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My cock hardens, her perfectly round ass overflowing her underwear. Her pussy is on full display. Just a thin piece of fabric separating her from my tongue.

I close my eyes and work to regain control.

I have to be quiet.

She doesn’t know I’m hiding in her closet. Waiting for her to fall asleep so I can stare at her beauty in peace.

Right now, she fears me. Rightfully so.

I’m a dangerous man, and I kill people daily. Not only that, but I enjoy it too.

She should fear me, but only because once she ultimately submits to me, she’ll have no chance of escaping me.

She’s already started to and hasn’t even realized it yet.

I’ve never been in love with anything other than my job. I haven’t even bothered fucking a woman for over a year. I just don’t have time. They were always a quick fuck, and then I’d be off again, the release rarely easing any tension.

After dealing with enough tears and desperate attempts to get me to stay with them, I grew tired of the hassle.

The moment I saw her sitting in that bookstore, working to hide her nerves and anxiety, there I was—a grown-ass man, falling in obsession at first sight.

And now, I feel like a fifteen-year-old boy who just discovered what pussy feels like. Every time I set eyes on her, I’m ready to bust in my jeans just from looking at her.

I want to touch her, kiss her, and make her mine in every sense of the word. Marking her body wasn’t enough. But I get the feeling I will never feel like I’ve had enough of Adeline Seraphina Reilly. At least on paper.

And I have no fucking shame. I never claimed to be a good man.

She slides into her bed, curls up under the duvet, and picks up an old leather book.

Her great-grandmother’s diary.

After Addie had left one day to run errands or some shit, I flipped through the pages.

Her great-grandmother also had a stalker. It made me smile when I realized history was repeating itself.

Addie flips through the diary for an hour, her face pinched with an unreadable emotion as she inhales Gigi’s deepest, darkest secrets. It looks like she’s searching for answers, and the only thing that will give her clarity is her great-grandmother’s words.

Part of her looks disturbed by the diaries. But a bigger part of her seems fascinated. Enthralled. Like she’s trying to picture falling in love with her stalker, and the thought both excites her and makes her deeply uncomfortable.

I want to laugh at that. Because that’s exactly what’s going to fucking happen.

I’m going to make her fall in love with every single fucked up part of me. I want this girl to see me at my most depraved. I want her to experience the true darkness residing in my soul.

When you make someone fall in love with the darkest parts of you, there’s nothing you can do that will scare them away.

They will be yours forever because they already love all the fucked up bits and pieces of you.

Her eyes start to droop, her head lolls, and the diary begins to slip from her black-painted fingers.

She jolts awake, her eyes rounding before she settles down. I bite my lip, too many feelings invading my chest.

Giving up pretenses, she snaps the journal shut, slides it on her nightstand and clicks off the light. Instantly, the room goes black. The moonlight filtering through the balcony doors casts shadows across the room, creating monsters out of wooden furniture.

The only real monster in this house is me.

Once her breathing deepens, I slowly slide the closet door open and wait in the shadows, making sure she hasn’t awoken.

Just as I go to take a step, a burst of ice blooms across the back of my neck. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I turn my head and look around in the closet, fighting against the urge to chatter my teeth.