“I think that’s the one. This year is her choice, something about‘the place where childhood fairytales go to die?’I’m kind of at her mercy.” She shrugs, pulling out her laptop from her bag.
Wrong. She’s atmymercy.
A gentle breeze blows through the leaves, stirring her hair as she turns to put her bag beside her. I pick up the distinct scent of lavender. It takes everything in me not to lean in, not to inhale her, not to press my mouth against her throat and feel her pulse spike beneath my lips.
Not yet.
“I think you should go to the party. Sounds fun.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh? You’re going?”
I fight the predatorial grin from escaping my lips. My little pipsqueak’s eagerness betrays her.
“I might make an appearance,” I taunt.
She smiles as a blush fills her cheeks again. Before my body has a chance to deceive me, my cock already getting ideas, I take my cue to leave.
I stand, dusting myself off.
Her gaze follows me.
She doesn’t want me to leave.
Patience, Pipsqueak.
“I’ll see you around,” I say, raking my gaze over her once more for good measure. A salacious grin breaks free as I walk away.
SEVEN
PIP
If nothing else, my stalker is persistent—somehow managing to make their intrusive, downright creepy behavior seem almost valiant and sweet. I lock my townhouse up in a craze of OCD manic hysteria. Check once, check twice, check thrice… who am I kidding? If they managed to get through the deadbolt without it looking like a break-in, would my efforts to stop them now have an impact? Probably not.
Closing the door behind me, I head for my car. There's a little card wedged under my car’s windshield blades.
Have the best day, my little pipsqueak.
I’ll be watching x
See? Sweet, yet creepy.
Does it make me feel special? Sure, in an oddly unhealthy way.
Am I turned on? You bet… and I shouldn't be.
But let's face it, I kicked rational thinking to the curb the moment I went onto that website. I just wanted to try a new flavor ofi-scream. I was never going to find my Prince Charming with pristine qualities to introduce to my momon DystopiaNet.
I don’t receive any other messages throughout the morning. Thankfully! The morning rush saw me running around without a break until nearly 1pm.
A name on the appointments’ list stops me dead in my tracks, instantly filling my stomach with an awful, sickly churn.
Tanner Beaufort.
I groan under my breath and look around for any other techs to process him, but alas, they were all with their patients in consults.
I head out to the waiting room to collect him. “Mr. Tanner Beaufort?” I announce.
He looks up. His bruised expression doesn’t alter, but his eyes instantly darken. He smacks his lips as he stands and crosses the waiting room, almost prowling toward me like a lion stalking its prey.
