prologue
Content Warning: Since I cannot imagine every specific scenario that might upset someone, but I would never want to cause harm, I recommend simply avoiding this author entirely if you have any triggers. These books are not safe reads, and your mental health comes first.
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Preston Darling
My pulse picks up speed as I turn into the parking lot of a small apartment complex in East LA.
At least the place is nice, with a palm tree in front of each white, stucco building with stairs on the outside instead of a creepy stairwell inside where a woman could be raped.
I’ve been tracking the Dolces’ cars for years, and all those skills have paid off this week.
It took no time to place a tracker on Dolly’s car while she was at work and follow her movements long enough to figure out this is where she sleeps most nights.
I switch off the headlights and climb out of my truck. I’ve taken the necessary precautions, made arrangements so no one will think I’m suspicious, a tall order for a man who wears a mask.
At least, they won’t suspect anything if they don’t see me.
I climb the stairs and make my way along the balcony to apartment twenty like I belong here.
I do belong, even on my day off. After the first few times I came here, I talked to the apartment’s management to find out about security.
It seems like a celebrity such as Dolly Beckett should have a guard outside her apartment, but they assured me it was very safe, and they’d had no incidents with stalkers or fans harassing her. That made me feel better.
I slip my key into the lock and turn it quietly, then step into the darkness within.
Pulling the door closed, I turn the lock and wait for my eyes to adjust. I’ve already mapped out the interior, so I know how to move without tripping on anything and making noise.
Slipping off my shoes, I leave them at the door so I can move quietly.
Then I wander through the apartment, touching the things she’s touched.
I run my fingers over the remote she left lying on the coffee table, imagining her manicured fingers on the buttons.
I kneel before her spot on the sofa and bury my face in the cushion, that lucky bastard.
Never thought I’d be jealous of a couch, but she sits here every night instead of on my face, so who can blame me?
I inhale deeply, slowly, trying to catch a trace of her scent.
I rub my face slowly back and forth over the spot, remembering the way she tasted that night.
It doesn’t matter if I leave a hair or skin cells on the cushion as evidence that I’ve been here.
She’ll never find it. People don’t look for things like that.
Besides, I would never hurt her, so there will never be a reason for cops to come and sweep the place for my fingerprints or hair or semen.
I stand and move through the kitchen, finding a bowl and spoon in the sink.
I slip the spoon between my lips and close my eyes.
It’s slightly sweet, probably her dessert bowl.
She always had a sweet tooth. I suck at the spoon, imagining it between her plump lips, and my cock twitches.
I imagine walking into her bedroom, spreading her legs, and burying my nose in her sweet cunt like it’s a peony.
But I won’t rush.
Not the first time. I learned that lesson the hard way, and I’ll never forget it. This is the first time I’ve been in the apartment while she was here, and I’m going to take my time.
I place the spoon back in the bowl and move down the hall to her bathroom.
This is where she uses the toilet, brushes her teeth.
I run my thumb softly against the bristles of her toothbrush.
Next time she puts it in her mouth, she’ll put a little bit of me in, too.
She won’t taste it, but I’ll be inside her, those few skin cells.
Finally, I let myself turn to the bathtub.
This is the room where she undresses. Where she washes that glorious body, runs her hands over those breakneck curves.
This is where she stands when she strokes her hands over those magnificent tits, where she slips her fingers into that plump, pink cunt.
Does she ever think about me while she touches herself?
I take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom. I’m hard now, my cock aching to push into the tight clench of her body, to feel her heat and wetness coat my skin, feel her milking me as she cums.
But that’s impossible.
She would call the cops if I did that, and they’d find my DNA all over this place.
The thought calms me enough for the next room.
I’m not here to fuck. I just want to see her.
To know she’s okay, that she’s happy, that her life here is worth what she gave up.
Holding my breath, I slowly turn the knob to her bedroom and push the door open.
The sight of her body, the sheet draped over her delectable curves, makes my cock throb again.
This is it. I’m here. I’m really seeing her, in person, for the first time in two and a half years.
I take another breath and enter her bedroom, the most intimate room in any house. I set each step down carefully as I make my way closer, until I can see the rise and fall of her ribs as she breathes. She’s on her side, with her arm over the sheet, which is pulled up to her chin.
Oh, well. This isn’t someone’s homemade porn. She’s not going to sleep spreadeagle on her back on top of the blankets.
