Chapter 13
Bastien Montclaire
A full week.
Seven days without watching her.
No feeds. No updates. No stolen glimpses of Laurette Devereux moving through her life.
Not because I lost interest. Far from it.
Obsession is never impulsive. It’s deliberate, controlled, every withheld urge sharpened. I would be nothing but a voyeur with a hard-on and no endgame if I gave in and watched her every time the need hit.
Laurette deserves more than that.
She needs room to breathe. Time to let the echo of my voice sink into her skin. To roll the hunger over in her mind and wonder what comes next.
She asked for obsession. Now she has to decide if she’s brave enough to want it. For real.
This morning, I made my next move.
The burner phone I sent to her arrived with a notecard—just instructions and an invitation to keep playing.
It takes only one word, Laurette. Say yes and I own every part of you. Say no and I disappear.
You’ll find my contact saved in the phone. The time has come to make your choice.
Simple. Direct. Her move now.
I must’ve refreshed the tracking on the phone every five minutes this morning. It hit the DA’s office at 10:42 a.m. Status delivered.
Good. Now comes the hard part—waiting for her reply.
I don’t pace or check my phone. I train, shower, clean my weapons.
But I don’t obsess. Not yet. Obsession can only come if she chooses it too. This only becomes a game if she’s willing to play.
The hours drag, heavier with each one. No word from Laurette. No text. No call.
Just silence.
She’s making me wait.
Maybe she needs time to understand what she’s stepping into.
Or no answer is her answer.
I stand over the stove, pan-searing a New York strip to rare. Seasoned with nothing but salt, pepper, and garlic. No sauce to hide the flavor.
I eat slowly, every second dragging, stretched taut with tension.
I can still feel her in my arms—back pressed to my chest, hips locked with mine. The ghost of her skin lingers where my mouth brushed her ear and the curve of her neck.
Our moment on the dance floor wasn’t a fantasy. It was proof. Her body said yes.
But I need more. I need words. I need her to choose this. Choose me.
My eyes flick to the burner on the counter. Still dark. No buzz or message.
The silence presses in. It’s more than empty space. It’s a challenge I invited.
I asked her to step into my world, and now I must wait.
An obsession released too early doesn’t ignite. It smothers.
When I left her at the club, instinct surged. But I caged it. And if I need to again tonight, I will.
She has the power to open this door or close it forever.
Still, my chest pounds with the echo of her.
My thoughts drift back to the dance floor.
The scent of her skin. The sharp rise of her breath when I touched her.
The way her body melted into mine, hesitant but still hungry.
The tilt of her head. Her instinct to turn and see me, even as I held her still.
That moment was a fuse lit.
I’m losing my fucking mind, Laurette. Reply to me.
Night stretches long, disappointment coiled tight, each unmet expectation a pulse beneath my skin.
I think about checking the feeds, just a glance to see if she’s home. But I don’t. Discipline holds, and I let the minutes drag.
I’m too close, too wound up. I want her answer now, but I won’t chase it.
I stay where I am. A cage of calm barely contains the fire.
Then the phone buzzes, and my pulse stalls. A reply spills across the screen.
I still don’t understand what it is you’re asking me to consent to.
It isn’t a yes, but it isn’t a no. She’s still in.
Every muscle in me relaxes. Because now the fun starts.
Call me if you want to learn more.
The burner phone rings, and I freeze. Relief, excitement, and something dangerous flare in me.
“Hello, Laurette.”
A pause on the line. Her breath. “Hello… B.”
“I’m glad you called. I’ve been starving for the sound of you after an entire week of silence. Been pacing my cage.”
Her exhale is shaky. “It’s been a week since the club. No message or contact. I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“I was giving you time to decide whether you want to step into this or run from it.”
A beat.
“I can’t agree to something I don’t understand. What is this? What does it mean?”
My knuckles tighten around the phone. I lean against the counter and let my voice fall darker, rougher.
“It means I’m inside your world, Laurette. Quiet. Watching. Mapping your steps until you can’t tell where the shadows end and I begin. It means I learn every habit, every breath, every secret thought. And when I decide you’re ready, I’ll pull you into my world.”
Her breath hitches, but I keep going. Softer now. More dangerous for it.
“This isn’t a courtship. It isn’t flowers and dinner. This is you waking up one morning and realizing you’re marked. You’re not just seen. You’re claimed. And you become the axis I turn on. Every time you close your eyes, I’ll be closer than the air you breathe.”
A trembling breath over the line. “But I don’t know you. Not even your name. Or what kind of person you are.”
“You will eventually.”
Another pause. Then her voice returns, trembling.
“And if I say yes to this?”
A slow smile spreads across my face. She’s cracking open beautifully.
