Page 25 of Obsessive Stalker

“I’m not lying to you,” I say. “Yes, you’re plus size. Who gives a shit what size you are? You’re the most tempting woman I’ve ever fucking seen. So much that I’ve stolen you twice now.”

And I’ll do it again and again if you try to run away, sweetheart.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I fucking do.”

I continue to stir the batter. Out of the corner of my eye I see Kristen reach for my robe and my defenses go up in the blink of an eye. Dropping the spoon in the mixing bowl, I take her and shove her against the cabinets behind her.

“Nice try, kitten,” I say, my face inches from hers.

Her eyes are wide, shocked, and she trembles against me.

“I wasn’t going to…”

“What is it now, baby?” I ask her, patting down the front of her robe, the pockets, searching for the hard and sharp object she’s concealing. I find nothing but her soft curves. “A knife? A hammer, maybe? What did you find for me this time?”

“Nothing,” she gasps. “I just wanted to show you.”

“Show me what?” I ask.

“Your surprise,” she says, pushing against my chest. “If you’d let me finish. God.”

I back away warily.

“You can’t blame me for being on guard,” I say to her, still watching her hands for any sign of sudden movement.

“I know,” she breathes. “But I don’t have anything. Not like that. I wanted to show you what I found in the closet. Something you bought for me.”

With my muscles tense, still ready to move fast in case this is a trap, I watch as Kristen unties her robe and lets it drop to the floor.

12

Kristen

Damien watchesme warily as I let the robe drop. But once it’s on the floor his gaze changes from suspicion to desire. Pure, unfiltered desire.

“I didn’t expect to see you in this for a long time,” he murmurs, coming closer. “If ever.”

“You said you’d force me to marry you,” I point out.

“Yes,” he replies, his voice growing hoarse. “Marry me, but not sleep with me. That was never my plan, Kristen. I’ve told you a thousand times that I won’t take you until you ask. Until you beg.”

He steps towards me and walks us both backwards until I’m pressed against the cabinets again, his hard cock pressing against my stomach as he runs his hands over the white lace cups of my lingerie. It’s bridal lingerie with a touch of kink - a mix of delicate floral lace and thick straps with rose gold buckles and circular loops located on various parts of the straps. Along with the bodysuit, there were white cuffs, four of them for my ankles and wrists. They have loops too, convenient places for ropes and chains to be attached.

When I first saw it this morning, it scared me. I ignored it, opting for the purple lingerie to use in my trap, leaving the bridal BDSM gear in the back of the closet.

But I couldn’t take my mind off of it. Especially after dinner, when Damien left to “take care of business” as he put it, leaving me alone to wait up for him, wondering where we go from here, after Damien deals with the danger, when it’s back to just him and me together in this house, with him determined to march me down the aisle and marry me.

“And even then, even if you begged me for my cock, I didn’t picture fucking you in this ensemble for a while,” he says, brushing his fingers against the cuff on my wrist. “It takes comfort to do the things I had in mind when I bought this. It’s not something you do for your first time.”

“Why not?” I ask.

His green eyes meet mine.

“Because it requires trust,” he says simply. “To surrender control and submit to another person, you have to trust them. Trust that they won’t hurt you. Trust that they won’t abuse the control. Trust that when you say stop, when you say the safe word, that they’ll respect your wishes.”

“And who says I don’t trust you in that way?”

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