Page 37 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
Someone has definitely been here.
Pressing a hand to my racing heart, I try to calm myself. I have to stop panicking and think.
I need dry clothes before I can get out of here, but they’re all in my bedroom…at the end of the hall. That’s also where I keep my loaded gun. Daddy insisted I have one. And he taught me how to use it.
Unfortunately, my intruder could be lying in wait for me there even now.
I stand in the dark hall, trying to decide what to do. Risk going into the bedroom or backtrack to my purse, grab my phone, and call the police?
Better safe than sorry.
I pivot, tiptoeing to the foyer. I’ll grab my wet clothes and sneak back to my car—thank goodness it’s now dark outside—and call the police.
As I gather my things, I lunge for the door—why is it suddenly ajar?—and wrench it open, wincing at the squeak of the hinges. Before I can step onto the inky porch, I’m blocked by an obstruction that shouldn’t be there.
It’s a wall of man.
I gasp, drop everything, and back away from the looming black shadow. Strong masculine fingers grip my arm and jerk me against him, then wrap an unyielding arm around my waist.
I’m trapped.
Terror jolts me mute. Under the tall intruder’s dark shirt, he has enormous shoulders and muscles for days. He’s huge. Overwhelming. Threatening. And he’s nearly inside my house. Uninvited. Why?
The possibilities are bone-chilling.
I try to quell my panic and think of ways to wrest free. Will Mrs. Crafton hear me if I scream?
Before I can, the intruder covers my mouth with his enormous palm and silences me.
2
Rush
* * *
Inside my car parked across the street from Vanessa Hartley’s little cottage, I watch her.
Like I do every day.
I watch her vault out of her car. I watch the rain soak her and plaster her soft cotton clothes against every curve God gave her. I watch her sprint to the porch and laugh at the rain.
I watch with my cock throbbing.
It’s not the first time. It won’t be the last. And it sucks.
She’s totally unattainable. Off-limits. Forbidden. She’s a sparkling diamond I’m meant to gawk at, not one I’ll ever have the chance—or the right—to own.
Lusting after the boss’s daughter is never a good idea, but with her, it’s downright dangerous. Acting on it could get me killed. Her father is a lethal motherfucker with power and connections. No one sane crosses him.
I’d walk away from my unhealthy obsession, but he’s made her my responsibility. She can never be mine—except to protect. Watching over her is my purpose. Wanting her endlessly is my torment. Never having her is my punishment.
It’s worse because, in the last seven months—no, it’s been coming for years—I fell for her.
And no matter what I do, I’m damned.
Like every other night, I wait patiently for her to go inside and turn on the lights. The shadows moving past her windows tell me everything—kitchen to living room as she makes herself dinner, then to her desk that faces the street where she bites her lip and twirls a lock of hair around her finger while she finishes her homework.
At somewhere just after ten o’clock, she turns off her laptop, disappears into her shower for eight minutes, thirteen if she washes all those long blond curls, then retires to bed to read. If she’s not enjoying the book, she’ll kill the lights within ten minutes. If she is enjoying it, the lights might not go off until midnight. If she’s really loving it, the lights will go off…then turn back on a few minutes later—after her self-induced orgasm. I can only imagine what she looks like when she’s masturbating, what sounds she makes when she sends herself over the edge.
