Chapter Nineteen
MONROE
Dear Diary,
Last night was unexpected to say the least. Even as I lay here in my bed, I can’t stop staring at the chair in the corner of my little house.
I slept the rest of the night off and on, tossing and turning and going back and forth with whether or not it happened at all or if I really was dreaming.
But I know what I felt, and I’ll never be able to erase the feeling of Crew’s eyes on me.
The same eyes that have followed me for weeks now.
The ones that I crave, the ones that I look for everywhere I go.
It was Crew all along. Crew is my stalker.
It’s like the two pieces have finally come together and knowing it now makes perfect sense.
I’ve felt stuck for so long, stuck in my quiet, safe routine, stuck in my mundane existence where I’m walking a tight rope between the living and the dead.
Crew makes me want to live. He makes me want to chase the feelings he brings out in me and explore every possibility.
I’ve never been in love before, and I don’t know enough about him to understand why I feel the way I do.
But I recognize it. I think I’m in love with the dangerous ghost that is Crew Lawson.
For the first time in my career, I called out of work for a sick day.
George was more than understanding since I’ve been such a dependable employee, and part of me felt guilty for not going in.
But I needed to get my head on straight, and I wasn’t going to do that at work with the feeling of my stalker—Crew—on me all day long.
But being in my house all day didn’t change anything. Somehow, that feeling is with me constantly now, even in my home in the light of day.
Despite the lingering feeling that takes my breath away, I spent the day pampering myself.
I took a long bubble bath, shaved my legs, and painted my toes a pretty new shade of bubblegum pink.
Then I pulled out all the ingredients to bake chocolate chip cookies, but that feeling nagging at the back of my neck prevented me from making them right away.
Instead, I decided to sit down at my piano and let myself be taken away with the music.
Each song flows easily into the next, my eyes closing as I play songs that come out with muscle memory. My body starts to feel lighter, and even though that feeling doesn’t ever go away, I embrace it, putting on a show even though there’s no proof anyone is here but me.
A knock at the door startles me as my fingers flow over the keys, and I drop my hands to my lap, wondering if I heard it correctly.
Turning to face the door, I stand, looking down at my short dress, something I wouldn’t really wear out of the house, but is comfortable for just being at home all day.
I tug at the hem and walk to the door, expecting one of my siblings or even my parents.
The sun pours into my room as I open the door wide, coming face-to-face with my stalker himself. God, he is gorgeous.
“Crew,” I say on a rushed breath, my heart seizing in my chest. He’s wearing a pair of tight jeans that hug his hips, no T-shirt, and his club vest. My hands itch to reach out and trace each of his tattoos.
When I meet his eyes, he’s looking at me like he’s seeing the light of day for the first time.
Then, his arm pops out from behind his back, holding a bouquet of freshly picked daisies, and hands them to me. God, it really is him. I knew it, but my mind was still struggling to accept what my heart and body already knew. But now here’s the proof.
The daisies.
I accept them, bringing them to my nose to inhale their fresh, clean scent.
“Thank you, Crew.”
“You were wearing a dress with daisies the first time I ever saw you. They remind me of you.” And there go the last shreds of my heart.
“Thank you. That’s sweet. Do you want to come in? I’d really like for you to come inside. With an invite this time.”
Crew laughs, and it sounds so foreign, so good, and makes butterflies take flight in my stomach. “Yeah, pixie, I want to come inside.” My cheeks burn from the smile that just won’t go away around him.
“Didn’t want to hide in the shadows anymore?” I joke.
“Oh, trust me, pixie, I’ll forever be in the shadows, watching you.” My heart stutters, a rapid pitter-patter, feeling like it’s suddenly sprouted wings. He seems to notice my abrupt change but misreads it.
“Do I scare you?” he asks as he steps inside my tiny house, pulling the door closed behind him.
It used to feel just right for me, spacious and just what I needed.
But with Crew standing in the center of it, everything suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me, suffocating in the best way. Consuming.
“No,” I answer honestly. I’ve never once been scared of either side of him.
“You should be.” He says the words as he combs his hand through his wild hair, the muscles of his bicep flexing with the movement. I track it with my eyes, the tattoos stretching slightly, the muscle bulging.
“I know,” I manage to whisper.
“But you’re not.”
I shake my head in response, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Words, pixie.”
“No. I’m not scared of you, Crew. Despite finding out you’ve been stalking me.”
He takes a step forward, and I take one back, his head cocking to the side, watching me, eyes roaming over every inch of my face. How can I feel so exposed and seen just from his eyes on my face?
“Is that what I’ve been doing? Stalking you?”
“Yes. You’ve been watching me, leaving me flowers, sneaking into my bedroom at night.”
“Stalking sounds so malicious. I was just watching. Tell me, do you feel my eyes on you?”
My breath starts to come faster as he approaches. “Yes. From the very first moment, I felt it.”
When he’s backed me up against my counter, only inches separate us. His gentle hand reaches up, running the back of his pointer finger down the bridge of my nose before threading his fingers through my hair, tilting my head backward.
Crew looks down at me with reverence, with awe, and if he doesn’t kiss me right this second, I think my heart will explode out of my chest. Luckily, he doesn’t make me wait long.
