Page 9 of Stalked By the Intern

As Willow locks up for the night, unaware of my presence, I step out from behind a nearby bush. My muscles tense as I approach from behind. I can feel my heartbeat in my cock.

But then I retreat, my heart thundering in my chest. I can't let her know I've been following her. It'll ruin everything.

I must be patient.

Patience.

CHAPTER

FIVE

Andy

I hoverin the flower shop, my gaze fixed on the vibrant petals that seem to pulsate with life. Reds, pinks, yellows—all of them are loud, obnoxious. They're not for her. Willow deserves something subtle, somethingpure.

My fingers trail over the soft whites and gentle lavenders until they stop at the perfect bouquet—delicate gardenias interspersed with lilac freesias. They whisper Willow's name.

The letter feels heavy in my pocket, the weight of every word I poured into it pressing against my thigh. I pull it out, the textured paper familiar beneath my fingertips. The ink lays across the page in a dance of curves and lines, each one etched with the fire of my longing. I don't sign it. She doesn't need to know me yet. Not when knowing could shatter the delicate fantasy I'm weaving around us.

I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I approach her house under the cloak of twilight. The neighborhood is silent, save for the rhythmic chirping of crickets hidden in the shadows. My heart thrums a frantic beat, echoing my steps as I glide like a phantom toward her doorstep.

The package nestles into my palms, and I lower it to the ground with a reverence reserved for holy relics. It's an offering, a testament to the depth of my emotion. It's everything I am, laid bare on her welcome mat.

I retreat to the safety of the night, where darkness swallows me whole. There, I linger just long enough to savor the anticipation, the delicious uncertainty of what comes next. She'll find the flowers, the letter, and for a moment, she'll be touched by mystery, consumed by the allure of a secret admirer.

No one sees me leave. No one ever does. I'm a shadow, a whisper, a craving that clings to the edge of her reality. And as I disappear into the night, my obsession burns brighter, fueled by the promise of her unfolding desire.

***

Willow

I frown when I hear the knock at my door. Whoever would be by at this hour?

I'm cautious as I creak the door open, a sliver of light cutting through the dimness of my living room. No one is there, but then I see it.

A splash of color against the monotone of the welcome mat—flowers, vibrant and unexpected. I gasp. My fingers skim over the petals, brushing against the softness. The gesture warms me, kindles a tiny flame of intrigue in my chest. Who could they be from, though?

An accompanying letter lies beneath, its envelope pristine and unassuming.

I lift the flap, eager and innocent, pulling out the sheet with hands that tremble slightly—not from fear, but from the thrill of secrecy, of beingchosen.

I begin to read, each word a brush stroke on the canvas of my mind, painting an image of passion, of yearning. But as the sentences unfold, the picture darkens, the words too intimate, too knowing. A chill whispers across my skin, and the room feels suddenly colder, the shadows lurking in the corners growing teeth.

Willow, the script murmurs, and every hair on my neck rises to attention. Whoever this is, they see me, perhaps too clearly. The tenderness I first sensed now carries a weight, a gravity that presses uncomfortably close. It's as though I'm standing at the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath my feet with every syllable.

And now I'm scared.

***

Andy

I watch her silhouette against the soft glow of her home, the way she pauses as she reads, a statue carved from curiosity and innocence. Her head tilts, a bird wary of the seed laid before it, and I can almost hear the hitch in her breath, the quiet gasp that escapes her lips.

Her fingers clutch the paper tighter, and I know—I've reached through the veil. I've touched her world, sent ripples across the still water of her life. The intensity of my gaze could burn holes in the distance between us, but I force myself to remain still, a specter in the night.

My heart races, thrashes against my ribs like a caged animal. It's a heady feeling, knowing I have this power, that with mere words I alter her reality. The thrill is dark and sweet, a forbidden fruit that I've plucked and tasted. I crave more.

But there's something else, something unexpected—the flutter in my chest isn't just excitement. It's a twinge of anxiety, for her expression shifts, morphs into a frown, the blue of her eyes clouding with doubt. She's beautiful in her confusion, yet it wasn't supposed to happen this way. She should be awash with wonder, not shadowed by fear.

---