10. Camden
10
CAMDEN
I ’m playing a drinking game.
Every time Royal mentions the high school stalker, I take a shot.
So far, I’m winning. Or losing, maybe. There’s a small group of us—mainly hockey players and the girls they kept from leaving with their friends—in the living room. The bottle of whiskey is propped on my leg, and I’ve got a shot glass in the other.
I think I’ve taken three? No, four.
Four shots in the last twenty minutes.
Harper is upstairs. Royal took her straight up when we all got back—minus Harper’s friend, who said she’d see her tomorrow—and I stayed down here. Of course I stayed instead of following her. Him.
Her.
She’s an addiction I am struggling to fight, and the fact she’s upstairs again is boring a hole in my head.
“He’s just an overstepping, waste-of-space human being,” Royal spits. “I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”
Royal saying he’d kill someone is comical. He’d never.
Maybe not never . But… he probably wouldn’t go out and plan it. It would have to be impulsive. An act of anger, maybe? Which, clearly, this Max guy has gotten under his skin.
I shake my head and pour another shot. I spill a little on my pants, grimace, then swallow down the liquid anyway. It barely burns. In fact, it’s starting to taste more like water than alcohol.
I’m not a lightweight, but we have a game tomorrow. I should quit while I’m ahead and go to bed. It’s approaching midnight, which means we’re approaching the start of my pre-game routine.
Step one: Go to my room by midnight, if not earlier.
Step two: Strip to boxers, get in bed, listen to fifteen minutes of classical piano.
I don’t usually make it past the first piece in my playlist. I’ve always been blessed with falling asleep quickly.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll get up, go for a light jog, eat a protein-and-carb breakfast, shower, and report to the arena for our bus departure at ten-something. Since there’s no morning practice scheduled at our arena, we’ll get straight on the road. Naps are acceptable. We’ll practice at the rink in Crown Point, check in to our hotels, and basically be free until we need to be back for the game.
Easy .
Well—it’s easy because it’s mapped out.
I did the same thing yesterday, minus the shots. Went to bed, listened to my music. Got up for morning skate, had a good breakfast. Went to class, napped, then played.
Now I’m considering not doing that.
Now… I’m considering going upstairs, bypassing my room, and finding my way into Harper’s. It’s a bad idea. Terrible, even. But I cannot explain the feeling that went through me when Royal got a call from Harper’s friend, and his face went white.
They’ve been dealing with a stalker.
I glower at the whiskey bottle. No one should be stalking her, but I do understand the impulse. The craving to follow her around, to learn every inch of her patterns…
I set the bottle and shot glass aside and rise abruptly.
“Sorry, guys. I’m headed up.” I wave and leave the room fast. My only pit stop is for a chilled bottle of water, and then I’m safe in my room.
Free of the temptation of Harper Shay.
I pop back out into the bathroom, and I’m in my room before my phone ticks over to midnight. I strip and lie flat, put on the playlist with its sleep timer, and shimmy until I can get fully comfortable.
My mind buzzes on whiskey and thoughts of Harper. I take my time imagining how she looked in all the different times I’ve seen her. At the party, in this very room—leaving her scent of arousal in her wake—and later, at her dorm. Her naked body.
Bad Church , I chastise.
She didn’t scream. She fought, but she didn’t… She didn’t really mind it all that much.
It’s the whiskey in my blood telling me she liked it.
I could prove she likes it.
The music shuts off, and my eyes open in the darkness.
I never stay awake long enough for it to turn off.
Routine broken .
I fling the blankets off my legs and stand. In the darkness, I pick my way to my door and crack it open. Voices downstairs filter up, and it takes a second, but then Royal’s separates. He’s talking about Shadow Valley, which is an adjacent topic to the stalker. He could go on for a while with his hostages.
I mean, teammates.
Better he be downstairs, occupied, than already in his room and in danger of intercepting me on his way to the bathroom.
No, the hallway is empty and dark.
