Page 6 of My Masked Stalker (Beautiful Stalkers #1)

EMILY

A s soon as the masked man leaves, my hand moves between my legs of its own volition.

Fuck . Tears leak out of the sides of my eyes as I silently scream at myself to stop, to get dressed, to call the police.

Instead, I reach into my bedside drawer.

My fingers won’t do after… the gun. A fucking gun.

He fucked me with a fucking gun, the fucking psycho.

If ever there was a time for a kindergarten teacher to drop a string of F-bombs, it’s now.

I take out my biggest dildo, one I normally reserve for special occasions. Like getting stood up by Chris when ovulating. Even then, I needed copious amounts of lube for it. Not tonight. Tonight, I rub it against my pussy, coating it with my arousal. I don’t think I’ve ever been wetter in my life.

I work in the tip, squirming as it penetrates, thinking of how the cold steel of the gun felt against me.

Thinking of the man’s finger on the trigger, threatening me to lie still, to keep my legs spread for him.

Moaning, I start thrusting the toy inside me, my free hand circling my clit, just like the barrel of his gun did.

I’m so close that it only takes a minute for me to reach that peak and explode, my head kicking back against my pillow, my womb cramping with the force of my orgasm.

I fuck myself through the aftershocks, my fingers still pressing against my clit, imagining phantom hands gliding over my sweat-damp body.

Then I pull out the toy and burst into tears.

∞∞∞

“You’re not going to finish that?” Barbara asks, pointing her fork at the half-eaten piece of cake on my plate. It’s her birthday, and I’ve been a lousy friend so far, distracted by my mystery gunman. It’s been two weeks, and he hasn’t visited me again. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

I smile at my friend, pushing out thoughts of my very well-built night intruder as much as I can. “You can help me,” I offer, moving the little plate closer to her.

Barb sticks a piece of sugary goodness into her mouth and licks the prongs clean. “Mmm, so good.”

She wiggles in her seat like an excited child, and I can’t help laughing.

She’s always so goofy, her light-brown eyes crinkled at the corners with her amusement at life.

I don’t think I would’ve gotten through my grandmother’s death without her.

Grams practically raised me when my good-for-nothing parents dropped the ball, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over the loss.

“You haven’t forgotten about the Halloween party, have you?” she asks me, breaking me out of another reverie.

I fidget, pushing a crumb around with my fork. “Oh. Yeah. Long Island?”

Barbara narrows her eyes at me. “Let me guess. You don’t have a costume yet.”

Cringing, I let my shoulders slump. “Do I have to go? You know I’m not a fan of parties.”

“Um, yes, you have to,” Barb insists. “You do remember that the school’s doing a fundraiser with the corn maze, right?”

“As if they’d let me forget,” I mutter, trying hard to resist the temptation of banging my head against the table until I pass out. Anything’s better than having to dress up in costume and interact with people.

Barbara whips out her phone and starts tapping and scrolling, her fingers flying over the screen. Then the threat comes out: “If you don’t show me your costume by next week, I’m buying one for you.”

I groan, covering my eyes with my free hand. “You just want to dress me up as slutty something. Slutty ghost. Slutty nurse. Slutty… porcupine.”

She throws her head back laughing, then turns the phone over to show me a… slutty nun outfit. Of course. I roll my eyes at it and her.

“I’ll get my own costume, thank you,” I say, sounding as prickly as that slutty porcupine.

Barbara gives me a stern look. “One week, babe. Otherwise, you’re going holy-ho but not holy, if you know what I mean.”

“Barbara, I can’t go to a work fundraiser as a slutty anything,” I deadpan. “And neither can you. Imagine Sue’s face if you show up in a corset.”

“Oh, riiiight,” Barbara drawls, her eyes wide. “Completely forgot about our evil overlord. Guess my slutty fallen angel outfit will have to wait for the afterparty.”

I sigh, trying to think up an outfit that would work for a Halloween thing with work people. A sasquatch, maybe?

After checking my watch, I put down the fork and wipe my mouth with a napkin.

“Are we going shopping?” Barb asks, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Nope,” I reply, popping the P. “We’re going to have unhealthy amounts of cinema popcorn and a ten-hour romcom marathon.”

She squeals and claps her hands, making the rich-looking ladies at the next table frown.

“You really do love me,” Barbara says, getting up so fast her chair scrapes against the floor. Now the waitress is frowning at us too, and I’m cringing. Barb doesn’t care, but I hate it when people stare at me.

“Of course I love you,” I mutter, grabbing my coat and following her out.

By the time I get home, sunset has come and gone, and it’s another damp early October night in New York City.

The long hours of laughing at cheesy movies actually made me forget about my shadow for a moment, but as my skin prickles with awareness while I’m unlocking the building door, I can’t not think of him.

He sent me a few messages, and I was too scared to reply, but…

I can’t believe I’m even considering that he might have been disappointed by me that night!

Shaking my head, I jog up to my apartment and shuffle inside, looking forward to the moment when I can take off my bra. Before I can reach back for the hooks, though, I realize there’s a scent of smoky cologne in the air. My scalp itches as my hair stands up. Is he here?

No. However, he left me a present again.

This time it’s not flowers, though they’re still in their vase, stubbornly clinging to the last remnants of their beauty.

But there’s a package dead center on my kitchen table.

I tear the tape with shaky fingers, half expecting something grotesque, like the head of some guy who looked at me for too long.

Instead, a swath of crimson spills out, smooth beneath my touch.

Fabric. I lift it free, and a long velvet cloak unfurls in my hands, the deep red catching the light like spilled wine. It’s beautiful.

Beneath the cloak is the rest of the outfit: a black corset bodice strung with scarlet ribbon, a scandalously short skirt in soft, sheer layers, and stockings that slide like smoke through my hands. My cheeks heat just imagining what I’d look like in it. What he wants me to look like.

At the very bottom of the box, folded with surgical precision, is a note written in the same harsh scrawl as the note that came with my flowers: My Little Red doesn’t need underwear. Makes it easier for the wolf to eat her up.

My breath hitches, and my pulse hammers so hard it rattles the paper between my fingers. I can’t unsee my masked stranger’s gloved hands picking each piece, knowing exactly how they’d fit me, how I’d be left bare the second the modest cloak slips away.

When my phone buzzes in my jeans pocket, I nearly jump out of my skin. I fumble for it, pulling up the new message.

Wear this to the Halloween party. You’re mine to unwrap, every last secret.

A shiver rolls down my spine, and I slam my phone down on the table. “Oh, hell no. Not doing this,” I mutter, turning my back on the costume. I start pacing, running my hand through my hair, torn between blocking him… and replying. Stopping, I let my head hang and groan. “What’s wrong with me?”

I pad to my phone, and pick it up again, my fingers trembling. Hesitating for only a moment, I punch in the text and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

I don’t even know your name.

When I grow lightheaded, I realize I’ve been holding my breath, and I take a loud, shaky inhale. As I watch the screen, a new text pops up.

It’s Killian, sweetheart.

“Killian,” I whisper. A dangerous name for a dangerous man.

Before I can think of a reply, another message comes through.

I like the way it sounds on your lips. Say it again, baby. Out loud.

My gasp is loud in the silence of my apartment, followed by the thunk of my phone falling to the floor. He can hear me? No. He must have predicted I’d say it out loud. Crouching down, I grab my phone again, my fingers scrabbling against the worn hardwood floor.

“Killian,” I say out loud, the word coming out like a challenge.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and my heart stops.

Good girl.

“Oh god.”