Page 9 of Stalked By the Farmer

My stomach churns as I pace the yard, boots kicking up dust with every step. What have I done?

I shouldn't have kissed her. Shouldn't have given in to the urge pounding through my veins like a stampede.

Now she's gone. Vanished like the fading light, and it's all my fault.

"Dammit." I slam a fist into the wooden fence, splinters piercing my knuckles. Pain slices through the haze of panic clouding my mind.

I fucked this up. Fucked up the only good thing in my life.

The memory of Misty's lips against mine haunts my thoughts—soft, warm, tasting of cherry lip gloss. Her startled gasp when I pulled her close. The way she melted into me, arms winding around my neck before she came to her senses.

I'm no good for her—never have been, never will be.

A familiar wave of shame washes over me, intensifying the ache in my chest. My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. Anything to escape the torment of wanting what I can't have.

The shadows grow darker, deeper. An owl hoots in the distance, its cry mocking me.

I'm alone. Again.

Always, forever alone.

Except this solitude is of my own making, and that's what cuts the deepest. I had her, held happiness in my hands, and I let it slip away.

The night is moonless, cloaking everything in inky blackness. My boots crunch on the gravel road as I make my way to Misty's farm under cover of darkness.

Each step fills me with apprehension. What am I doing? This is wrong. But I have to see her, know she's okay, even if it's from a distance. I'll keep my distance. I swear.

Misty's parents' farm comes into view, pale weathered wood and tin roof silhouetted against the starry sky. Not a single light on—did she already go to bed? Is she even home? Maybe she's out with another man?

Panic rises in my chest at the thought of her with someone else, his hands on her body, lips claiming what's mine. I grip the fence post to steady myself, heart thundering.

Get a grip. She isn't with anyone.Not yet. But if I keep acting like a psycho stalker, she will be.

I make my way to the side of the house, boots crunching on the pebbles. Misty's bedroom is dark, but I can see her silhouette through the window, a lighter shadow moving against the inky blackness. She's getting ready for bed.

My breath catches as she pulls her shirt over her head, pale skin glowing in the moonlight filtering through the curtains. I shouldn't watch, shouldn't be here at all, but I can't look away. Heat pools in my groin, and I shift uncomfortably.

What the hell is wrong with me? I'm turning into a pervert.

Misty slips into her bathroom. But I can't leave,not yet. I have to know she's safe.

I slide down to the ground below her window, keeping watch. I should leave now, though. I've confirmed she's home safe and sound.

My eyes snap open as Misty flips on the light in her room.Shit. I ducked down too late.

If she looks out the window, she'll see me. My heart pounds against my ribs, fear and anticipation twisting together.

Don't look out, Misty. Please don't look out.

Silence. No scream, no yell of outrage. I risk a glance up and see Misty standing in front of her mirror, wrapped in a towel. Her skin is flushed from the shower, damp strands of hair clinging to the curve of her neck.

Heat floods my body, settling heavily in my groin. I shouldn't watch, but I can't look away. I palm myself through my jeans, breath quickening.

Misty drops her towel and I choke back a groan. She's perfection. Every soft curve and hollow calls to me, igniting a primal hunger. My hand moves faster, squeezing, stroking.

I'm going to hell for this.

Pressure builds at the base of my spine, pleasure and guilt twisting together as I peek at Misty's naked body. I bite my lip to muffle a cry as I come, slumping against the side of the house.

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