Page 8 of Stalker

Yet part of me already knew I could never go back because deep down I had a need and I would continue to go crazy until I fulfilled it.

Before I could stop myself, I opened my laptop, starting an incognito tab because I didn’t need my new boss’s internet provider knowing how fucked in the head I actually was, and then went to the kinky site.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, I held my fingertips over the keypad, hovering over the title of the kink I was most interested in.

Primal.

The word beckoned to me, and also terrified me, but what did I have to lose by exploring it?

My sanity? Gone.

My relationship? Over.

My dignity? Overrated.

My finger clicked the icon, and the page changed, blooming into another expansive amount of options with pictures and lists to further explore the interest.

My heartbeat picked up and my body throbbed needily as I read each listing until I found the one I wanted.

The Chase.

The new screen exploded with videos, pictures, stories, and articles all related to the kink of being and giving chase for sexual pleasure.

And for the first time in so long, I felt like I was home.

Chapter 3 – Lincoln

Iwatched the screen closely, zooming in as far as possible on the camera, but I was unable to see the images on her computer.

She was sitting just far enough that my ultramodern camera system failed to show me her computer screen.

But it was no hardship for my hacking abilities; those knew no bounds.

With a few clicks on my keys, a firewall or two dismantled, and a link sent through the Wi-Fi signal she lied to her boyfriend about being too weak to video over, and I was in.

There wasn’t a single piece of her life she could hide from me digitally. Not when my entire life had been dedicated to dismantling barriers and walls meant to keep me out. And she didn’t even have a good cyber security system in place to make it fun for me, either.

Peyton.

My new housekeeper while Mrs. Straight, abandoned me for her own flesh and blood. Selfishly, I might add.

I rolled my eyes at my stupid inner monologue, knowing that the woman deserved the three-month break from me and my obsessive nature; to visit her daughter. I just hated the idea of the void she’d leave in her absence for the time.

Or at least I had until I read through the stack of applications she left on the breakfast bar for me one morning.

And Peyton’s was on top.

Pick number one circled with red in Mrs. Straight’s pristine handwriting.

This one looks perfect.

Her picture alone had been reason enough for me to dismiss the notion of hiring the young woman. Not because there was anything wrong with her, but because my cock had hardened to stone within seconds of gazing at her smiling photo attached to the application. And that was problematic.

It was unsafe to allow myself to be aroused by anyone who would be in my general vicinity, let alone someone locked away in solitude with me in my own personal jail cell.

Nothing like locking the sweet treat in the cell with the captive man, desperate for a taste.

No, I should have dismissed Peyton’s application right then and there.

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