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with a stalker that lingers around and likes to break in.

God, this was stupid.

My house isn’t safer by any means, but I couldn’t bring myself to go to his place. I don’t like being in unfamiliar places with strangers. Like I could be walking into a house that I’ll never come back out of. It makes me feel far more vulnerable, though I’m in the most vulnerable position I could possibly be in right now.

“You have a beautiful home,” Arch compliments, his eyes sweeping over the entirety of the living room and kitchen. I updated the wallpaper to a more modern black paisley, got rid of the tragic gold curtains, replaced them with red ones, and updated the couches to red leather.

But his eyes keep drifting back to the black wooden steps as if he knows they lead to my bedroom.

Except I have different plans.

“That’s not the best part,” I tease, grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway to my favorite room in Parsons Manor.

The sunroom.

I don’t go back here very often. It’s where Nana and I spent most of our time together. It hurts to come in here when the room is still thick with her presence.

Breathing in deep, I open the double doors and step inside.

This room is a glass box. The ceiling, the walls, everywhere around us is one big window. It’s also the best spot to be in. It overlooks the cliff edge, the waters glittering beneath the moonlight.

But the most notable part is directly above us. The stars are breathtaking to look at. Out here, we have no light pollution. The night sky is lit up with orbs of diamonds, glinting and shining against the black backdrop.

Arch’s head slowly turns as he takes in the sight before him. And then he cranes his head back, staring up at the sky with his mouth hanging open.

I imagine it’s one of the few moments where this man has looked unattractive. But to me, it’s the most attractive he’s been this entire night.

He’s not concerned with controlling his face and movements, nor is he practiced and following a script. He’s just a man in awe of the beauty surrounding him.

“Damn,” he mutters finally, his voice deep with wonder. He turns his head back to me, the edges of his eyes round with delight.

The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion I can’t put my finger on. It isn’t until that mask slides back over his face that I realize he looked sad. Melancholic.

And I want to know why, but with the way his eyes are heating like a burner on the stove, I know the opportunity has already passed.

“You got something special here,” he says quietly, prowling towards me. The stars have long since faded, and the only thing he can’t seem to look away from now is me.

“I do,” I breathe, watching him come closer with bated breath.

There’s a small tug at the back of my head—an instinctual feeling that reminds me that I’m in a glass box with a shadow possibly lurking outside. Provided with a full view of what’s happening.

Part of me doesn’t mind if he’s out there. I want to prove something to the deranged man who thinks he owns me. I want to show him he doesn’t.

The only person who will lay claim to my body is who I allow. I’ll let Arch’s hands touch me. Hands that will trace every inch of my skin, followed by his mouth. I’ll let his tongue lick my pussy until I’m sated, right before he fucks me until I no longer know my name.

I’ll let him because I said he could.

Arch towers over me, molding his front to mine and pinning my breasts against his chest. My breath stutters as warmth envelops me, his arm circling tightly around my waist and locking me against him.

I like the way he feels pressed against me. The softness of my body molding against the hard ridges of his. It feels… nice. Good.

Arch stares deeply into my eyes for a brief moment. And then he tilts his head and gently captures my lips between his.

I sigh, his soft lips moving against mine rhythmically, like the water at the bottom of the cliff, swaying against the rocks.

I moan into his mouth, needing more and deepening the kiss, prying his lips apart so I can dip my tongue inside.

He growls, his restraint slipping. His other hand sweeps into my hair, angling my head better so he can plunge his tongue in my mouth, exploring skillfully with little control.