Page 32 of Saved from Obsession

Fortunately—or unfortunately, it depends which part of my body is asked—Georgia leaps away from me with a little cry of dismay.

“What?” My eyes are everywhere, searching for the cause.

Her face pinches into an expression of distaste. “I’ve been practicing for over an hour!” Nose wrinkling, she says, “I shouldn’t be hugging you right now! I’m all gross. I have to take a shower!”

“You’re not,” I tell her, and I mean it. She looks all pink and glowy and all I smell is the faint scent of her shampoo.

“That’s nice, but I am.” She stretches up to peck me on the cheek. “I’ll go shower, then we can have dinner. And I found a movie I want to watch later. It’s a rom-com, but I really think you’ll like it.” Her blue eyes go wide and pleading.

As if I could tell her no. “Okay, sweetheart.”

* * *

Even though ourevening has been unremarkable—a simple chicken stir-fry for dinner, a rematch of Scrabble, and now we’re watching a movie—every moment is charged with something exceptional.

Now I can touch Georgia’s hip, her neck, graze my hand along the curve of her breast as I reach around her to grab something off the counter as we cook. I can kiss her spontaneously, as she pulls ingredients from the fridge, or she thinks about her next move in Scrabble. As we watch the movie, Georgia can sit right up next to me, curled into my side with her head resting on my chest.

Now, when we look at each other, our gazes linger instead of rushing away. I don’t have to hide how I feel about Georgia anymore—I can tell her all the things I’ve been thinking but wouldn’t let myself say. Like how beautiful she is, how much I look forward to seeing her every afternoon and how much I love sleeping next to her every night.

Onlysleeping, aside from some tame make-out sessions before we fall asleep. I’m there to help her sleep through her nightmares, to hold her when she wakes up from a particularly bad one. Not that I don’t want to do more, but I don’t want to rush things, especially since we’ve only been officially dating for a week.

And even though Georgia is my girlfriend now—which seems like too simple of a word to express how I feel about her—I still need to make sure she’s protected. I need to stay alert and ready to react at the first sign of danger. If I’m doing all the things I want to do to Georgia, that’sallI’ll be able to concentrate on.

Which means sex is off the table for now. But once the stalker is caught, and Georgia is ready… Just thinking about touching her bare skin, kissing my way down her body, hearing her moan as I plunge into her welcoming heat—I’ve had to take alotof cold showers over the last week.

I’m cautiously hopeful that we’ll catch the stalker soon. While we didn’t have any luck identifying the mystery man who handed over the package—there were no CCTV cameras nearby and we couldn’t get a clear visual from the security cameras we hacked into—I installed a new hidden camera in the location in case he comes back.

And since Georgia is still receiving letters with a local postmark, I’ve set up tiny cameras near all the mailboxes I could access in town. It means a lot of cameras and surveillance footage to go through, but thanks to a program I created that cross references the date on the postmark with the times people visit each of the mailboxes, if he visits one of them, I’m going to catch him.

Of course, he could be leaving them in his own mailbox for pickup. And all my surveillance is accomplishing nothing. But Cole and Rylan agree with me that this stalker will eventually stop at one of the local mailboxes, and then we’ll be able to identify him.

It can’t happen too soon, either, because the stalker is definitely escalating. His letters have gotten more graphic in their threats, more urgent, and more personal. After one of them made Georgia physically ill a few days ago, I finally convinced her to stop looking at them.

Ifeel nauseous reading the vicious words spewed at Georgia. To think that someone could say those things to the amazing woman sitting next to me? Tothreatenher?Terrorizeher?

I used to think I was protective of the people I cared about, but that wasnothingcompared to now. When I think of someone hurting Georgia, every protective instinct in me comes roaring to the surface, ready to do battle with anyone who threatens her.

My arms tighten around Georgia at the very thought of it, needing to feel her safely tucked up against me. She snuggles closer in response, tilting her head to notch into the crook of my neck. Her lips graze along my skin, trailing soft kisses from my jaw and down my neck.

Then she shifts, draping one leg over mine, turning so she’s half-facing me. Her hand had been resting on my chest, but it drifts downwards to land just above the button of my pants. At first I tell myself she’s just trying to get more comfortable. That is, until her fingers start to trace along my waistband, dipping between the fabric and my skin.

“I thought you might be bored with the movie,” she whispers against my neck. “So I thought this might be more entertaining.”

Okay.Definitelynot trying to get more comfortable. Georgia starts to nibble her way along my jawline, her fingers are leaving tingles of electricity in their wake, and I can feel the taut points of her nipples as she leans against me.

My abdominal muscles go rigid and my pants are getting unbearably tight. I’m swamped with sensations, my body is igniting right here on the couch. Feeling her fingers so close, her damp kisses on my throat, the weight of her in my arms—if we were in any other place, I would be peeling her clothes off already.

“I’ve been thinking about touching you for weeks,” Georgia admits softly. “I was waiting for you, but then I thought… why do I have to wait?”

Oh, God. Every cell in my body is screaming for me to just take her. Flip her over on the couch, pull off her clothes, taste her everywhere, see all the parts of Georgia I’ve been dreaming about. To use my mouth and hands to bring her to the edge and over, then again as I fill her, feeling her convulsing around me.

No. As much as I want this—want to be with Georgia—it’s not my priority. So, I dredge up every ounce of willpower I have and gently lift her away, setting her onto the cushion next to me. Through a jaw clenched hard enough to be painful, I grit out, “I’m sorry, Georgia. We can’t.”

“What?“ She already looks startled, confused, her brows pulled up in a V. Now hurt ripples across her face, turning her eyes dark and wounded.

Shit. How do I explain this so she doesn’t think I’m rejecting her?

“I thought…” She pulls her legs under her arms, hunching up defensively. “I don’t understand. You don’t want me?”

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