Page 40 of Claiming His Bunny
“I’m coming for you, Cynthia,” I whisper as I press the gas pedal down harder. “Just hang on. I’m coming.”
Chapter 23
Kayla
I’m having sex dreamsnow. Freakishly hot, naughty sex dreams where Ethan Bennett is fingering me. Oh, and he also says he loves me.
Silly, right? Men don’t say that unless you say it first and then look at them meaningfully to let them know it’s their turn. But of course, dream-men are a completely different matter.
I don’t even know why I keep dreaming about him specifically. Sure, he’s hot, but so are many other men. I barely even met him, and the one time I did, he was rather rude to me. Then why does my brain associate pleasure solely with him now? It’s him I dream about, him I think about when I masturbate, and I can’t fucking stop.
At this rate, the next time he plays darts, I’ll be in the crowd with the other women, cheering him on and throwing my bra at him. I need to snap out of this stupid obsession.
Besides, I don’t think my stalker would like me thinking about other men. We’ve evolved into a strange form of relationship I don’t fully understand. I do know, however, that he’s watching me. Listening. And I worry what will happen if he hears me moaning Ethan’s name when I come.
It shows how messed up I am, to worry about what the stalker will hear me say and not about the fact that hecanhear me say things. He doesn’t scare me anymore, though. Truth be told, this not-relationship we have is the best one I’ve ever had.
I have the freedom of being single paired with the safety of someone watching over me. I get to talk to someone who simply listens instead of offering me unwanted advice.
Plus, free house cleaning.
I’m sure this situation won’t last forever. The stalker will eventually escalate his behavior and then I’ll be in trouble. But as days pass, I find myself curious about what his next step will be.
Will he show up at my doorstep?
Will he sneak into my bed at night?
Will he kidnap me to his evil lair?
I should be frightened by the prospect and yet, all I feel is the tingling anticipation. Like I said, messed up.
The bed is warm when I wake up. It always is. I still refuse to consider the implications of that fact. I just don’t wear my warm socks to bed anymore, and all is fine. Just fine.
The day flies by, and for once, I can’t wait to get back home, curious about what gift my stalker left for me this time. It’s been a different kind of chocolate every day for the past week, and I loved every single one. If he keeps that up, then soon, I’ll be nothing but a big ball rolling around.
I enter the house with nervous anticipation, my face falling when I notice the empty yogurt cup on the table, just where I left it this morning. Not on purpose! I picked up some slack in the housekeeping department, mostly because I was embarrassed about a stranger doing my laundry and my dishes, but old habits die hard. I blame my parents for spoiling me.
The cup on the table means my stalker hasn’t been here today. I should be grateful, yet I feel a little disappointed. Is he bored with me already? Fed up with constantly having to clean up my mess? Maybe he found someone else to stalk?
I expected him to escalate his behavior, not abandon the game completely. What did I do wrong?
And what the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about how I might have offended my stalker? Good god, I’ve completely lost my mind.
Deciding not to think about him further, I go to the bedroom, wincing at the various clothes strewn over the bed. I couldn’t decide on the outfit this morning and this was the result.
I’m such a slob that even my stalker left me.
I pick up the clothes and put them in the closet. It’s not nearly as tidy as when my stalker does it, but it’s a start.
I don’t really feel like going out with my coworkers anymore, but I promised Beth and Michelle I’d be there, so I put on simple jeans and a T-shirt and grab my car keys again. No cocktails for me tonight. Just a beer or two, a brief chat with my friends, and then I can go back home and mope in peace.
Beth spends the entire evening talking about her upcoming wedding. Apparently, I’m her maid of honor. How that happened, I do not know, but it’s written in her thick wedding planner, so it must be true.
As we argue about the color of my dress, I nurse a beer in my hands and glance at the other patrons in the Rusty Mug. Is he here, watching me? Or has he given up on me entirely?
It’s only been one day, I remind myself. He could be busy with…what could a stalker be busy with? He must have a life outside of stalking me. A job, probably. He could be working overtime or be away on a business trip. Maybe he took his wife and kids to Disneyland for the weekend, I contemplate with a sneer. That would be just my kind of luck.
When I finally manage to extricate myself from Beth’s claws, I head for my car. Michelle follows me. “Can you give me a ride home?” she asks. “I love Beth, but damn. She’s turning into an absolute bridezilla.”
