Page 113 of Texting Dr. Stalker

Lying on his hip and facing me, he ran his fingertip feather-soft over my bottom lip. “I need you to know that I’m not denying you because I don’t want you. I do. I want you way too fucking much. It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to take you but…I’m trying to do the right thing and the right thing is…” He bit back a groan-snarl. “The right thing is not giving in to you even though that’s all I want to do.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “I’m not going to kiss you, and I can’t sleep with you, but…okay.”

The world stopped spinning.

“Okay?” My heart almost leaped out of my chest.

Bending over me, he rubbed his masked nose against mine. The darkness in my room only granted shadowy features even this close. If I hadn’t seen him before with my bedside light on, I wouldn’t have known he had black hair under his hat or the richest, kindest brown eyes.

“Okay…I’ll help you.”

My leaping heart suddenly played dead. “H-How?”

Trailing his fingers from my mouth, he traced them along my throat, between my cleavage, and slowly down my belly.

His eyebrow rose as he felt the silky satin of my nightgown. “I thought you were more of a t-shirt and shorts to bed kinda girl.”

I stretched under his petting, fully invested in the sparkling, tingling sensation he left me with. “A nightgown is easier access than shorts.” I was so breathless, I sounded as if I’d run ten laps of the park.

He laughed again, low and rich. “You’re right, it is.”

His shoulder dropped as he lowered his hand from my lower belly and gathered up the fabric by my hip. Neither of us spoke as he hitched the hem up my shins, my knees, my thighs…

When most of it puddled on my stomach, he traced his fingers along the paper-thin skin of my lower belly.

I hissed and jerked, the sensitivity too hot, too sinful, toomuch.

“You sure you want me to do this?” His voice sounded like a beast, thick and croaky.

I didn’t trust myself to be able to talk without giving away just how sure I was. A flush of hot wetness had me cringing. What if my need turned him off? What if I wasn’t supposed to be this turned on by the local neighbourhood stalker?

He’ll judge me—

I stopped that thought immediately.

He’d never judged me. Not once. That was why I’d gotten this far. Why he’d successfully allowed me to take back the smallest part of myself.

“We don’t have to,” he murmured, his fingers stroking fire over my exposed hip. “But if you want to, you have to tell me. Otherwise, this ends and I leave.”

Trembling, I went to cup his cheek, but he reared back, his eyes wide.

“You can’t take my mask off. That rule hasn’t changed.”

Lowering my arm, I nodded. “I wasn’t going to. I just wanted to touch you.”

“This isn’t about me.” His fingers sketched a little closer. “This is about you. Say the word and I’ll do my best to give you an orgasm. I’m a little rusty and not saying I’m very skilled with my fingers, but…” His voice shaded with a tease. “You did say you like a man who takes instruction.”

I flushed.

Lowering his masked mouth to my ear, he whispered, “So am I doing this? Yes or no, Lori.”

I shivered at the nickname. At the separation it gave me between Sailor Rose, abuse survivor, and this new me rising from the ashes.

Licking my suddenly dry lips, I nodded. “Yes.”

He didn’t make me ask again.

His fingers navigated right to my clit.

My spine arched right off the bed as his hand cupped me, hot and steady, letting me get used to his possession.

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