26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Kayla

The sunlight filters through the bedroom window, shining straight into my face. With a groan, I roll over to my other side.

Stupid sun. Millions and millions of miles away, and it still has to bother me in my sleep. Can't it go bug someone else?

I stretch out my arms and legs underneath the blanket, my muscles feeling oddly sore, like after a workout. I haven't been working out, though, and it's not like I move around much during the night, not even when I have those running-away-from-a-monster kind of dreams. But I wasn't dreaming about monsters last night, was I?

Blushing, I recall the vivid dream I had. Seriously, I've never even had a hot dream before, and now? Ethan Bennett in my bed is all I dream about. How weird is that? I barely even know the guy, and now I dream about his cock inside me? His thick, delicious cock stretching me in the most incredible way?

And now I'm horny again. Horny and sweaty all over. I need a lighter blanket. I used to be cold every night, so I bought a thick, fluffy one, but now, I'm boiling alive under it. The damn sun isn't helping things at all.

A check on my phone reveals it's almost noon, much later than I usually wake up. It also explains why the sun is being so hyperactive.

I roll out of bed, smoothing my nightgown down my thighs. My red nightgown. Huh? I would have sworn I put on the green one last night, but I guess not.

I peel the nightgown off and head for the bathroom, frowning at the odd wetness between my thighs. It's not blood. I haven't had a proper period in months, not since I got my IUD, but I do occasionally have some spotting. Whatever my body is up to now, it has nothing to do with my cycle.

Still, my pussy is sticky and slightly sore, and dear fucking god, do I really need a yeast infection right now? Is having not one, but two crazy stalkers not enough to torment a girl? Can't the universe cut me a break?

Peeing doesn't hurt, so at least it's not a urinary tract infection, thank fuck. I had that once, and it hurt like hell every time I went to the toilet. I can't have that again. I don't have a gynecologist here in Bluebell Springs yet, but I'm finding one first thing tomorrow.

Satisfied with my decision, I step into the shower. As streams of steaming hot water pelt my body, the soreness in my muscles eases into slight discomfort before tapering away completely. So does the strange feeling around my pussy. In fact, as I slide my hand between my pussy lips to wash myself, my arousal reawakens, reminding me of the strangely vivid dream I had.

Sex.

I haven't had it in how long, three months? I hadn't been sleeping with Nick even before he broke up with me, which was probably a good thing since he was messing around with someone else.

I must be sex-starved. That would explain the dreams.

Is being sex-starved a thing? It has to be a thing. Except I'd been without sex for much longer periods of time before, and I never felt like this. And I never really loved sex too much, anyway. It was never as good as romance novels made it out to be. I can achieve the same result on my own with much less hassle.

Yes, that must be it! I just need a release. If I masturbate every night before going to bed to take the edge off, surely I won't be dreaming about being fucked by a man I've only met once.

I slide my fingers between my pussy lips again, giving in to the desire. I'm single, alone at home, and have an entire day off. No one can blame me for having a little fun in the shower.

As I circle my clit with my fingers, I try to recall the dream I had.

Large, warm hands holding me. A nimble tongue exploring every square inch of my body.

I raise a hand to touch my nipple, surprised by how sensitive it is. Did I touch myself while having that oddly vivid dream? Did I tug and twist my nipples as I dreamed of Ethan's mouth and fingers on me? I must have, with how tender they are now, just like my clit and pussy.

I dip my fingers inside my pussy, moaning as I recall Ethan's thick cock entering me. Such a realistic dream! Almost as if…

No. Shaking my head, I chase the disturbing thought away. I'm an ostrich. Ostriches don't think about scary things. They hide their heads in the sand. Which is unfortunate because while your head is buried in the sand, anyone can come and touch the rest of your body. Anyone can whip out their cock and fuck you while you're hiding from reality.

But that's not what's happening to me. It's not. It's ridiculous! I'd wake up if someone entered my bedroom, let alone if they tried to touch me. I'd wake up.

Wouldn't I?

Even as I ponder the frightening options, my fingers keep moving, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. My orgasm doesn't care about my conflicted thoughts and feelings. It barrels through me like a tidal wave of scalding hot lava, freezing me in place as my whole body convulses and my pussy pulsates around my fingers.

I think I moan out Ethan's name. Again. What the fuck is happening to me?

Refusing to acknowledge my earlier thoughts, I dry myself and get dressed. I briefly contemplate going out, but with Benjamin Adams after me, I don't want to go alone. However, I also don't want to spend another day listening to Beth's issues with the cake and the floral arrangements, and I've already intruded on Michelle's life enough by sleeping at her place the night before last. Since those two are the extent of my friends here in Bluebell Springs, I decide to spend the day at home.

I call Amy and together, we watch some new episodes of our favorite TV show. We keep chatting throughout the afternoon, trash-talking the bad acting in the show and discussing whether the girl will end up with Mr. DarkAndMysterious or Mr. NiceAndRich. For obvious reasons, I'm rooting for Mr. Mysterious.

My own Mr. Mysterious hasn't shown up all day, and I can't decide whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. What would I do if he just marched into my bedroom? Would I scream and call the police, or would I simply surrender?

A part of me hopes he won't give me a choice. I want him, but wanting my stalker is so wrong that my mind can't reconcile with the idea. But if he threatens me? Ties me up? Kidnaps me? A shiver of delight runs through me, leaving me feeling both guilty and aroused at the same time.

The truth remains. If he does any of those things, I'll have to give in to him. I'll have to do whatever he wants, and I won't feel bad about it, because everyone knows you're supposed to obey dangerous criminals. It's the perfect loophole.

I don't normally shower before going to work, but as I wake up all sweaty on Monday morning, with the now familiar stickiness between my legs, I wedge a quick shower into my morning routine, along with a call to the nearby OB-GYN practice to schedule an appointment.

The doctor has time to see me on Wednesday. Hopefully, whatever is wrong with me won't progress too far before I can get some heavy-duty antibiotics to murder all the evil bacteria that have the audacity to multiply in my vagina. I just have to keep my mind focused on other things in the meantime.

Lucky for me, work is busy. I keep my rental car parked right in front of the sheriff's office, just in case Adams wants to have a go at it too, and visit Billy's Highway Heroes office during my lunch break. My poor car sits in the repair shop, looking like a wreck, and my fists clench in anger. Fuck Adams! I'm so going to kick his balls the next time I see him.

The repairs will be expensive, even with my insurance covering most of the cost. As if I needed more reasons to hate that bastard.

When I inquire, the police let me know they're still "looking into the case", which means they have nothing. They've questioned Adams, but apparently one of his bodyguards gave him an alibi, so there's nothing anyone can do.

At least my stalker is back, and yes, I realize how odd that sounds. But the truth is, coming home to a clean house, fresh flowers on my table, and a box of chocolates on my pillow is the highlight of my day.

There's even a card with the flowers, saying, "Sorry, work trip. But I'm back and I'm not leaving again." It could read as a threat, but I smile as I read it, butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

He didn't leave me. He still likes me. He plans on sticking around. It's amazing to be desired like that.