“I’ll watch until the moment’s right. One minute you’ll be alone.
Next, you’ll be mine. I’ll find you in the quiet when your guard is down.
And then I’ll be there. Behind you. Breath on your neck.
Fingers at your throat. That’s what saying yes to me means, Laurette.
It means giving up control and letting me in. ”
She’s silent on the other end. No argument. No breath. Just the sound of her taking it all in.
I go on. “It means I slip into your nights. Into your thoughts. Into your body. Into the places no one has dared to touch. It means you’ll sense me before you ever see me. And from that moment forward, it’s not just your life anymore.”
A beat.
“It’s ours.”
The line stays quiet, but I hear her swallow.
“I’m supposed to be okay with you crossing lines, slipping in unexpectedly, invading my life whenever you like?”
“You don’t have to be entirely okay with it.
Fear is allowed. Flinching, too. Hell, fight me if that’s what turns you on.
I won’t harm you, Laurette. But I’ll break you open in the ways you’ve secretly craved.
And you’ll love every second. Because I’ll push you beyond everything you’ve experienced, into places you’ve never dared imagine. ”
“You’ll break me… but not harm me?”
“Never harm. I’ll unravel you slowly. Exquisitely. Every break will be for your pleasure.”
“You want to fuck me?”
I want to pin her wrists above her head and watch panic and need fight for dominance in her eyes.
I want to drag my mouth down her throat, bite her shoulder, bruise her hips with the weight of wanting her.
I want to see her beg without shame. For more.
For harder. For whatever I decide to give.
I want to tease her until she forgets her own name, then make her scream mine like a prayer and a curse.
But I don’t say all that.
Not yet.
A low sound rumbles in my chest. I lean back against the counter and let the full weight of my hunger bleed into my voice.
“Fucking you is only one of many things I plan on doing.”
My voice drops.
“I’ll own every breath, every twitch of your thighs. I’ll learn your rhythms—what makes you gasp, what makes you break. You’ll ache in places you didn’t know could experience pleasure.”
Another pause. Breathless now. “I’m not ready for that. And I’m not sure when or if I ever will be.”
“I’ll never force you, Laurette. Unless that’s what you want.”
“What does that mean?” Her voice is low. “Force me because it’s what I want?”
“Yes will always mean yes. No will always mean no. But for everything in between, there will be a cue. A word or phrase of our choosing. One that tells me your fight is part of the dance. That you’re still with me. Still hungry. Still consenting.”
“A signal that means I want this, but I’m going to fight you?”
“Exactly. A phrase only we understand. One that gives you room to struggle because that’s how you want it, while still telling me you’re in it willingly. It’s your verbal consent, Laurette. Coded and clear. Yours to give and mine to obey.”
Her breath catches, barely audible. “What would the phrase be?”
“Anything you choose, Laurette. Something that makes you feel safe and in control. You’ll say it when you’re giving me permission to take what I want, even while you fight me. Your body might resist, but those words will tell me the truth. That you want it. That I have your consent.”
That phrase will be the key. The lock between consent and surrender. The password to unlock the hunger she’s too afraid to name but aching to satisfy.
“Silent surrender,” she says.
The words crackle between us.
“Silent surrender,” I echo, tasting each syllable. “A perfect choice.”
“This is unhinged,” she says.
“Not unhinged. Raw. My devotion to you strips away the brakes. I’m going to show you a world where you are everything. Where your pleasure is sacred and your fear is foreplay. Every inch of you belongs to me, and every part of me is already yours.”
Her breath catches, and I can almost hear her thinking. Weighing. Wanting.
She whispers, “I want this.”
Pleasure unfurls in my chest. She’s mine now. Fully. Willingly.
My fingers tighten around the phone as if it were her throat beneath my palm.
My voice drops, dark and full of promise. “Good girl.”
I can’t see her, but I hear her quiet gasp, threaded with arousal. The kind that slips out when control crumbles.
She’s understanding it.
The weight of this.
The danger of me.
The gravity of what she’s just invited in.
“Your privacy ends here. From now on, I’ll be watching you. Every move you make belongs to me. You invited this—the obsession and worship.” My eyes close, and I see her. Head tipped back. Pupils blown. Breath stuttering. “Never forget that.”
She exhales softly. “Yes, I did.”
A smile carves its way across my face. I draw in a breath and let the hunger bloom in my chest.
“We’ll meet again soon, Laurette. And when I step out of the dark, you’ll never want me to return to it.”
“When?”
The tremor beneath her voice betrays her—need laced with dread.
“When I decide.”
We end the call, but her voice stays in my veins. She gave consent. She invited the monster to her door. Now all that’s left is to knock.
We are about to have a lot of fucking fun.