Page 168 of Love Me Stalk Me
It's about needing him.
And not in the helpless, dependent way that I once mistook for love.
This is different.
This is real.
This is reclaiming my body, my desires, my right to choose whotouches me and how.
"Yes," I whisper, my breath shuddering as I exhale. "Make me forget everything that happened. Help me remember what it feels like to want and be wanted, to trust and be trusted."
His eyes darken, hunger consuming the color. There’s nothing soft in them now—just want. Justme. His grip tightens on my waist. His breath hits my cheek, rough and hot, like he’s barely holding himself back.
Then, gravel-rough, deep, and sure, he says?—
"Fuck yes, I will."
His grip tightens and the calluses on his fingertips catch slightly against my skin. I brace myself for the kiss, for the heat, for the desperation, for my inevitable unraveling.
He pulls back.
Mutters under his breath.
"Let me just turn off the damn stove first."
And then he's gone, moving toward the kitchen. His footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor.
I sit there, my breath uneven, my pulse erratic, my body still tingling from where his hands just were. The phantom pressure of his touch lingers on my skin.
And all I can do is wait.
Wait for what comes next.
Wait for him to turn the fucking oven off.
SHE LICKED IT. I SAW GOD.
CAL
She says it.
Her doubts spill from her lips like water breaking through a dam—every worry, every fear, every hesitation laid bare before me.
She confesses what's been twisting inside her. How much she wants me. How much she's afraid of what that means.
And I?
I'm so fucking proud of her.
Because I know how hard this was for her.
She faced Evan, stood her ground against his manipulation. Now she's trusting her instincts about us. She's choosing to trust me despite everything she's been through.
To want me.
And I want to reward her for that.
I want to make her mine.