At Harper’s door, I reach up and feel along the top of the doorframe. There’s a long, thin nail there, ready and waiting. We put it there once when someone accidentally locked the door on their way out, and I learned how to pick it.
It just requires a little pop .
And then it gives. The knob turns easily under my palm, and I slip into the darkened room. I close and lock the door behind me and take stock.
There are shitty blinds on the single window, doing nothing to stop the full streetlight from flooding in. Harper is splayed out on an air mattress in the middle of the room.
As much as I want this for just me, something else, darker, wants to ensure she won’t do anything crazy—like tell her brother. Which means I need to collect dirt on her. Something to smear her name just as surely as she’d hurt mine.
My hand goes to my pocket. To my phone in it.
I pull it out and set the shutter timing. Technology these days can make a dark room seem well lit. It used to be old, fancy cameras that could be manipulated like that. Now, the everyday cell phone can handle it, too.
I hold steady as the little bar on the bottom runs, taking the photo. And, sure enough, Harper’s features are clear. Shadowy, somewhat mysterious, but good enough.
Will she wake up? The thrill of not knowing rolls through me, and I peel the blankets off her legs. Pausing, waiting. There’s no change in her breathing, she doesn’t shift. Her face remains relaxed, her lips parted.
Perfect.
Hate and lust roll through me. She’s fucking with me, even when she’s asleep. Just being in this house—just being her . I take a breath, then go for her sleep shorts. I maneuver them off her body and toss them to the floor.
Her panties can shift aside.
I take another photo, then set my phone on the windowsill. I angle it so her face can’t be seen. The neck down, though, seems like fair game. Her breasts, her nipples visible through the thin fabric of her t-shirt.
I hit record , then circle around. If I keep my angle right, I won’t be in the frame either. I’ll just be an anonymous body fucking another anonymous body.
I spread her legs and climb over her, my gaze trained on her face.
Still sleeping.
Still peaceful.
“You are the temptation that will kill me,” I whisper.
And yet, my cock is hard. I push my boxers down, slide the strip of damp fabric between her legs out of the way, and guide my tip to her wet entrance. I thrust into her carefully, inch by inch. I feed her my dick slower than I’ve ever had to do, but there’s part of me that now doesn’t want her to wake up.
I like a challenge.
And fucking Harper while she sleeps, leaving her with only the feeling of being ravaged, with cum leaking from her cunt, sings in my blood.
That’s what I want.
No—that’s what I fucking need.
If she wakes up, I’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll drug her. Or put my hand at her throat, my fingers digging into her pulse points, until she passes back out.
This infatuation with her is insane. It doesn’t make sense.
And yet?—
I let out a low groan when I bottom out inside her.
She scared away the girl I was screwing— mid-screw —and she didn’t bat an eye. She listens to my orders, even as she glares at me. She fights but she likes it when I win.
Where else am I going to find that?
My muscles tense, but I keep myself hovering off of her. I don’t want the weight of my body to wake her. Our only point of contact is where I’m inside her. The brush of my hips against hers. The barest touch of her calves against my knees.
Then, I begin.
I take what I need from her body, every move sending a tremor through my abdomen and up my back. She doesn’t offer any resistance, but the faint pulse of arousal in her cunt seems to echo straight up my dick.
She gets wetter.
“You better be dreaming about me,” I growl under my breath.
She squeezes around me.
I’m too far gone to stop. Her face doesn’t change. Her chest rises and falls steadily. But her pussy seems to have a mind of its own, the flutter of muscles inside her tipping me over the edge faster than I expect.
Pleasure zings through my cock, up my back. I see stars for a minute, and my hearing goes out. It’s replaced by a rushing noise that takes over, only to fade a minute later.
I fucked her without a condom. My cum is inside her.
Harper still sleeps.
I pull out and slip off the mattress, and she rolls onto her side. She brings her knees up, exposing the wet spot on her panties.
My cum, her arousal.
I exhale slowly, then smile. I go to retrieve my phone and end the recording.
Only time will tell if this needs to work its way into my new routine.