3. Chapter 3 – Lincoln
Chapter 3 – Lincoln
I watched the screen closely, zooming in as far as possible on the camera, but I was unable to see the images on her computer.
She was sitting just far enough that my ultramodern camera system failed to show me her computer screen.
But it was no hardship for my hacking abilities; those knew no bounds.
With a few clicks on my keys, a firewall or two dismantled, and a link sent through the Wi-Fi signal she lied to her boyfriend about being too weak to video over, and I was in.
There wasn’t a single piece of her life she could hide from me digitally. Not when my entire life had been dedicated to dismantling barriers and walls meant to keep me out. And she didn’t even have a good cyber security system in place to make it fun for me, either.
Peyton.
My new housekeeper while Mrs. Straight, abandoned me for her own flesh and blood. Selfishly, I might add .
I rolled my eyes at my stupid inner monologue, knowing that the woman deserved the three-month break from me and my obsessive nature; to visit her daughter. I just hated the idea of the void she’d leave in her absence for the time.
Or at least I had until I read through the stack of applications she left on the breakfast bar for me one morning.
And Peyton’s was on top.
Pick number one circled with red in Mrs. Straight’s pristine handwriting.
This one looks perfect.
Her picture alone had been reason enough for me to dismiss the notion of hiring the young woman. Not because there was anything wrong with her, but because my cock had hardened to stone within seconds of gazing at her smiling photo attached to the application. And that was problematic.
It was unsafe to allow myself to be aroused by anyone who would be in my general vicinity, let alone someone locked away in solitude with me in my own personal jail cell.
Nothing like locking the sweet treat in the cell with the captive man, desperate for a taste.
No, I should have dismissed Peyton’s application right then and there.
Should have.
What I did instead was lock myself away in my office and investigate every single thing there was to know about the beautiful redhead.
And I mean everything.
Including her closet obsession with being chased through the woods by a masked man before he used her for sexual pleasure.
That had been unexpected, sure.
It had also been the straw that broke the camel’s back and forced me to accept her application, offering her the job electronically with a benefits package far too enticing to turn down.
I needed her to accept and wouldn’t leave anything to chance to get what I wanted.
Which she did, immediately.
And I’d been obsessively stalking her ever since.
Then she appeared, and sat in my guest house, on my couch, searching a porn site for her dirty drug of choice. So I watched.
I was always watching.
The monitors laid out on the wall behind my desk showed me every single thing I ached for. One showed the camera in the living room of her guest house, zoomed in on her so I could see the pulse point on her neck throbbing harder the longer she explored the site. Another one was screen shared with her laptop, so I could see everything she was looking at, even where her cursor was on the screen.
The others were on the normal things I monitored in my in-home office. Security footage, internet hacking, and other coding stuff.
But I’d never been more interested in what was being displayed before me than I was at that moment. Before Peyton took up residence in my home, I lurked through her computer only. Since her arrival, though, I had her within reach.
Yet, just far enough away to keep her safe. Because I was the worst kind of monster, and she was too perfect to break.
She scrolled through more articles on her newest fascination, primal kinks, and then clicked on an amateur video of a woman being chased through a haunted house.
The video was shaky, and you could hardly make out the woman past her screams of terror and delight as the man got closer to her at every turn until he caught her. I watched in fascination as Peyton’s lips parted and her little pink tongue ran over the fullness of her bottom lip while she watched the woman thrash around as the man set his camera down on a chair before pushing her up against the wall.
Peyton swallowed almost audibly when the woman bucked while the man lifted her short little schoolgirl skirt and pushed himself inside of her without warning. The woman moaned and Peyton sighed, running her fingers over her collarbone absently as she stared, engrossed in the film.
My cock was so fucking hard it pulsed in my jeans. I fucking hated jeans, but I hadn’t taken the time to get changed after getting home. I all but ran right to my office to stalk my new housekeeper the second I walked in the front door. She had no idea I was back at Hartington, and I wanted to see her unreserved self.
I palmed my erection as I stalked her, watching the kinky porn balancing on the precipice of consent. She was so entranced by it she leaned back into the couch and ran her fingertips down the front of her chest, gently dragging them over one of her hard nipples through the thin fabric of her sleep shirt.
