Page 7 of Stalked By the Quartermaster

As I walk away, I can feel her eyes on me, burning holes in my back, and I wonder if she feels it too—this crazy, dangerous pull that could unravel both our worlds.

I'm back at the armory, clock ticking past midnight. My hands are busy cataloging new shipments, but my mind? It's stuck on Caroline. Private Caldwell. The way her name rolls off my tongue feels like a secret I'm not supposed to keep.

"Frank, you're hitting those keys pretty hard." Tom Barker's voice cuts through the silence of the otherwise empty room. "Everything good?"

"Fine," I grunt, without looking up from the manifest. "Just tired."

"Long day?"

"Something like that." My replies are as curt as they can be, hoping he'll take the hint. He doesn't.

"Hey, you ever think about?—"

"Tom," I cut him off with a look that brooks no argument, "I’m really not in the mood."

"Sure thing, boss." Tom backs off. For now. But curiosity is etched all over his mug.

With every item I check off, my thoughts drift back to Caroline. To the heat in her eyes, the challenge in her voice. She's a whirlwind. An angel in uniform.

The warehouse is quiet except for the occasional clank of metal or rustle of supplies—a logical sequence of sounds for a quartermaster sergeant working overtime. But in this peaceful routine, there's an undercurrent of something else. Anticipation? Dread? Both, maybe.

I finish up the inventory, my movements efficient and practiced. No repetition here, just the steady progress of tasks that must be done before dawn breaks. As much as I want to linger on thoughts of Caroline, duty comes first. Always has.

"Alright, I'm heading out," Tom announces, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Frank."

"Night," I reply, barely sparing him a glance. Once he's out, I lock up, the sound echoing too loudly in the empty space. It's just me and the ghosts of the day.

I walk through the base with purpose, my boots crunching on the gravel. Each step takes me closer to my quarters, away from where she is. In my head, I know it's the right direction, but my heart's compass needle spins wildly, pointing straight back to her.

I unlock my door and step inside. I toss my keys on the small table and sigh as I look around the empty space.

The room feels too quiet, too still. Restless energy zips through me, an electric current with no ground.

My thoughts stray to forbidden skin, lingering glances, the promise of something more.

My cock lengthens.

Fuck it.

I pull my aching dick from my pants and start stroking—long and fast.

I picture Caroline in my mind. Those puffy pink lips that look like they were born for cocksucking. Those perky tips with nipples that probably look like cherries ripe for the picking.

And then I imagine her pussy, bare and glistening with juices.

And that’s what does it.

I come like a geyser, semem spurting from my cock harder than it ever has before.

My hand splays on the wall to keep myself from toppling over with the intensity of my orgasm.

My chest heaves like I’ve just run a marathan as I stand there sticky, dripping cock still in my hand.

Fuck, Caroline, you’re going to be the death of me.

CHAPTER

SIX

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