Crew bends his knees, dropping down several inches before his lips are on mine.
My eyes fall closed as my hands grip his forearms, bracing myself, holding him there.
Just like everything about Crew, his lips consume me.
He kisses me like it’s the best part of his day, like he can’t get enough.
His lips move over mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth and tangling with my own.
He swallows down the mewl that escapes as his fingers squeeze a handful of my hair.
He’s a man teetering on the edge of control, and there’s something so powerful about knowing I’m affecting him like this.
He breaks the kiss too soon, dropping his forehead to mine, his hands cupping my cheeks.
“I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day, pixie.”
“Me too,” I admit as he drags his thumb lightly over my puffy bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement.
“I can’t believe a monster like me gets to kiss a queen like you.”
“I don’t see any monsters here. Just a man I can’t get enough of.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You’re wrong,” I whisper, as I pull him back into a kiss. There’s no tongue, no rush, just a hard press of our lips so he can feel how much I mean my words. It kills me how undeserving he thinks he is. I’m determined to show this man how worthy he is of love.
When we break apart, his hands clasp my face, holding me still as he kisses the center of my forehead, breathing me for mere moments.
“Did I hear you playing the piano before I interrupted?”
“You did.”
“Will you play for me?” He takes a large step backward, and I miss his proximity immediately. I turn to fill up a vase with water, placing my daisies in it on the counter.
“You want to hear me play?”
“I do. I’ve never heard someone play in person before.”
Nerves suddenly catch up with me, my hands slightly shaky, but how could I ever say no?
“That’s a tragedy we have to fix.” I grab Crew’s hand, leading him over to the chair he sat in last night when he snuck into my house.
But instead of taking a seat, he grabs me around the waist, easily picking me up and taking two strides to my piano bench.
He sits down in front of my piano and positions me in his lap.
“Is this okay?” he asks as his hands travel down my waist, over my hips, and settle on my thighs. My back leans against his chest, the top of my head coming to right under his chin. Yes. Yes, this is very much okay. I nod, lifting my hands to hover them over the keys.
“Words, pixie.”
“This is more than okay. Are you ready?”
“Play for me, my pretty girl.” My heart freaks out at his words, and I have to hold back a slight laugh. Can women have heart attacks at my age? It feels like they can.
I take a deep, centering breath, then my fingers are moving across the piano, flowing into the first song that comes to mind.
Its melancholic melody has brought me comfort so many times, the tune bringing me hope as I navigate my life.
Now it reminds me of Crew. It’s dark, but there’s light, too.
Just like Crew and me together. The more time I spend with him, the more I’m convinced we’re each other’s missing pieces.
My fingers stutter over the keys as Crew’s fingertips start to rub small, soft circles on the bare skin of my thighs.
I quickly adapt, flowing into another song just as his lips press against the top of my shoulder.
Then another. It’s just a featherlight touch that lights up every single cell in my body.
I’m aware of every touch, and it’s becoming harder and harder to focus on anything else.
Crew’s fingers move up higher, the bottom lace of my dress inching up as he resumes light circles on my skin. Goosebumps break out as his lips brush across the back of my neck and reach my other shoulder, where he repeats peppering kisses.
“Is this okay, pixie?”
“Yes.” My breathing has picked up, my chest rising and crashing harder with every stroke of his fingers, every whisper of a kiss across my bare skin. It’s all-consuming.
Crew gently grips my thighs, pulling them to rest on either side of his legs as he slowly spreads them open.
Then his fingers are gently sliding up my inner thighs, just skating the flesh like blades on ice, up and down, up and down.
I’m so turned on, I feel like I’m going to combust. My panties are soaked, and if he goes up any higher, he’s going to find out just how he affects me.
His kisses turn deeper, his tongue peeking out and dragging up the length of my neck to my ear before biting it so softly. My head falls back against his chest as my fingers fall flat against the keys, resulting in a loud smash of noise.
“Keep playing, pixie.”
“Oh, god.” My fingers return to the piano, playing softly, sloppily as he continues to tease me.
“That’s it,” he says as he nips me again. Then he’s kissing the area, pulling my earlobe gently between his lips.
My pussy throbs with need, and I know my wetness has probably seeped onto the inside of my thighs at this point. I’ve never wanted to be touched more than I do right now. Just as I’m about to beg for it, Crew slides his fingers up higher, running a featherlight touch over my seam.
A deep, primal growl rumbles from his chest, the vibrations rattling through my back.
“You’re so wet for me, pixie. Can I touch you? Is this okay? Will you let me make you feel good?” he whispers against the curve between my neck and shoulder. Shivers run down my spine, and I shudder in his arms.
I nod as my eyes close, my heart racing behind my ribs, my fingers clumsy on the keys as I struggle to focus on the feelings Crew is bringing out in me and the music.
His fingers hook into my panties, pulling them off to the side with his left hand as his other finally comes in contact with my flesh.
My entire body practically convulses in his lap as pleasure jolts through me.
And just as I move, I feel the hard, rigid outline of his cock.
Crew is going to wreck me.
And I’ve never welcomed anything more.