Page 31 of Silent Stalker

Idrum my fingers against my desk, picturing Clara’s sleeping form from last night. The memory of her surrender, the way she yielded to my touch, sends a rush through my body. The gift box sits untouched on her nightstand—a delicate necklace with two intertwined turtle doves in sterling silver.

My phone beckons. I need to know if she’s discovered it yet. I type out the message, imagining her squirming at the reminder of our encounter and then hit send.

Still feeling my marks on your body, my sweet Clara? I bet you can barely sit down.

The typing indicator appears immediately. My pulse quickens.

You’re terrible. I had to wear a scarf to hide what you did to my neck.

Perfect. I lean back in my chair, satisfaction coursing through me. She hasn’t mentioned the gift yet. The symbolism will hither eventually—two turtle doves, just like the carol, just like the murders she’s investigating.

I type a reply.

Keep the scarf on. Those marks are for my eyes only. Though I do enjoy knowing you’re carrying pieces of me with you today.

You’re making it very hard to concentrate.

If she only knew how much harder her work was about to become. The next body is already planned, waiting for the perfect moment. But for now, I savor this game of cat and mouse. Each text draws her deeper into my web.

Good. I want you distracted. Thinking about last night. About what I’ll do to you next time.

The typing indicator appears and disappears several times. I’ve flustered her. The power of it thrills me.

My phone lights up with Clara’s message:

I’m heading to see my dad at Evergreen Care Home. Please stop making me squirm.

A laugh escapes my lips. The thought of her trying to maintain composure while remembering our night together fills me with dark satisfaction. I tap out a response:

No promises. Your blush is irresistible.

You’re impossible.

I smirk at her reply and type out a text.

Give your father my regards. Though I doubt you’ll tell him about the man who left those pretty marks on your neck.

The typing indicator appears and vanishes several times. I picture her face heating up, those green eyes darting around to make sure no one can see her phone screen.

She finally sends her reply.

I have to go. Behave yourself.

Never.

I set my phone down, savoring the image of Clara squirming in her seat during her visit. Even when we’re apart, I maintain my hold over her. The power is intoxicating.

My fingers trace the edge of my laptop, where multiple tabs display the surveillance feeds from Evergreen Care Home. Soon, I’ll watch her walk through those sliding doors, probably adjusting her scarf one last time. But for now, I’ll let her think she has some privacy with her father.

I watch Clara through the Care Home’s security feed, my cock straining against my slacks the moment she appears on screen. The reaction irritates me. Before her, I maintained perfect control over my body’s responses. Sex was a calculated choice, a means to satisfy basic needs or manipulate others.

But Clara... she undoes me with the smallest gestures. The way she adjusts that silk scarf to hide my marks and then tucks her hair behind her ear before greeting the receptionist. Each movement sends blood rushing south, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair.

My erection throbs as she bends to sign the visitor log, her skirt pulling tight across her curves. I grip the edge of mydesk, jaw clenching. This isn’t some hormone-driven teenage response. I’m not some pathetic boy ruled by his dick. And yet here I sit, hard as steel, just from watching her walk down a fucking hallway.

“Fuck,” I mutter, adjusting myself. The pressure only makes it worse. Images from last night flood my mind—Clara bent over, her lips parted in ecstasy, those perfect breasts marked by my teeth. My cock jumps again, demanding attention.

I’ve killed without breaking a sweat. Planned elaborate murders while maintaining complete composure. But one glimpse of Clara Hart sets my body on fire like I’m some inexperienced kid getting his first hard-on. The loss of control infuriates me.

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