Page 10 of Savage Stalkers
I smile at him, then force myself to look back down at my notes. It should be illegal to be so good-looking. Someone like him simply has to look you in the eyes to suck you in, hypnotizing you. You’d be at his mercy—not that it would be a bad thing, but you would lose yourself.
I peek from under my lashes as he walks around the table, mentally swooning when he puts his finger under Silas’s chin, forcing his attention away from his book and up to him.
“You ready to go?” he asks, squatting down beside him.
At Silas’s nod, all three of them stand. I keep my eyes down, but the asshole stops beside me and twists some of my hair between his fingers.
“Bye, cashmere. I’d say it was nice to meet you, but lying’s not my thing.”
I slap his hand away and tilt my head to look at him. “Yeah, well, don’t let the door hit your ego on the way out.”
He smirks as he walks his big, muscled ass out the door.
Once they leave, I can no longer concentrate, so I pack my things and head out early. The broken streetlight at the corner of Willow and Oak flickers, finally dying as I pass. I clutch my bag tighter, walking just a little faster. As much as I want a stalker in my fantasies, I really don’t want to be followed in real life.
My apartment building is still four blocks away. The sign for Connor’s Corner Store buzzes and hums, and my skin prickles as I look over my shoulder. I feel somebody’s presence, or maybe I’m convincing myself of something that isn’t there.
I keep going, trying to shake off the feeling. But when I hear footsteps behind me, I don’t turn around; rather, I increase my pace even more. Discreetly, I drag my bag around to my front and pull out the pepper spray Macey insisted I carry for moments like this. I don’t understand how it will stop an attacker if they mean business, but possibly someone who is drunk and doesn’t see it coming. I know if I wanted to attack someone, I would at the very least expect pepper spray.
As I dig through my bag, searching for my fucking keys, I notice that my footsteps have slowed and so have the ones following me. When I speed up again, toward a row of stores that have already closed for the day, they increase too.
My heart is beating frantically now that I know I am being followed. I’m itching with the need to look behind me—to see if it’s just some random person, or if it’s them. In the contract, it says they will wear something purple.
I stop, and the footsteps stop as well.
I take a deep breath and look over my shoulder.
A figure stands still, dressed all in black.
Their purple glow mask turns on.
“Hello, Skye. I hear you have been waiting for me.”
I stand, frozen. Anticipation has built up in my head, and now panic claws its way under my skin. I remind myself that I have a safe word, and if I decide to use it, the experience will end.
“If I were you, I would run.”
Shit, I forgot this was all role-play based.
I turn and run.
My shoes slip on the pavement as I sprint toward the storefronts ahead—Miller’s Hardware with its rusty old security grate, the bakery, and the thrift shop that’s been “Coming Soon” for over a year. My lungs burn as I hear his footsteps pounding behind me.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Skye. I know where you live.”
I keep moving, then duck into an alley to catch my breath, realizing too late I should have joined the gym with Adrian when he asked. I wanted to keep the clear boundary of roommates and friends, but nothing more.
Squatting behind an old dumpster that thankfully must have been emptied recently, I take a breath. I’m small enough that I shouldn’t be visible to anyone walking past, even if I stand up.
But before I know what’s happening, the masked man is towering over me. He reaches out and grabs a handful of my messy bun, using it to yank me up. Then I am quickly spun around and pushed hard against the brick wall.
“You’re ours to watch, ours to chase, and ours to break apart piece by piece. Obsessions make men dangerous. Are you scared, Skye?”
“N—no,” I stutter unconvincingly, because this is what I want. If he were to slide his hand down my pants, he would feel how wet I am. Though I admit being in a dark alley with a stranger, pressed roughly against a brick wall, is a little scary.
“Well, you should be.”
He grips my hips, cages me in, and grinds his hard length against me. My hands push against the bricks, and I press back into him. When his hand slides down the front of my pants, I gasp, and his fingers find me wet, embarrassingly so.
