That’s the thing with loss. The rest of the world just goes on as if nothing happened.
I walk across the street to my old beat-up car. We never had much money. Now, without Dad’s income, even less than ‘not much’. I’m going to need to get a second job. And soon. I can’t rely on Kate’s kindness for much longer. Certainly, not forever.
I’m almost at my car when something catches my eye from across the street. I turn…
And there he is. Leaning against the wall of a café next to the car. His hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded blue jeans. It’s the guy from the photo, with the tattoos and the dark-silver hair. He looks at the ground when he sees me staring.
My heart picks up like it’s betraying me, like it’s trying to choke me. Instincts tell me to calm down. I’ve never felt anything like this.
Like a big invisible hand is pushing down on my soul over and over.
You know what? No. I refuse to be meek anymore. Little-Miss-Shy, who wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a freaking goose. I’m done with that. This guy clearly has some kind of problem. I march across the street before I can think better of it. Cannot believe what my legs are doing. Breath coming fast. Flush creeping up my neck.
He pushes away from the wall, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He looks down at me as if I’m an animal in a zoo. A curiosity. Like he thinks I’m cute or something.
“Can I help you?” I snap, hoping my voice doesn’t shake.
His head swivels away and then back to me in a classic ‘are you talking to me’ kinda way. “Um, I’m not sure… I know… what you mean,” he says in a low, husky, drawn-out voice.
“I’ve … seen you before, haven’t I?”
He shifts. I swear I hear the leather of his jacket creak as it tries to contain his muscles. It’s open, his shirt unbuttoned to show his muscular chest. The ridged curve of his pecs. His eyes look into me, not at me. It’s like we’ve been waiting a long time for each other. Maybe that thought means I’m going insane.
“Hello?” I snap. “Earth to…”
“Radomir,” he growls.
“Is there a reason you’re following me, Radomir? Or stalking, as some might call it.”
“Stalking,” he repeats.
He takes a step forward.
I stay as still as I can. Doing one hell of a statue impression. But my thighs ache from pressing them together. He smells of man. His heat radiates. I’ve never been a super sexy sort of girl, but it’s like he’s waking something up inside of me.
Another step closer. I gasp. My photos fall from under my arm and flutter all over the sidewalk.
Radomir kneels and immediately helps me collect them. I quickly shove them away. We go to grab the same one, and our hands touch. Electricity sparks up my arm, into my body. My nipples tighten so much they almost hurt. My entrance is aching, getting wet somehow, impossibly. What’s happening to me?
Radomir staresdown at the photo. His jaw clenched. Temples pulsing. “What the fuck is this… ?” He sees my name scrawled on the photo. “Mara?”
The photo shows me in an academic setting. A little embarrassed, I explain, “I didn’t have money for models. So I had to be the model. It’s a personal project. Nothing major. Just a chance to play with light and stuff.”
I snatch it from him, tuck it away.
He turns to me. Eyes blazing. His body shakes as if he’s angry. Or maybe it’s something else. It’s like he’s trying to hold back a tidal wave of …
Of something I can’t name. Don’t want to name.
3
RADOMIR
My cock is a rock-hard staff in my jeans. Pushing against my zipper. I’ve never been this hard before. Especially not over the daughter of a man I killed. This is fucked up, all right, but I can’t stop. I’m going to ruin my jeans, but I can’t stop my mind from racing ahead.
I grab her, tear off that prim-and-proper white shirt. Then shred her tight-fitting leggings with my teeth, reveal that round juicy ass. Bite her creamy flesh to turn it red, then spank her gently to make those curves shake.
Back to reality. She bites her lip. Like she can read my damn mind. She looks as conflicted as I feel. She’s not sure if she should be attracted to the man she already suspects is following her.Stalking, in her words.
