The things I want to do to those lips.
Lick them again.
I smile. Teasing. And do as I’m commanded.
