Stalker by Lena Little

4

Sebastian

The sound of the front door opening startles me and immediately I fall back on my training. There’s no window big enough to escape through so I do the only thing I can, darting from the bed and tucking myself inside her closet, peering out from behind the angled wooden slats.

“Did I really forget to lock my door?” she asks aloud from the other side of her apartment.

No, Precious. I passed out and forgot to get out in time and now I’m facing the very real possibility of getting caught red handed before our romance even unfurls.

The sound of her bookbag making contact with the table alerts me to her location. “Wow, it’s really hot in here,” she says aloud. Seconds later she moves into the bedroom and I have to pull my head back a bit, my breathing so ragged she might hear, as she reaches for her shirt and pulls it up and over her head.

I bite down on my fist, taking in the sight of her pink bra as she slides open her underwear drawer.

“Where are they?” she asks, before finally pulling out a white bra with red strawberry prints and setting it down on top of her dresser. “There’s the top. Now the bottom.”

She digs some more until finally she stops and exhales hard. “I would have sworn the panties were clean too. Hmph.”

I look at my hand, realizing I hold exactly what she’s looking for just as she is exactly what I want to pull in tight and hold her like I own her for the rest of eternity.

She leaves the bedroom and a few seconds later I hear the shower water running. “Fuck,” I groan, closing my eyes as I hear her brushing her teeth and then the sound of the plastic shower curtain sliding across the pole and then back again. The sound of the water hitting the tiles is replaced with a pause, and then bigger downpours of water hitting the shower floor as she must be washing her hair.

My foot taps. My heart jackknifes in my chest. It feels like Wolverine himself is ripping those metal claws straight down the center of my chest, rearranging organs inside me, making me new.

I can’t resist.

Slowly, I open the closet door and move toward the bathroom, catching the silhouetted outline of her figure behind the curtain as she lathers her chest before stretching her arms toward the ceiling and soaping up her arms. In this position, her tits look more perfect than a statue in the finest museums in Paris. The cool water has her peaks taut, and I step closer, wanting to step in behind her, wrapping her up from behind and showing her just what she does to me.

Her hand moves in-between her legs and I jam mine inside my boxer briefs, touching my groin while she’s touching hers. My eyes close, and a moan escapes me. Her body freezes and quickly I dart out from the bathroom doorway and back toward the bedroom, just as the shower curtain comes ripping open.

“Those guys last night really have me spooked,” she says as she lets out a long breath. I feel like an asshole. I may have been a good guy last night, but now? I’m just as bad as them. Or am I? Am I worse?

I move back into the closet, carefully pulling the double doors shut, and not two minutes later she comes strolling into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her head and another around her perfect body.

“Take it off,” I grit out softly. But all she does is take a paperback book from underneath her bed and begin reading.

I wish I would have brought her Kindle, just left it somewhere so she could easily find it, maybe writing off its sudden reappearance to the shock of last night. But I can’t. I can’t get ahead of myself.

As she flips the pages the strangest feeling shoots through me. I imagine that I’m sitting there next to her bed, reading her that book as she wraps her arms around one of mine, begging me to read faster because the story is so exciting and the story hour we’re sharing before bed is so perfect.

What the? I put men permanently to sleep with a gun, not little girls for the night with a book. So why do I want to expose myself, coming out of the closet and cuddling up next to her on the bed?

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like she needs my help, the book putting her to sleep within ten minutes. I wait for the wisps of her breath to push from her lips in rhythm, nice and long and deep, letting me know she’s long gone in a dream.

Carefully I slide from the closet, hovering over the bed and then delicately grabbing the edge of her blanket and pulling it up to her chin, so she stays warm tonight…being that I’m not going to be able to stay around to do it myself.

For long minutes I just stand there, watching her sleep. Her body, her breath, her face…everything about her so peaceful that this moment belongs in a painting of an angel.

Moving into her main living area, I take her phone and install a GPS app. Her phone doesn’t have a password, which makes the job easier, although I wince at the thought that this girl is a moving security violation. She really needs me to help her out, which is exactly what I’m doing…providing a service to prevent an actual bad guy from causing her harm.

Just the thought of anything happening to her makes me want to howl at the moon, tear that fucker straight out of the sky.

Once the tracking app is downloaded I put it in a hidden app drawer and move back into her bedroom to get one more look at her.

What I want to do, stay, and what I need to do, leave, play a game of tug of war in my mind, with the wrong choice feeling too right and winning out in the end.

With the tips of two fingers, I pinch my zipper and drag it down, jerking my pants down to mid thigh and my boxer briefs right along with them. Half a second later I’m sliding my rough hand up and down my shaft, trying to suppress my ragged breaths as my balls quickly pull up tight as I fuck my fist like an animal. With my free hand, I lean in and brush her cheek ever so slightly. She rolls into my touch and it sets me off, my hips rocking back and then exploding forward as I slide my hand off my shaft and cup the crown of my cock, a geyser exploding into my palm, the spend bubbling up between my knuckles and dripping down my arm.

“Fuck,” I grunt, quickly pulling my pants back up and then returning her panties I borrowed to her drawer, stuffing them down in a corner so she’ll find them when she does a more thorough look for them.

But I’m not leaving empty handed.

Moving to the shower her clothes from today are still lying on top of the toilet seat cover, and I snatch up her panties, bringing them to my nose and exulting in how much more I like a worn pair than a clean one. The clean ones were great, but nothing tops her actual feminine scent branded right into the fabric.

Carefully folding them into a tiny square and then stowing them in my pocket, I show myself out the front door. As I reach the end of the hall a nosey neighbor lady greets me with, “Are you Sophia’s new friend?”

I nod. “I am. She’s not home though.”

“Are you sure? I thought I saw her go into her apartment not thirty minutes ago.”

“Maybe she’s sleeping. It’s okay. I’ll try tomorrow.”

“I can let her know you came by,” she persists.

“No, it’s okay.”

“I’m Francine,” the woman says, stepping in front of me.

“S-Steven,” I correct at the last second, damn near blowing my cover on day one.

“That’s a nice name,” she adds, almost questioningly.

“Thank you. So is Francine.” I pause. “I really best be going.”

“Of course,” she says, giving me a wide birth.

“Nice meeting you,” I add as I glide past her down the stairs.

“You too…Steven.”