I lean closer, watching her breathe. She’s here. She’s fine.
Not that I thought she’d disappeared on me.
I followed her career on the news—almost overnight, she went from that girl who kept going viral on The Tea app to a record deal, with a song rushed out only a few months later.
I scoured the internet for mentions of her on music blogs and Your Celebrity Eyes.
Sightings of her around town with a member of an up-and-coming boyband only fanned her popularity, though it was some little guy who was up to her shoulder and looked ridiculous next to her.
Then it came out that he was gay, her next single died immediately, and she got a scathing review in Vanity Fair about the insignificance of her music.
I knew that one hurt. I texted her, and for a few months, we talked. She told me she swore she’d seen my cousin Devlin at the music studio where she’d signed. I told my family, but no one believed it.
Ever since I woke up in the hospital three years ago, though, I refused to believe he was dead. The bodies had never been found. He’d said goodbye to me. He’d taken a huge chunk out of his trust right before that. Those weren’t the actions of a dead guy.
I didn’t look for him, though. I told Dolly to drop it, that it had just been someone who looked like him, the way you see someone in a crowd and for a moment, you think it’s someone you lost. In truth, I knew that being presumed dead was the only thing keeping Devlin alive.
Slowly, I tug the sheet down. Dolly shifts and sighs.
I freeze, waiting for her to return to a deep sleep before I move closer.
When she’s breathing evenly again, I kneel at the edge of her bed.
Her full lips are parted, her long lashes curling against her cheek.
My gaze moves down, slowly taking in the graceful lines of her throat, the smooth swell of her gorgeous tits.
The way she’s sleeping presses them together, and above her tank top, I can see a good four inches of cleavage.
My cock throbs as I gaze as them, wishing I could touch her soft skin, squeeze her glorious tits, make her moan.
I can’t believe this is real. After two and a half years, I’m seeing her in the flesh again.
I’m so close I can smell her when I lean in, slowly inhaling the scent of her skin.
My cock is so hard it hurts, the visceral reaction to her nearness making me hot all over.
Unable to resist, I slide my hand down the front of my pants and give my cock a tug. The relief is only temporary.
If only I could touch her, have something tangible to prove to myself that she’s within reach again. If I could taste her, lick her soft breasts, pull down the top of her tank and sink my teeth into one of her big, pink nipples, feel their silky skin pucker with desire as she cries out.
I stroke myself faster, my mouth watering at the thought of tasting her again.
Soon, I promise myself.
I don’t want to scare her. If she woke in the night to find a masked man standing over her bed, she’d be terrified.
I don’t want that. I don’t want to have to hold her down to keep her from calling the cops, to hold a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. I’m not into anything weird like that.
That would be an emergency, a last resort.
That’s not the way to get her to come home. Then I’ll make my move. I’ll be patient, take my time. I’ve been doing it my whole fucking life. I’m done waiting, but that doesn’t mean I’m a brute, that I’ll drag her home kicking and screaming. I’m not a caveman.
And she’s not a conquest. She’s a lady, my lady.
She’ll come home, but she’ll do it willingly.
I don’t want her to fight me. I don’t even want her to dutifully submit and then go in her closet and cry every night after I fuck her.
I want her moaning and begging, her cunt dripping with desire for me as she climbs on me and rides me until she loses all control.
I don’t want to hold back the sweet sounds she makes when she cums. I want her to scream my name, to ride my face until her legs give out, the way she did that night.
It was the best fucking night of my life, and I didn’t even get off.
I can almost taste her sweet cunt, can feel it pulsing around my tongue, as I give a final tug and bite down on my lip to keep from groaning as cum spills into my hand.
I want to pull down the sheet, to spread her legs and push my fingers into her, push my cum in.
I want to fuck it deep inside her with my cock while it’s still hard.
I want to watch her swell round with my baby and know she’ll always be mine.
For tonight, though, it’s enough to see her, to hear her breathing, to feel the heat of her skin when I lean in and brush my thumb gently across the swell of her breast, leaving a smear of cum behind.
It’s enough to know I’m on her skin all night, that she’ll wear my invisible mark like a claiming through the night and maybe even the next day.
Soon, I’ll mark her more permanently, so she never forgets she’s mine. Just as I’ve never forgotten I’m hers. I’ve waited all my life for this. Just a few more days, and I’ll have everything in order. Then I’ll make my move.