Page 87 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“See! I knew you wanted to fuck him, you slut. That’s it. I’m going to finish what I started.”

I gasped and jerked out of my half-asleep state.

The house once again pressed over me, switching from protector to jailor.

“Get out of my head,” I whisper-hissed, doing my best to forget Milton and his dangerous jealousy. “You’re not real. You’re in prison.”

“I can still hurt you, slut. Go anywhere near him, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Breathing hard, I squeezed my eyes closed and focused on X. On his endless dark eyes and thick black hair. Even with his mask on, I could tell he was a good guy just from the way he guarded me in his arms. He’d cocooned me last night, and instead of having a panic attack at being spooned, I’d felt a level of peace I hadn’t felt in ever so long.

When I’d woken an hour or so before his nasty alarm went off, I’d had no idea where I was. Whose arms were around me. Whose hips were pressed against my thighs. I’d waited to freak out, but the fear never came, and when he sighed contentedly in my ear and hugged me extra tight, I’d slipped my leg between his and wriggled even closer.

It’d felt so right.

We fit so perfectly.

I hate that he ran away so fast.

What would’ve happened if he’d woken up naturally and found me in his arms? Would he have rocked his morning erection against me? Would he have given in to the cravings of his crush?

I didn’t know what it said about me, but if he had tried to kiss me, I would’ve kissed him back. I would’ve pulled his mask down and asked for his real name. And then I would’ve asked him to free me of the past, replace Milton as the last man who’d ever touched me, and shatter me apart with pleasure instead of pain.

Was that too forward?

“You’re a slut. I keep telling you this!”

Ugh! Burying my face in the kitten’s scratchy fur, I pushed Milton away again.

I wasn’t a slut. I wasn’t promiscuous. But I couldn’t deny that I was insanely attracted to X. Something about him set my blood on fire, and it wasn’t the mysterious appeal—although his mask truly did molten things to my insides. Ultimately, he felt familiar. Like I’d known him forever, and he would do whatever it took to keep me safe.

My phone pinged.

Oh my God, is that him?

My tiredness vanished.

The cat grumbled as I sat up on the rug and tucked him on my lap instead. My oversized jumper slung around my knees, making a perfect hammock for him.

Fumbling for my phone, I opened the text message.

X:Sorry I had to run this morning. Did you manage to get back to sleep?

The kitten yawned and batted half-heartedly at my wrist.

I scratched his tiny head. “What should we do, little Penguin?”

He meowed softly.

“Should I tell him that I’m interested in him? That I want him to touch me again? Kiss me? Is that asking too much? What if he doesn’t feel that way, and his crush is more of a hero-complex than liking me for me?”

Closing his eyes, Penguin ignored all my questions and snuggled back down.

Sucking on my bottom lip, I typed a reply.

Me:Why did you have to leave so urgently?

X:Doesn’t matter. I wish I was still there, though. I hate knowing you’re on your own in that haunted house.

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