Page 6 of Silent Stalker

Her private moments of pleasure replay in my mind—those desperate touches as she watches masked figures online, each moan feeding the beast that will claim her. Such a dirty girl, pretending to be so proper in public.

“I suppose...” She traces the rim of her cup, and my dick throbs imagining those fingers wrapped around me instead.

“Life’s too short to play it safe.” I know exactly how short it can be. The couple at the mall learned that lesson. “Let me show you something different.”

Her pupils dilate. The same way they do when she’s alone in her room, writhing against her fingers. “Different can be dangerous.”

“Isn’t that what makes it exciting?” I shift in my seat, adjusting myself discreetly. The urge to bend her over this table and take her in front of everyone burns through me. “You strike me as someone who craves a little danger.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks. She has no idea how beautiful she’ll look covered in someone else’s. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I am.” Like I know how she sounds when she comes, how her back arches off the bed, how she begs those masked strangers through her screen.

“Eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up.” I slide a napkin with my number across the table, my fingers lingering near hers. “Text me your address.”

“I can meet you there.” Clara’s resistance only fuels my desire. Even now, she tries to maintain control.

“I insist.” My tone brooks no argument. “A proper date deserves a proper gentleman.”

She takes the napkin, her fingers trembling slightly. “Okay. Eight it is.”

My cock throbs as I watch her walk away, her hips swaying. The memory of her touching herself floods my mind—how she spreads her legs, how she moans for those masked men in her videos. Tonight, I’ll be close enough to smell her arousal to see if reality matches my surveillance.

I head out of the mall and back to the parking lot. Once back in my car, I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The anticipation burns through my veins. I’ve orchestrated everything perfectly—from our “accidental” meeting to herinevitable surrender. But I know Clara. She’ll resist giving in completely, at least at first. Her proper facade won’t crumble in one night.

I meet my gaze in the rear-view mirror, admiring how well I’ve crafted this facade of humanity. My blue eyes darken with desire. Tonight, I’ll give her a taste of what she craves. I’ll push her boundaries just enough to leave her wanting more. Make her think about me when she’s alone with her toys.

My phone buzzes with her address as if I didn’t know exactly where she lives, which window faces east, and how the moonlight spills across her bed at night.

I type back: “Looking forward to it.”

Four simple words make my pulse race because I know what’s coming, how she’ll respond to my touch, and how her breath will catch when I lean in close. I’ve studied her long enough to predict her every reaction.

But I’ll have to be patient. Can’t rush this part of the game. Clara needs to feel safe before she’ll let her guard down completely. Before she’ll let me show her who she really is.

5

CLARA

Istand in front of my bedroom mirror, running my hands down the black dress that hugs my curves. What am I doing? Meeting a stranger for dinner isn't like me at all. My fingers trace over my chest where his hand had been earlier, cleaning up the spilled coffee.

A shiver runs through me at the memory. His fingers brushed against my skin, sending sparks of electricity through my body, how those piercing blue eyes bored into mine. God, I'm getting wet just thinking about it.

"Get it together, Clara," I mutter, adjusting my dress for the tenth time. But there's something about Silas that draws me in. That magnetic pull I felt the moment our bodies collided. The warmth of his touch. The subtle dominance in his stance.

My phone buzzes with a text from James about the case, but I ignore it. Tonight isn't about work. Tonight is about following this inexplicable urge that's been building since that café encounter.

I slide on my heels, my heart racing as I check the time. The rational part of my brain screams that this is reckless—meeting a man I barely know. He looked at me like he could see right through me, past all my carefully constructed walls.

My hands shake while I apply my lipstick. Red. Bold. The color makes me feel dangerous and matches the tingling excitement building low in my belly. I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the growing ache.

The doorbell rings, and my breath catches. Silas is here. I take one last look in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at me—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, an air of anticipation radiating from every pore.

What is it about this man that makes me feel so... exposed? Like he can sense every dark thought, every forbidden fantasy I've ever had?

I open the door, and my breath catches. Silas fills the doorframe, his broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly fitted black coat. His crisp white dress shirt strains against his chest, revealing intricate tattoos that peek above his collar. The sight sends a rush of heat through my core.

"These are for you." His deep voice washes over me as he extends a bouquet of dark red roses mixed with black calla lilies.

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