Page 12 of Stalking His Target

I thought I’d could to pretend when it came to Layla. Pretend she’s just another mission asset. But I thought wrong. I started losing it when I was merely watching her from afar. Stalking her for the first three weeks. Now we’ve been officially together for two, and I’ve fallen completely head over heels for her.

My cover story is that I work construction. The CIA has phone numbers and agents who will verify that if anyone ever checked up on me. I lie and tell Layla that’s where I go every day when she’s working her job at the store, but in reality, I’m always close by. She’s never been out of my sight. Whether I’m parked across the street and watching her from my truck, standing beneath a tree with my hat low and sunglasses on, or following her as she drives so I always know precisely where she is, I’m always watching.

As I stare across the street at her now, my cock is suffocating beneath my denim, screaming to be let loose so it can be inside her again. It’s been eight hours since I had her bent over her countertop in her apartment, my thighs slapping against her assas I pounded her through three mind-shattering orgasms–but that might as well be eight days to me. There’s only so long I can go without having Layla, and I’m approaching my limit.

Thankfully, she’s closing up shop now. I watch as she locks up the register, then pulls out her phone as she steps out the front door. Mine vibrates from the seat beside me. I grin as I answer and watch her walk down the block to her car, the swaying of her hips beginning to hypnotize me.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey, you.” I can hear the smile in her voice, but I can also see it as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “You coming over tonight? I just got out of work.”

“You know I am. I just have to finish up some concrete here and I’ll be over. Shouldn’t be long.”

The tail of her thong pokes out of the back of her jeans as she slides into the front seat of her car, causing my cock to flex with desire. My lust, my addiction to this girl simply grows every day.

“Don’t be late,” she says.

“Oh, I won’t be. You know I can’t stay away from you.”

I hang up and wait until she’s driven down the block before pulling out and following her. Layla may be the focal point of my mission, but my overboard behavior when it comes to her basically makes me a stalker.

I’m doing my best to control my lust, but it’s getting harder every day. I have to maintain some semblance of professionalism if the agency will ever have any chance of getting to her uncle. But my absolute obsession with her is starting to make that seem impossible.

She may be the main mission asset, but she’s also the love of my life. And I don’t know how to square those two things with one another.

I’m addicted to her, and I’m pretty damned sure she’s addicted to me.

I have a toothbrush at her place, some spare clothes in a drawer she emptied out for me, and some protein bars in her pantry. I’ve even started doing handyman work around the apartment to save her money. I fixed the leaky kitchen faucet, the hinges on the bathroom door, and replaced her microwave that should have been replaced years ago.

And every night, I fuck her senseless until she passes out in my arms. Every single night.

I did not anticipate this.

Layla is my asset. My target. But she’s also my girlfriend, and every moment she’s not in my arms is a moment my soul is aching. I want to propose to her. I even bought a ring. But I just don’t know how to make that happen when she’s still a part of my mission.

I thought about quitting. Signing a full non-disclosure statement with the CIA and starting a new career, but that would mean letting my father down. He’s the reason I joined the military in the first place. The reason I joined the agency.

I was only fifteen when the men from the cartel came to his deli and demanded he let them use it as a front to smuggle drugs. My father, being the stubborn, self-made man that he was, told them to take a hike. Three days later, he was dead.

If there’s any chance that he’s looking down on me, I can’t give up. If completing this mission puts a dent in the power of the cartels, I have to follow through. Avenge him. But what happens if something goes wrong? What happens if Layla discovers who I really am? What happens if my mission gets her hurt? How will I forgive myself then?

My hands white-knuckle the steering wheel as I tail my Layla through the streets, eventually parking down the block as she pulls up to the sidewalk by her building. I watch her as she gets out and texts me that she’s home.

I know, sweet thing. I know.

I text her that I’m almost there and lock my eyes on to her exquisite thighs as she makes her way inside. She’s wearing yoga pants today and an oversized, artsy T-shirt that still doesn’t manage to hide the fact that she’s got plump, fantastic tits.

I grip the wheel harder, twisting it until it nearly snaps off.

My want for her is impossible to explain. It goes well beyond normal, but then again, there’s nothing normal about any of this.

It haunts me nightly what she would do if she discovered my secret. Would she leave me? Would she inform her uncle? Would she be heartbroken?

It terrifies me to think about those things.

I should have a plan for when shit hits the fan. How I’m going to get me and Layla out of here safely. But I don’t have one. Not yet. And it’s driving me crazier and crazier with every day that goes by.

I wait a few minutes before heading up to her apartment. I’ve barely finished knocking when the door swings open and Layla hurls herself into my arms. Just feeling her skin in my hands and the warmth of her body is enough to multiply my lust for her exponentially. And when I feel her hard nipples through her shirt, pressing against my chest, the urge to take her nearly takes over.

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