I only had one camera in her house, the one in the living room because even though I was a dirty fucking bastard, I couldn’t bring myself to spy on her where she would be naked and vulnerable. She always wore clothes as I watched over the last three days because the large windows overlooking the pool had no blinds on them, ensuring she never stepped foot out of her bedroom or bathroom naked.
If I ever saw her naked, she’d know I was watching her.
I wouldn’t take that from her in secret. She’d know I was looking, and she’d give it to me willingly.
But fuck if I didn’t ache to know what her breasts looked like bare. What they tasted like. What she sounded like when I took a bite.
Obsessed didn’t even begin to describe it .
I knew if I kept watching, I’d see something I didn’t deserve, but I wasn’t willing to stop completely. So instead, I redirected her attention.
I typed out the code to interrupt her porn video just as the woman on the screen begged for more and then watched in fascination as Peyton leaned closer to the computer screen to see what I did.
I sent the pop-up message through the site to the center of her screen, pausing her video remotely, giving her no choice but to allow me to interrupt her.
What is it about the chase that excites you?
She leaned back against the couch like she was trying to create space between the computer screen and herself and then glanced outside at the darkness. Did she think someone was watching her? Did she feel my eyes?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as if she wanted to reply, but didn’t quite make contact with the keys. So I prompted her again.
Is it the thrill? Or the fear?
Her chest rose and fell and then her fingers danced on the keys. My heartbeat sped up in my chest when I realized she was replying to me.
Aren’t they the same thing?
I smirked at her reply and watched her on the camera as she chewed on her bottom lip while waiting for me to answer. As she waited, she clicked on my profile, like she was looking to see who I was or what I looked like, but my profile was fake. It was a ghost, it only existed for her and it was blank other than my location, which was two towns over from where we were currently. I wanted her to know I wasn’t some ghost on the internet, but a man who was close enough to follow through with what I said. I replied, drawing her attention back to the message window.
I suppose.
What’s your favorite part of being chased?
She swallowed and looked back outside through the unobscured glass and then back to her screen.
Who are you?
I grinned and typed out my reply, knowing eventually her good sense would kick in through the haze of arousal.
A shadow. A nobody.
Her reply came instantly.
How are you messaging me? This looks different from other messages that come through.
I ignored her first question and asked what I was more interested in.
Do you get messages through this site often?
A few times.
From men wanting to chase you through a haunted house and fuck you into the wall?
I shouldn’t have noted specific things about her, but I enjoyed the way the fear of being watched bloomed over her skin like a shy blush. Was she shy? Or did she redden from the excitement of it all?
They all offer pretty lines and good times in varying forms.
She chewed on her fingernail, glancing around her again like she felt my eyes on her. Fuck, I was rock hard and only had twenty lines of communication in so far. But it was the first time she’d spoken to me, even if it was through chat, and I hungered for more.
You don’t want pretty lines, do you?
No. I don’t want anything pretty.
So tell me then, what draws you to being chased?
Are you some freak emptying my bank accounts while distracting me?
Answer me.
She was trying to avoid the question with humor and distraction, but she didn’t realize how tenacious I could be.
Especially for her.
I dream of it. Every time I close my eyes, I dream of being hunted. So I guess I’m trying to figure out why.
I didn’t reply as I watched her while her words danced around inside of my brain. She dreamed of being hunted, but why would the girl with the perfect life randomly uproot herself to the middle of nowhere and long for something so dark? And what did it say about me that I wanted to give that to her?
So, are you on this site looking for your hunter?
I don’t know.
She thought avoiding the real answers would give her something. Perhaps protection from the truth, or even maybe a bit of her sanity, I wasn’t sure. But until she had the answers and was willing to give them, I couldn’t make a move.
Well then. Until you find the answers or the bravery to give them, goodbye P.
She sank back into the cushions again as I remotely closed our blank conversation window and resumed her dirty movie, but she paid it no mind. She knew nothing about me, yet I’d be on her mind for a while, nonetheless.
Which was exactly what I wanted.