Page 3 of To Love a Monster (Oaths & Obsessions #1)

Lila

After spending the rest of the day painting and scrapping piece after piece, I decided to stop wasting paint and go to the grocery store to pick up a few extras for supper. I pause at the steps, my bag of groceries digging into my arm, keys pressed between my fingers like a blade. The gravel crunches beneath my boots in a way that feels louder than it should. The trees rustle, and for a moment I swear it sounds like someone’s boots crunching over dry twigs. I spin around and scan the area but see nothing. Nothing is visibly out of place, and yet, I can’t shake this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I quickly unlock the door and the deadbolt clicks open with ease, the hinges groan softly as I push the door open.

I drop the bag onto the counter as the fridge hums in the background, loud in the quiet evening air. I go ahead and put the groceries away, each motion slow and deliberate, like I’m performing for an invisible audience. Lettuce in the fridge drawer. Yogurt on the top shelf. Bread on the counter.

For some reason, my hands are tense and my mind won’t settle. My shoulders twitch at every creak in the floor, and the blank canvas taunts me. Perhaps I just need to do a little bit of painting

There’s no plan this time, just pure instinct. White streaks across the center like something desperate trying to escape. My hands move from memory and eventually I lose myself in the process completely. The strokes fill the canvas fast and hard as I add a few shades of blue, blending them with dark grays, oranges, and violet to create a stunning image of the lake house framed by a beautiful sunset.

I’m so wrapped up in the high of painting that when that eerie feeling of being watched returns, the sensation is like ice cold water on sunburned skin. It’s like my body is aware of a threat my eyes can’t see. My heart begins to race as I stumble backward, my brush falling to the floor with a soft clatter. My fingers find the window cord and rip the blinds open, exposing the house to the woods as I squint into the darkness, trying to assess any danger in the distance but find none. My breath fogs the glass and the cold presses in through the window.

Despite there being no movement whatsoever, my pulse remains erratic in my throat. The trees around the shore bend and lean in the breeze, their shadows so deep it feels like there’s a hidden crowd of eyes all fixed on me.

The minutes drag as I stand there watching the wind. The dark curls itself around the edges of the house, clinging to the branches as the moon glows higher over the lake, casting a stunning light on the still water. The house is silent behind me as I back away from the glass, moving slowly as I close the blinds again.

****

The bath is almost scalding as I stretch my limbs under the surface of the water, slick with lavender oil and cheap bubbles that catch the dim light like static. Steam curls around me, soft and ghostly, filling every breath with heat and heaviness. I close my eyes, trying to relax and unwind when, for some reason, my mind drifts back to the handsome stranger in the art store. The way he seemed to appear out of thin air with his emerald eyes and thick muscles. He was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. There was something about his stillness, the way his shoulders didn’t slouch, didn’t relax. Like the tension in him is permanent. And the way he stole the breath from my lungs with a single look, it made me wonder how my body would react if he actually touched me.

I shake my head, trying to chase the thought away as I press a hand to my chest and try to ground myself. Who fantasizes about being touched by a stranger they glimpsed in a small-town art store? I know it’s silly, but my skin still buzzes at the thought of him.

Maybe it’s because I’ve just gone so long without touch that even the thought of a green-eyed monster of a man wrapped around my body is enough to set my skin on fire. I press my hand harder against my chest, leaving little crescent moons where my nails dig in as my skin prickles and my breath shudders.

I lay back slowly, letting the water kiss my thighs, my stomach, the peaks of my breasts as the lavender oil slicks over me. Calming and soft. I try to breathe deeply and clear my mind, but the tension doesn’t leave. It coils tighter, deeper. The fantasy now taking root as the image of him flickers behind my eyelids.

Those glass-shard eyes, his tall, muscular build, hands that look like they could crush me in seconds. Maybe it’s the isolation. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been fucked by a man in months, but I find myself craving release as my hand moves beneath the water. I hesitate, fingertips ghosting down my stomach as a breath trembles past my lips.

