Page 18 of Stalked By the Recruiter

I could picture him here.

Almost feel him.

My skin tightened around my body, and my hand moved up to my neck as I tried but failed to steady my breath. He’d stand behind me. Andres’ large muscular body would hover over mine because of our height difference. But he wouldn’t press his body against mine. Not yet at least. He’d give me a moment, a second in time I’d never take because that was what I wanted.Needed.

His body heat would be a whisper against my oversensitive skin. His big strong hands would caress their way up my arms and hold my neck carefully. Steadily. Not in a threatening way, but in the kind of way that would excite instead of frighten. The thought had my body covered in goose bumps, and my nipples tightened into almost painful buds behind my lacy bra.

I trembled with white-hot need.

I needed more.

My eyes opened and landed on his bed. My free hand touched the sheets. They were soft and cool. I glanced over my shoulder even though I knew the door was shut. I looked at his bed and sat down on the edge. It was comfortable. Firm without being hard and just enough softness. Before I knew it, I was laying my head down on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling fan. His bed was really comfy. My hands rested on my belly as I lay there.

It was wrong, so, so wrong! And the only thing I wanted to do next was worse.

“What am I doing?” I whispered to myself, but when the empty room didn’t respond, I knew it was my call. I should getup. But I didn’t. Instead, I rolled to my side, way too comfortable in his bed to get up. My eyes caught sight of his closet, and my lips quirked up. He had a lot of clothes. Great pieces. From suits to casual wear, he had a great sense of style. But one piece in particular caught my eye.

A black leather motorcycle jacket that looked buttery soft and worn in. Like he’d had it for a long time. It made me wonder if he rode. Not that I actually knew anything about motorcycles other than Harley Davidsons were a popular brand. If I walked into his garage, would there be a motorcycle in there?

I could picture him on one.

In control and dominating, he’d be bossy. Make me hold him around the waist tight. My breasts pressed against his back, my legs wrapped around him. A thrill shot through me. The idea of riding on the back his bike, holding on to him tight while he drove us through lonely desert roads made me hot.

Or hotter than I was already feeling.

Who am I?What had being around Andres brought to life? It had taken me a while after my divorce to get my head on right. The things I’d always been into but told were wrong. I might have had a partner or two in the last two years, but that had been it. Usually, I took care of my own needs. I’d played with myself to the thought of him over and over again the past week more than I’d made myself come in the last six months, maybe a year.

All to him.

I’d tried to steer my dirty thoughts in a different direction, a faceless man or a handsome actor, but it never worked. My late-night fantasies and X-rated daydreams always featured him. At the end, it was always him who I imagined being the one who touched me. Kissed me. Fucked me. Dominated me.

Andres Montoya was always the one and only man I submitted to.

My hand slipped between my jeans, and I skimmed my pussy over my panties. I was soaked and swollen. So turned on I couldn’t think straight. All I could think about was getting off. The need inside of me intensified. My breath hitched in the middle of my throat while I rubbed my sensitive clit.

This was wrong.

Playing with myself in his bed when he had no clue about how I felt or that I was even in his home. But something about that forbidden element turned me on in a way I’d never experienced. I was always the good girl. Doing the right thing. When anyone needed me, I was there.

But with Andres? Something felt different.

He didn’t need me to be anyone but myself. He accepted me for me. Even when I was snappy and bitchy.He likes me. He really, really likes me.The fact swept through me, making me purr against his pillow. I buried my face into the soft material and breathed him in, taking things a lot further than I had ever intended.

I hadn’t snuck over for this.

I’d wanted to see his place.

Make sure he wasn’t some kind of weirdo.

My finger hooked into the gusset of my panties, and I moaned against his pillowcase. Dewy wetness coated my pussy lips.I am the weirdo.

The stalker crossing boundaries I knew I would never come back from.

Too far gone to stop, I let my imagination run wild. With my eyes shut, I writhed on his bed, wishing I’d taken my pants off. My head filled with him.Andres.He’d walk in, and I wouldn’t have noticed. He’d watch me. I was still clothed, with my hand between my legs, but he’d know exactly what I was doing. I’d jump and freeze the moment I caught a hint of his eyes on me.

“Don’t stop now, gorgeous. You’re just getting started,” he would challenge. And I’d be his good girl and do as he asked.

I kept playing, letting the pads of my fingers saw between my sodden lips, bumping and rubbing against my clit, making me get so close. But I didn’t let myself go over the edge. There was no way that’s what a man like Andres would want.

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