Page 59 of Love Me Stalk Me
Go on. Moan like you can't take it anymore.
My orgasm crashes over me, my entire bodytensing as I fall apart. I gasp, my chest heaving, reality slamming back into me all at once, bringing with it a wave of clarity I'm not prepared for.
I freeze. Because I didn't just come thinking about Caleb.
I came thinking aboutCallahan.
I came thinking about him bending me over a table and taking me like he owned me. A horrified sound escapes my throat. I drop the vibrator like it just personally ruined my life, clamping my hands over my face, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
No.
No, no, no.
This is bad.
This is so,sobad.
I cannot be attracted to Callahan. I cannot be doing this to myself. I cannot be fantasizing about my colleague while I have a boyfriend. I roll onto my stomach, screaming into my pillow, the sound muffled by the fabric.
This is Amanda's fault.
This is Caleb's fault.
This is definitely not my fault, because if I accept that, I'll have to deal with the absolute crisis that is my life.
I need sleep.
I need to forget this ever happened.
I force myself to breathe, to calm down, to pull the blankets over my head like that'll help, like I can hide from my own desires.
Tomorrow.
I'll deal with everything tomorrow.
My alarm screeches to life, and I groan, slamming my hand against the nightstand until I find my phone and silence it.
I am not ready for another day.
I barely slept. Every time I started drifting off, my mind decided to replay the absolutely filthy things I did to myself last night. Or worse—it started shifting them. Caleb's voice fading into Callahan's. The AI-generated fantasy bleeding into something real. Something I can't have. Something I shouldn't want.
I groan again, finally rolling out of bed. I need a reset. I shuffle into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and try to scrub away the absolute mess that is my brain. The hot water beats against my skin, washing away the physical evidence of the night but doing nothing forthe mental spiral I'm trapped in. By the time I throw on some makeup and tug on my blazer, my phone vibrates on the counter.
Caleb
Morning, pretty girl. Did you sleep well?
I don't answer right away. Because no, I did not sleep well. Because yes, I came thinking about my colleague. My extremely infuriating, impossibly broad-shouldered, maddeningly intense, unfairly attractive, stupidly competent, too-confident-for-his-own-good colleague. The one who notices when I don't eat, who watches me like I'm a puzzle he's determined to figure out. The one I definitely should not be thinking about in the context of bending me over a surface.
And yet, here we are.
What the actual hell am I doing?
I lock my phone, shoving it into my bag, refusing to deal with this right now. I'm already running late. I grab my coffee—no breakfast, obviously, because who has time for that—and head out the door.
I make it exactly five steps into the store before I walk straight into Callahan.
Again.
