Page 20 of Stalker

Watching her read my messages and her reaction to them was a fucking drug for me.

I’ve sent you something. It’s at the post office in town under your name.

She was standing in my closet, hanging up my clothes that she had just washed, when the message pinged on her phone. She stared at the screen for a long time like she was trying to process the new information before her thumbs started typing.

I’ve never told you my name. Or what town I’m in specifically.

Your point? Do you want your gift or not?

She chewed on her bottom lip and then leaned forward to rest her elbows on the large center island in my closet. She didn’t know it, of course, but it gave me a perfect view of her plump tits through her cell phone camera I was also watching her through. I hadn’t planned to see them before she let me, but the other night in the hot tub I couldn’t help but stare at her big, full, perfect tits as they swung freely above the water while she orgasmed.

They would look incredible with my cock between them.

I could almost feel the heavy weight of them in my hands. Peyton was curvy everywhere, technically plus sized by society standards, but I was obsessed with every fucking inch. I craved the thickness of her body against mine.

I want it.

Good girl. You’re not allowed to open it until tonight when you’re solely focused on me.

This seems like a stupid question, considering the bad guys never admit they’re bad, but are you dangerous Dane?

Do you want me to be dangerous? Would that make it hotter for you?

I ran my fingers over my jaw as I watched her take a deep breath, still leaning over on the island. Her eyes were so full of wonder and uncertainty as she stared at my words on her screen and a part of me ached to see her green irises blurry with tears.

I just couldn’t tell what kind of tears I wanted to make her cry.

I want you to be dangerous. I want you to be bad. I want to be vulnerable. That’s so fucked up, isn’t it?

I’m a monster, the very worst kind. I don’t make promises to anyone, but I’ll promise you two things because I’m feeling generous. Promise number one, I’ll ruin you in the worst way possible. Promise numbertwo, you’ll thank me for it when I’m done, because it’s exactly what you crave.

Okay.

Now do something for me.

What?

Take your panties off and send me a picture of them. Show me the fabric that’s been against your pussy all day.

She swallowed audibly and licked her lips as she looked around the closet as if I was going to materialize behind her while she contemplated obeying me. I didn’t think she was going to do it, when suddenly she set her phone down and lifted her skirt.

I forced myself to look away from the screen on my phone as I walked, sticking to my promise to myself that she would know when I was seeing her nudity.

A moment later, a message popped up on the app, and I clicked it.

Lace.

Of fucking course, she wore lace even at work; she was perfect.

Her white lace panties laid on the island in my closet and she followed directions perfectly. The small triangle of fabric that rubbed itself against her pussy all day laid on top so I could see exactly what I craved.

It was damp.

She was wet for me.

And obeyed me so prettily.

Unfortunately, now she needed to be punished for it by Lincoln.

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