I tell myself I’m just ... unwinding. Releasing the stress. But I’m wet imagining how big his cock must be if it’s proportionate to the rest of his body. I curse under my breath but don’t stop. My fingers slip lower, finding the heat beneath the water, sliding through slick folds that throb with unspent tension. I circle my clit. Once. Twice. And I give in, letting myself think about him. The ache deepens as I spread my legs wider beneath the water and dip a finger inside. The moan that escapes is soft, strained, almost guilty. But I don’t stop, it feels too fucking good. I arch, chasing the edge as I give in to the ridiculous fantasy, breathing ragged and desperate as I picture that mouth against my skin, my throat, my—

My climax hits fast and hard. A tight, involuntary squeeze from deep inside. The kind that feels like punishment wrapped in bliss. I cry out, my moan half-muffled by the steam and then there’s silence. Nothing but my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

I soak for a few moments more as I catch my breath, then I drain the tub and towel off in silence. I don’t bother changing into anything more than a robe and I step barefoot onto the deck to breathe in the cold air.

The lake glows silver in the moonlight, fractured by ripples that seem to come from nowhere. The trees rustle, branches trembling like they’re afraid to be still. I sip from the glass of wine I brought out, eyes trailing along the woods. And then I freeze. Just off to the side, barely hidden by the shadows is someone standing. At the edge of the trees, half-obscured, but visible in the space between the branches. He’s leaning against a trunk, one boot propped, arms crossed. His build is unmistakable. Broad chest. Long legs in dark denim. A black hoodie pulled low over his face, but the shadows leave just enough light to show his mouth. Stubble along a sharp jawline. A mouth I recognize—the same one I was just thinking about as I moaned into the quiet. It’s him. The guy from the store. He’s not moving, not hiding. He’s just ... watching me.

My breath catches, my wine glass trembles in my hand and I set it down on the small table before quickly rushing inside. I snatch my phone from the counter, and dial Tess’s number. Tess. My best friend. The one person I can always count on to talk me down when my emotions get the best of me and call me out when I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. Something I apparently tend to do quite often.

She answers on the first ring, her voice husky like she’d already gone to bed. “Hello?”

“Hey, Tess? Someone’s outside the house,” I say immediately. “I think he’s watching me.”

There’s a pause and I hear the rustling of sheets followed by the click of her bedside lamp switching on “Okay, whoa. What? Are you sure?”

“I swear to God, Tess. I just saw him. He’s here right now. Standing just in front of the trees close to the back door.”

She exhales into the phone. “Lila ... you’re in the middle of a beautiful lakeside town that’s super popular with tourists. Are you sure it’s not just a hunter? A friendly night owl? Or someone out for an evening walk?”

“He was staring,” I whisper. “Not moving. Just staring. At me, Tess.”

“You’ve been a little jumpy lately,” she says gently. “Maybe you’re just on edge. You said yourself you’ve been feeling off over the last few months.”

My lips part, about to argue, but when I glance back out the window... He’s gone. The space between the trees is empty again. Like he was never there at all. I rub my hand down my face, realizing that she’s not going to be much comfort, especially if I tell her he’s now disappeared.

“You’re probably right. Maybe I’m just ... losing it a bit.”

“Not losing it. But maybe a little too hyped up. Want me to check my parents’ records? See if there’ve been any new property sales recently? Maybe some hot recluse just moved in and didn’t get the ‘Don’t freak out the weird girl by the lake’ memo.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Okay. That might help. Thanks, Tess.”

“Consider it done. And if he’s hot, I’m claiming him for you. Obviously.”

I smile, but it’s hollow. My gaze drifts back to the woods. There’s nothing there now. But the imprint remains. That eerie stillness. That silence that feels like breath on your neck

The trees ripple, the wind cuts through the cracks. I press my palm against the cold glass. The beat of my pulse is like a second set of footsteps trailing me. I know what I saw. Who I saw. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but close enough to leave a mark. My own breath is a ghost on the window, forming desperate little clouds that can’t obscure his presence. Can’t hide how my body responded, how it still responds, nerves alive and crackling under my skin. I press harder against the glass, the cold seeping into my bones like panic, like desire. And I feel it again, the feeling of being watched. And now I can’t help but wonder if it’s paranoia or if it’s my instinct telling me that someone truly is watching from the shadows. Waiting. But for what, I have no idea.

Tess’s voice chirps into the quiet. “Hey, you still there?”

I jump. “Yeah. I just—”

“Freaked yourself out?” she says, the grin evident in her voice.

My mouth twitches, a grim smile she can’t see. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just being an idiot.”

“Yeah, maybe try to relax a little, okay? Have a glass of wine or five. You’re supposed to be unwinding up there, not convincing yourself that you’re experiencing the beginning scenes of a bad horror movie.”

Her flippancy should calm me. Usually, it does. But this time it does little to settle the stir in my stomach. I press my forehead against the cool surface of the window. “You’re right, I’ll try and relax a little more. I promise.”

