Page 12 of Carnival Shadows

But Remy’s laptop suddenly shuts off. The screen goes black, and the chat log disappears from view. I grip the sides of the table, panic setting in.

Has he turned it off remotely?

My mind races, trying to figure out how that’s possible when I hear movement outside.

I don’t bother with subtlety now. I rush to the door. My only goal is to get out unseen.

I slip out of Remy’s trailer unnoticed, adrenaline flooding my veins as I move through the carnival grounds. The early morning light is just starting to break, casting shadows across the empty paths. I stick to the darkest areas, blending into the background as I move swiftly towards the exit.

It’s not until I’m safely in my car, driving away from the carnival, that what just happened hits me. I left my panties inRemy’s trailer. In my rush to escape, I completely forgot about them. They’re sitting there on his desk, a damning piece of evidence that I was snooping through his private space.

Panic rises in my throat as I imagine Remy finding them.

What will he think? Will he know it was me?

Of course, he will. Who else would be brazen enough to break into his trailer and leave behind such an intimate item?

My mind races with possibilities. Remy may be flattered and intrigued by my bold move, or he might be angry and feel violated.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to steady my breathing. I need to focus on the road, on getting as far away from the carnival as possible, but I can’t stop thinking about those panties.

They’re a physical manifestation of my obsession—one I’ve been trying hard to keep hidden. Now they’re out there, waiting for Remy to find them.

I don’t know what I’ll say when that happens. How do you explain breaking into someone’s home and leaving behind such an intimate item? How do you justify that level of obsession?

7

REMY

Ienter my trailer, the familiar creak of metal steps beneath my boots—something’s different. The air feels disturbed, like ripples in a still pond. My senses heighten as I scan the space, noting subtle changes invisible to most.

A delicate hair tie rests near my laptop, its dark elastic a stark contrast against the metal desk. Beside it lies a pair of black lace panties, the damp fabric—Eden.

The little stalker has been here, invading my space.

My jaw tightens as I press the power button on the laptop. The screen flickers to life, revealing exactly what I suspected—my private photo collection left open on display. She’s been through my dick pics, feeding her obsession.

The chat window with “Baby Girl” is open, too. My lips curve into a smirk as I imagine Eden’s face when she was reading those messages. Seeing those flirtatious exchanges and intimate photos, the jealousy must have eaten at her.

Truth is, “Baby Girl” is just another distraction—some random woman I’ve never met who likes to play at being dangerous. We trade photos and engage in light dominancegames through chat. Nothing real. Nothing that matters. Just a way to pass the empty hours between jobs.

If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have cleared the browser history and deleted any trace of her snooping. Still, jealousy makes people sloppy, and Eden’s clearly lost her careful control where I’m concerned.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Here she is, obsessing over meaningless online flirtations while breaking into my private space. My beautiful stalker, so consumed by possessiveness over someone she barely knows—someone she claims to be “studying” for her podcast.

I pick up her forgotten panties, running the delicate lace between my fingers. The evidence of her arousal only confirms what I already knew—Eden’s fascination with me goes far beyond professional interest.

A smirk plays on my lips. Her desperation amuses me. This need to possess pieces of me to violate my privacy. However, she’s made a critical error, leaving such obvious evidence behind.

Eden thinks she’s the hunter, the investigator piecing together her theories about the carnival. She has no idea she’s walking right into my web, leaving breadcrumbs that will lead to her undoing.

My cock hardens instantly as I bring her panties to my nose, inhaling. Her scent hits me like a drug, making my blood rush south.

“Fuck,” I growl, unzipping my jeans. My cock springs free, already rock hard. I wrap her panties around my length, the wet lace clinging to my skin. The same fabric that was pressed against her pussy now grips my shaft as I start stroking.

My head falls back as I imagine her riding me, her curves bouncing, those perfect tits in my face. The way she’d moan my name, desperate and needy. I tighten my grip, increasing mypace. Her scent surrounds me with each stroke, driving me wild with need.

My hips thrust up into my hand as I picture bending her over this very desk, making her scream. Claiming what’s mine. Because she is mine now—she just doesn’t know it yet.

---