Page 3 of Stalked By the Lawyer

"Focus," I chastise myself, forcing my thoughts away from the dangerous curve of her lips. But even as I do, there's an undercurrent of exhilaration that pulses through me.

She’s only nineteen, for fuck’s sake, and I’m thirty. She’s way too young for me. What’s more is she’s the daughter of my most influential—and dangerous—client. I’d be a fool to get involved with her.

At a red light, I pause, and the world seems to hold its breath with me. The digital glow of the dashboard clock marks the passing seconds.

"Logan," I remember the ways she whispered my name like a prayer. It's etched into my brain, a brand upon my consciousness.

The light shifts to green, propelling me forward. I navigate the sleeping city, a concrete jungle with its own set of laws—laws that I'm adept at bending to my will. Yet, as I approach my apartment, the sanctuary where I usually find solace in solitude, there's a restlessness that claws at me.

As I turn the key in my lock, the familiar click feels like the closing of a cell door. The space greets me with shadow and silence, but I can almost sense her here, a phantom woven from my own longing.

I pour a drink, the liquid amber catching the scant light, and take a slow sip. The burn down my throat does little to temper the heat that Jill ignited in me. I move to the window, peering out over the cityscape, a kingdom of glass and steel.

"Jill," I say her name aloud this time, testing the power it holds, rolling it around in my mouth like a forbidden fruit. It tastes of danger and seduction—a potent combination.

I set the glass down, the clink of it against the countertop sharp in the quiet. I should be strategizing, plotting my next move in the high-stakes case that brought us together. Instead, I find my fingers tracing patterns on the cool surface, doodling destinies that can never be.

"Control," I remind myself once more. But it's a feeble attempt at reclaiming the ground that's slipping beneath me. The pull toward her is gravitational, and fighting it requires an effort that borders on the impossible.

My cock is still aching, and I finally stop fighting it.

I drop my pants and grasp my hard length, my hand flying up and down it, my eyes shut tight as I imagine Jill’s puffy pink lips wrapped around me.

I think of her red hair, her eyes, the way she moves. I imagine that way she would suck on the tip tentatively, her eyes looking up into mine. Would her pussy get wet?

The thought of her sweet pussy, wet and glistening is what finally does it. I come with a harsh grunt and then collapse onto my bed, panting for breath as if I've just run a marathon.

Fuuuck.

CHAPTERTWO

Logan

I'min the back row again, eyes fixed on her red hair catching the afternoon sun through the windows. Jill's head is tilted down, pen scribbling notes, and I imagine she's writing a secret message to me. My fingers twitch with the urge to run through those strands, to feel their silk against my skin.

I swallow hard, tension coiling inside me. It's been days since I last touched myself, thinking of her, her name a whispered prayer on my lips as I come undone. I cling to these moments like a lifeline, the hunger for her gnawing at my insides until it's all-consuming.

After class, I follow at a distance, my gaze locked on the sway of her hips. It’s pathetic, I know. I thirty-year-old successful lawyer sitting in on college classes for the chance at a mere glimpse of a college student, but god help me, I can’t help myself.

She laughs with friends, her voice a melody that I chase like a drug. They're headed to some café, and I slip into the crowd behind them, shadowing her every step. She's oblivious to my presence, to the heat of my stare burning into her back.

I check her social media feed again, thumb flicking over the screen. There she is, smiling out from a dozen photos, each one a shard of ice piercing deeper into my chest. Her digital footprint is a map, and I'm the silent stalker charting every course, every like, every comment she makes.

My phone buzzes with her latest update—a picture, her face glowing with laughter—and my response is visceral, immediate. In the privacy of my home, I give in to the fantasies that plague me, my hand a poor substitute for the warmth of her flesh.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, the afterglow tinged with a bitter longing. It's not enough. It will never be enough until she's mine.

***

My pulse hammers as I watch Jill slip into the lecture hall, her laughter a silken thread winding around my gut, pulling tight. I'm perched on the third floor balcony of the neighboring building, eyes trained on the doorway she just vanished through. She's unaware of me, but I'm so attuned to her that I can almost feel the brush of her body heat against my skin from here.

Every glance, every smile she shares with those around her—it's like a knife twisting in my chest. They don't know her—not like I do. Not like I need to. My desire for her is a living thing, coiled inside me, growing bigger and hungrier with each passing day.

I should be preparing for my next case, but instead, I'm here at this fucking college campus I have no business being at, consumed by thoughts of her. It's reckless, this game of proximity I play, edging closer to the fire when I know it'll burn. But God, I crave the heat, the danger. It makes me feel alive in ways nothing else has.

"Control yourself," I mutter under my breath, a mantra that's lost its meaning. I've repeated it so many times it's become nothing more than background noise. Yet, the idea of touching her, of claiming her as mine—it's a compulsion that overrides logic, reason, even self-preservation.

I force myself to leave before the class ends, to maintain the facade of a man who has his shit together. But it's a lie—a thin veneer over the chaos she stirs within me. I'm a lawyer, for fuck's sake. I have a reputation, a career that could crumble if I cross that line. And yet, the risk adds a sick thrill to the fantasy.

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