Chapter 11 Make Her Fall In Love With Me
Make Her Fall In Love With Me
Eli's Search History: What does it mean if the woman you’re obsessed with loves the books you buy her?
Eli
The buzz of the gun hums through the air.
The design I’m working on is one I’ve been refining over the past few weeks—a large, hyper-realistic bear stretched across my client’s back. It’s not exactly to my taste, but even I can admit it’s some of my best work.
I only tattoo part-time. I don’t need a job—my idiot father forgot to cut me out of his will. Since I was his only kid, I ended up with a decent chunk of money. And his house, which I sold.
Then his parents died a few years later and left me most of their estate. Let’s just say I’m not hurting for cash.
But tattooing? That I do because I love it. There’s something comforting about leaving a permanent mark on someone's skin. Something they can’t get rid of. People are temporary. But the ink? That’s forever. I want forever.
I started doodling in school. After Jenny disappeared and I was still living on the streets, a gangbanger approached me with a way out of poverty. I was running drugs—quick and easy money. I got my first tattoo at nineteen from one of the gang’s guys. He showed me the ropes.
The rest is history.
I’m not involved in that life anymore. But… I can’t say I regret it.
I finish up with my client, heading to the front to ring him up when a blonde walks in. I do my usual scan to check if she’s Jenny—though the chances are slim.
After that… nothing.
I frown.
Then smile.
My angel really has cured me.
I wish I could tell her. Tell her what an incredible job she’s doing at fixing me.
But I can’t. Not yet.
If I reveal myself too soon, she might run.
I need her to crave me the way I crave her. Only then can I tell her who I am.
Which means I’ve got to up my game—because I don’t know how much longer I can wait.
The need to feel her coming apart over my cock is all-consuming.
But maybe… maybe I don’t need to reveal who I am to make that happen.
She wasn’t scared the other night.
Or… there’s option two.
Make her fall in love with me.
The Eli version of me, not the stalker in the shadows.
Hmm.
That could work.
But… fuck. She thinks I’m not interested.
I shouldn’t have told her I was stalking someone new. This is going to make things harder. But not impossible.
I can fix this.
Emily
The barista hands me my tea and smoked salmon bagel.
I murmur a quick, “thanks,” then glance around the busy coffee shop in search of a free table.
Nothing.
My heart sinks.
I’d hoped to spend my lunch break here, reading in peace, instead of locking myself away in my office like I usually do.
Ever since my stalker made me feel wanted, seen, something’s shifted.
I feel bolder. I want to be out in the world again.
To stop existing as a shadow of myself—like I’ve been since Gianna broke me.
Then my eyes catch on a flash of pale silver.
Eli.
He’s watching me.
Seated near the back, he tilts his head, subtle, and motions me over with two fingers.
I don’t even think. My feet move before my brain catches up, and suddenly I’m standing beside his table.
He’s in a fitted black t-shirt and ripped jeans, the kind that hug his thighs in all the right ways. He usually wears a jacket during our sessions, but not today. Today, I can see his tattoos in full.
Dark gothic skulls. A raven. Some sort of geometric pattern. Roses with thorns and blood. Chains breaking. Most of them are monochrome, with very little colour.
His silver eyes are locked on me, and the heat of his gaze sends a jolt straight up my spine.
Get a grip, Emily.
“Want to join me?” he asks, smirking. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, the kind that makes me wonder what else he’s capable of. He points his head towards the seat opposite him.
“I… I don’t think that would be very professional of me,” I manage, my breath catching in my chest.
He lifts a shoulder. “Looked like you were hoping to sit. And there aren’t any tables left.”
He’s right.
It wouldn’t be that bad.
We don’t even have to talk. I could read my book. Pretend he’s not sitting there being ridiculously attractive and definitely not my stalker.
Right?
“Okay,” I whisper, slipping into the seat. “Thank you.”
He smiles, slow and lethal. My stomach flips.
He’s so damn beautiful.
Too bad he’s a got pathological obsessive tendancies.
Though… if I’m being honest, that doesn’t seem to bother me nearly as much as it should.
I nibble on my bagel, suddenly self-conscious eating in front of him.
Eli doesn’t say a word—just reaches into his bag, pulls out a book, and starts reading. I’m about to do the same when I catch the title on his cover. I choke.
Literally.
A coughing fit overtakes me, and my eyes start to water.
Eli leans over, calmly patting my back until the spluttering eases. Then he tilts his head, silently asking what the hell just happened.
“Sorry,” I manage, cheeks heating. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you reading… that.” I gesture to the book now lying innocently on the table.
He picks it up, clears his throat like he’s about to read Shakespeare, and begins in a low murmur:
“Tara’s cunt clenches around my cock as I dig the knife deeper into her flesh. She moans, half in pain, half in pleas—”
“Oh my god! Stop,” I hiss, mortified. My face is on fire.
He raises an amused brow. “Not into romance novels, Doctor Morgan?”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the pulse between my legs. “No… I like them. I just didn’t expect you to.”
He shrugs. “I consider it research.”
“Research?”
“This is what women want in a man, isn’t it?” He gives the book a little shake.
“I’m not sure we really want a man to stab us.”
He chuckles, eyes glinting with something dark. “Are you sure about that?”
My thighs clench under the table.
Fuck.
I shake my head quickly. “Pretty sure.”
He smirks. “Well. Still. I like to think there’s something I can learn.”
I nod, choosing not to respond as I pull out my own book—which just so happens to be the sequel to the one he’s reading.
He glances at the cover and lets out a low, throaty laugh. “And here you were judging me.”
“I wasn’t judging,” I mutter, blushing. “Just surprised.”
He waggles his brows. “At least I know it’s a solid pick if you’re already on book two.”
I fight a smile and bury my nose in the pages, pretending to read.
We don’t speak for the rest of lunch.
It’s… nice.
Comfortable. Easy.
By the time I glance at the clock, it's time to head back.
And, unexpectedly, a slither of disappointment hums under my skin.
“Thanks for letting me sit with you.”
“Anytime, Angel,” he says, voice low and warm.
I turn and walk out, heart fluttering in ways it absolutely shouldn’t.