Page 2 of Stalking the Bride

And that would destroy her.

Why? Because I’m broken. Scarred. Incapable of having a real relationship with a girl. And what does a busted-downjarhead like me have to offer Belle when she’s marrying one of the wealthiest men in the country? In the world?

I know I can’t give in. But that doesn’t matter as I watch her through my lens while she undresses, causing my cock to pulse with unbounded excitement. I watch as her future maid assists her with the back of the dress, then leaves the room to give her some privacy.

If only she knew…

With a sharp tug, I pop the buttons on my jeans, releasing my throbbing cock. I spit on my hand and grip my hard shaft, working it slowly as Belle carefully slides out of the white dress, which leaves her standing there in a crystal blue lace bra and matching panties. Even with my close-up spy angle, that tiny piece of fabric still conceals her virgin cunt from me.

How do I know she’s a virgin? Well, one of my little bugs told me that.

Two days into this job, I placed hidden microphones everywhere she spends time. Her house, her car, several rooms at the Cooper mansion. I listen in live when I can and scour the recordings when I get home, the sound of her voice getting me higher than any drug ever could.

One night, I heard her arguing with Fitch. He was trying to get into her pants, saying she owed it to him as he was her fiancé, but Belle told him that she wanted to wait until after the wedding. And boy did that make him mad.

What’s the difference?he asked her.We’re already fucking engaged! You’re already mine!

Hearing him say that instantly wiped the smile off my face. I wanted to grab my gun, drive straight to him, and blow his pompous head off.

No one owns Belle.

No one but me.

Beads of sweat fall from my forehead and onto my lap as I watch her, my eyes locked on to every mouth-watering curve, every tender place to put my hands.

My cock pulses, and I slam my thigh again to drive down my arousal, but it doesn’t work. I’m stiff as a board and about to go off any second. If I could only touch her…

She’s passed me many times in the halls, sat beside me while I drove her home. But I’ve yet to actually put a hand on her. I doubt I would be able to handle it. Even the feeling of her soft skin on my callused hands would be so delicious, so enticing, that I would probably just blow a load right there in my pants.

I’m grunting now, twisting my palm over my spit-covered hard-on as Belle walks to her dresser and opens the bottom drawer. She bends over, and I see the sweet junction between her thighs and the sculpted curves of her ass, as if she’s presenting her innocent mound to me like she knows I’m here. My jaw is clenched as I imagine sliding inside her tight channel, taking her roughly, letting out all my pent-up cravings on her.

Shit, I’m about to come–

And that’s when my phone rings.

“Damn it!”

I glance down and see the name: Fitch Cooper. Technically I’m off the clock, but he’s my client. I have to answer.

“Fitch,” I say, lifting my phone with my spit-covered hand. “W-what’s up?”

“Get over to the house,” he barks with that authoritative tone so many wealthy people have. “We have an issue.”

I swallow hard and do my best to force my cock back into my pants, blasted with guilt as reality hits me like a crashing garbage truck. I’m supposed to be a professional, not some sick son of a bitch stalking and jerking off over the girl he’s been hired to protect.

“What kind of issue?”

I open the glove box to stash my scope, and a cascade of photos waterfall out onto the floor. Pictures of Belle that I’ve taken over the last three weeks when she didn’t know I was there. In her bedroom, tanning at the mansion, and even one topless photo of her back when she was changing but was turned away from me the entire time. There’s atinyhint of side-boob that still gets me hard as a rock. I can’t imagine what effect a full-frontal would have on me.

Fitch shouts angrily at someone before replying. “A bomb threat was called in for the wedding tomorrow!”

The edges of my mouth twist up on their own. Even with all my military training, I can’t stop the smile from taking over.

“Jesus, a bomb threat?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“That’s right. Now get your ass over here and do your job!”

Fitch angrily hangs up, and I let out a single laugh as I put the car into gear and pull out into the street.

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