“Good. Love you. I’ll dig around a bit and call you when I find something, okay?”

“Love you, too,” I murmur. Then the line goes dead. My mind is still racing, heart going a million miles an hour, refusing to slow down. Refusing to let go of the fear, or the spark of thrill, it shouldn’t be holding onto. My eyes are drawn back to the lake, to the woods, the space where I swear I saw him. Where he saw me. The thought sends a shiver rolling up my spine.

Suddenly the air feels different. Too thick, too dense. My robe clings to the back of my neck, my shoulders, and I pull it tighter, fold my arms over myself like a barricade. But I know it’s useless. I cross the room and open the door again, each step closer to the deck feels like I’m daring him to show himself again.

The night meets me, the cool air wrapping around my skin. My glass of wine waits where I left it, and I down it fast, a bitter rush that does nothing to drown the awareness. I scan the tree line and my heartbeat kicks up.

But he’s still not there. My mouth forms a tight line, something between a pout and a question. Maybe Tess is right. Maybe it was just a hiker, a neighbor. Maybe I just wanted to see him so my mind made me believe that I did.

The deck is cold beneath my feet, softly splintered wood biting into the soft skin of my soles. My fingers thrum a restless beat against my arms like my body is at war with itself. A battle between the almost unbearable need to retreat and the shameful want to stay and hope that he, whoever he is, returns.

I stay on the deck until the cold numbs the noise in my head. Until the sting of it forces the ache in my chest to calm. Until I can almost believe I simply imagined him. The house is too still when I go back inside, and I decide to take Tess’s advice and enjoy a few more glasses of wine. At least if I get drunk enough I’ll manage to get some rest.

****

Surveillance Log: L.M

S ubject : Lila Montgomery

Location : Bathroom Surveillance Feed

I wasn’t supposed to watch her through the bathroom cameras.

After all, I initially put them there to be watched only if she was in danger.

Women have a habit of retreating to the bathroom when they feel a threat in their homes.

I was certainly never supposed to cross that line for my own selfish reasons. But I did.

I watched her as she touched herself. She thought she was alone.

Thought the steam shielded her from the world, but I saw everything.

The way she leaned back, how her legs parted beneath the water.

I wondered what she was thinking about as her fingers slid down, teasing herself slowly.

Her breath hitched, chest rising with every stroke, every tight circle over that swollen clit.

Her free hand gripped the edge of the tub like she was already breaking apart.

She moaned, soft and fragile, and the sound made my cock turn to fucking stone.

I couldn’t look away, couldn’t breathe. She was a vision of pure perfection as she writhed beneath her own hand, brows drawn in pleasure, lips parted, nipples peaked against the steam.

I wanted to kick in the door, drag her out of the tub soaking wet and bend her over the sink. I wanted to show her what it felt like when someone else controlled the pressure, the rhythm, the depth. I wanted her to cry out my name the way she whimpered into the steam. Desperate, raw, and messy.

I undid my belt without a second thought. Freed myself and wrapped my hand around the base, keeping my movements slow and controlled at first.

I stroked myself to the rhythm she set. Matched her gasps, her arches, her writhing. I imagined my hand was hers, then imagined it was my mouth between those trembling thighs, tongue buried deep, fingers digging into her hips while she sobbed my name like a desperate prayer.

I came hard, biting down on my wrist to keep from groaning loud enough to reach her.

She thinks her fingers know how to bring her to the brink?

I can’t wait to make her come until she’s clawing at my shoulders, tears in her eyes from being so fucking full of me, begging for more.

I won’t stop until she whimpers. Until all she can feel is me.

She’ll quickly learn that there’s no mercy in obsession. Only hunger.

She stepped out of the bath glowing. Soft and unaware.

Like prey walking blindly toward the trap.

She brought a glass of wine out to the deck and that’s when I decided to make the first move.

To start our little game. So, I let her see me.

I didn’t move, didn’t speak, just let her feel the weight of my gaze.

And, oh, did she feel it. She stared, frozen, and I watched her heartbeat jump in her throat.

Watched her fear bloom like something sacred and I couldn’t help but chuckle as she ran inside.

I slipped back into the shadows as she turned and picked up her phone.

She’s going to obsess over this. Replay it.

Doubt it. And that is exactly what I want.

I want this to build, to blend fear and infatuation until she craves the feeling only I can give her.

Because this is only the beginning.

She’s mine. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

—N