21. Anna
ANNA
Something’s fundamentally changed. When we’re done, my stalker doesn’t make a move to leave, and I don’t want him to.
He turns off the light, settling back down beside me on the bed.
With the curtains drawn and my window shades pulled closed, there isn’t a single source of light.
I anticipate the ensuing silence to at least be uncomfortable, but there’s something freeing about the dark.
For both of us. Just because I don’t want to look at his face for logistical reasons, that doesn’t remove the desire.
I want to know the slope of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his eyebrows, but all I have is a phantom.
I run my fingers over the edges of his jaw, and I expect him to pull away once I begin exploring further, but to my surprise, he doesn’t.
The features under my fingers feel sharp but not gaunt. More like they’ve been chiseled from marble. My mind inherently tries to form a picture in my head, cataloging my findings, but he finally snatches my wrist.
“Don’t get greedy, love.”
The shift in the mattress is the only indication that I get before his mouth crashes over mine, devouring me in a kiss that leaves my head buzzing.
He knows the effect it has on me, because he draws back with a low laugh.
Whatever information my brain had been trying to piece together a minute ago may as well have been wiped from my memory because I can’t think past what his tongue was just doing.
And I can’t think past what his hand is doing.
Neither of us has put a single stitch of clothing back on, but even with me lying here naked, he’s not touching me anywhere intimate.
A calloused palm glides along my hip bone and over my stomach, and I wish I could see his expression for the sound that he makes.
My stalker has a way of making me feel like I’m the most beautiful thing in the world, even when he can’t see me. But then my mind goes to that expression he gave me earlier when he first entered the bedroom.
“How did you know about the camera?” I dare to whisper, as if that will somehow lessen the impact of what I did.
That one look he gave me was like he stared right into my soul, into my brain, reading my thoughts. But as much of a phantom as he may be, he’s still only human. The man isn’t psychic.
“You were wearing a tank top and shorts.” My stalker says this like it explains everything.
It doesn’t.
“…And?” I insist.
His hand moves up to my rib cage, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. “I’m not even sure if you’re aware of it, but whenever you’re wearing something that shows off your ass or your tits, it only ever emphasizes one or the other. Never both.”
I have to bite my lip, feeling his mouth come down on my breast, his teeth teasing the nipple.
“You know damn well you could be wearing a parka and I’d still want to fuck these tits,” he breathes against my skin. “You were making an effort to tempt me.”
“Did it work?” My attempt to sound teasing is obliterated when I all but moan.
No one’s ever shown my tits this kind of attention before. My exes usually just fondled and groped them, and it was only ever during sex or a makeout session, far more concentrated on getting their dicks wet than showing the girls some appreciation.
But that’s not what he’s doing. Well after he’s recovered and I can feel his erection pressing against me, he doesn’t make a move to go for another round.
His objective isn’t about getting laid. It’s about treasuring every inch of my body, about earning what I give him. And he does just that. He takes his time, working his hands and mouth over me until I’m coming undone.
And even then, he doesn’t go further.
We’re a tangle of limbs, the tip of his dick playing at my entrance as his mouth hits that erogenous zone on my neck, but when all is said and done, he draws his hips back…
And they don’t return.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I all but pant.
I can feel his smile as his mouth comes up to mine, our lips brushing. Bastard. “Are you aching for me?”
The last thing I want to do is give him the satisfaction of admitting it when he’s playing a game this cruel, but I concede. “Yes.”
“Good.”
I wait for him to bring his hips back down, to drive himself inside of me, but still, he doesn’t move.
Instead, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, taunting. “I want you to keep feeling that the entire fucking day. I want you so pent-up and throbbing that you’ll be begging me to fuck you when I come back.”
“What if I start begging now?” I wasn’t supposed to say that, but, well, there it is.
“What’s that quote? ‘Never give up what you want most for what you want now.’” There isn’t any hint of amusement in his voice anymore. “I want to do to you what you do to me. I want to drive you crazy just thinking about me, craving me. I want you to want me so fucking bad that it hurts.”
It already does…
His teeth reclaim my bottom lip, applying enough pressure just shy of breaking the skin. “I have no interest in being your fuck buddy, canary,” he growls. “This is it. You’re mine.”
Is there such a thing as lady blue balls? Because this man is torturing me enough that I may have them. Spooning with my stalker in the pitch black is a new kind of torment. And all the while, he keeps telling me to try and get some sleep.
Is he fucking kidding?
He’s trying to be all sweet and attentive, cradling me in his arms, but I can’t take it anymore.
“How the hell do you expect me to get any sleep with your erection pressing against my ass?” I demand.
“Well, if someone would stop grinding against me, maybe we wouldn’t have that problem.”
“Maybe if someone finished what he started, I wouldn’t feel the need to,” I growl, pulling out of his hold.
Anytime I need a distraction from something, I usually just start working on another book design, but that isn’t exactly an option right now, so I settle for the next best thing.
Blindly fishing around the bottom drawer of my nightstand, I pull out the bag of candy I have stored away and settle back down onto the mattress with it, away from him.
I get so far as popping a few into my mouth before a hand tries to seize the bag. I smack it away.
He has the nerve to chuckle. “I just wanted to see what you were eating.”
“M&M’s.”
“Can I have some?” he asks sweetly, only pissing me off further.
“No, blue ballers don’t deserve them.”
“What do they deserve?” he all but snickers.
“Circus peanuts, or those terrible Valentine’s Day chocolates that taste like they’re filled with mint toothpaste.”
I refuse to let the warmth of his laughter melt into my bones, but goddamn, he makes it hard. It’s not the tempting, predatory laugh I’ve become used to. It’s genuine and has a lightness to it that I haven’t heard before.
When it subsides, he admits, “I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Feisty.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t see me,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
He doesn’t say anything, and something about the silence makes me suspicious.
“What?”
“I already have,” he says, at least having the decency to sound guilty. “I took some of the videos off your computer the first time I got into your apartment.”
“I’m sorry, you what?”
“It was for research purposes,” he assures, like that somehow makes it any better.
Though, coming from the man who installed a camera in my living room, should I really be surprised?
“I couldn’t find any information on you.
I was hoping I could use the footage to track down your social media accounts. ”
“What kind of footage was it?” I try to mentally catalog the videos I have stored on my computer, praying that there’s nothing intimate.
Thankfully, he only names festivals and other outings, but the more he brings up, that lightness in his voice dissipates.
“What?” I have to ask again.
“In the videos, you were always surrounded by friends. Where were they…?” When everything went to shit?
He doesn’t need to say it.
“My ex had a problem with most of my friends, and he has this way of convincing people that he knows what’s best for them.
” I feel like an idiot admitting to being so gullible, but my stalker doesn’t say anything or even pull back.
His hand just continues skimming my arm, reassuring me.
“Over the course of our relationship, I wound up distancing myself from pretty much everyone I used to know. And after what happened with my roommate, I made sure to keep everyone at arm’s length. ”
“You didn’t have anybody else you could have turned to? Not even family?”
“I’m an only child, my dad’s been in prison for armed robbery since I was seven, and my mom died when I was ten.”
There’s a hesitation in his voice, but after a beat, he asks, “How did it happen?”
“Car accident.” Even though I can’t see him, I can feel his eyes on me, silently asking for more. I roll onto my side to face him. “After my dad went away, she struggled financially, and she refused to ask my grandmother for help.”
“Pride?”