10. Who is he

TEN

My doors are locked. I triple-checked my windows before turning in for the night. The shade in my bedroom is drawn. That door is closed.

Or it was.

It flings open with enough force that if my masked stalker didn't shoot out his hand and take hold of the knob before it crashed into the wall, I'd have a giant hole in it.

It's gotta be close to midnight. I went upstairs at eleven o'clock or so, putting my phone on the charger while I was reading an ebook on the Kindle app. Because I couldn't help myself, I did dare a peek out of the downstairs window earlier, then mine before I changed into my pajamas and got ready for bed.

No one was out there. Not my dead husband. Not the hidden figure in the shadows, head tilted up, watching any silhouettes on my shade. If the Watcher was watching, I can't find him, and for another night, I convinced myself that he wasn't.

I still don't know where he was—but as I yelp and scramble out of my bed, my sleep shorts so loose and silky I nearly slip right out and face-plant on my floor—I know where he is now.

It's him. The Watcher. He's still wearing that strange mask that covers everything except for a pair of eyes blazing with intensity. He has on a pair of black pants that match his mask, and the same inky-black t-shirt that's tight enough to show off his broad chest, sculpted muscles, and a coiled stocky body that looks primed to explode. His boots are on his feet, though the laces are undone.

I recover my balance, gaping at him. For whatever stupid reason, it's the laces that confuse me more than anything. Why is he walking around like that? Won't he trip?

I get my answer a second later. One powerful kick and the right boot is flying across my rose, slamming into the side of my dresser. I jump right as he kicks off the left, careful to send it far away from where I'm standing.

I'm speechless. He's breathing so heavy, I don't think he can even spit out words.

Fuck. I don't even think I've seen him blink yet.

I'm watching him. He's watching me. Like there's a magnet pulling us together, keeping us connected, neither one of us can break away until he grips the bottom hem of his shirt and, in one practiced motion, yanks it over his head without disturbing his full-length mask at all.

His bare chest is heaving. Not an inch of hair on the baby smooth skin, I notice. No scars, either, or a tattoo. It's perfect, delicious tanned skin and I'm instantly caught in his snare again?—

—until I notice that, once his hands went back to rest on his thick thighs, he folded them into fists.

I shake my head. Okay. He's pissed.

He's really pissed.

"Who is he?"

Yup. He's pissed, and it's because he finally got the chance to confront me in person over my date with Jake.

Took him long enough.

I bat my lashes. "Weren't you watching? Don't you know?"

I'm nuts. Fucking insane. This man might not be that much taller than me, but he's got at least thirty pounds of pure muscle on me. Maybe more. So he doesn't have a visible weapon unless he's hiding them in his pants… through the streaming moonlight and the way he's bracing his legs like that, he's got something that looks like a lead pipe in his pants, but if he uses it on me, I'm pretty sure it's not going to hurt.

Much.

"Simone—"

"Watcher."

He growls. My masked stalker fucking growls. Looks like he doesn't like being called by a name that isn't yours, even if you chose it yourself.

I know what that's like.

Hey. He wants to call me his ‘sweet vixen' even though I'm Simone? I don't know what his real name is since I don't know who he is. He calls himself the Watcher. He shouldn't be taking it out on me when I use that name.

He shakes his head the same time as he cuts his animalistic growl off. One step in his bare feet, then another as he moves into my room. "You know what I mean. I told you. That pussy is mine. You weren't supposed to touch it."

"I didn't."

That he doesn't try to accuse me of lying only makes me believe that my suspicion that he can see me no matter is true. Just like what I said is. He told me not to touch myself. I haven't.

I give him a tiny smile that I'm not sure he can see in the darkness. "But you never said someone else couldn't."

He sucks in a breath, exhaling roughly. "You know damn fucking well that the only one allowed to touch you at all is me."

"I do? Maybe you should've made it clearer, Watcher."

"Simone…"

"Yes?"

"You want to test me right now? When I had to wait until it was dark enough to come to you to show you just how much you are mine?"

"I just wanted to make sure you still were keeping an eye on me. That you weren't busy with any other girl."

Under his mask, his jaw clenches. "Let me make this clear, baby. This is it. It's me for you. It's you for me. If you want someone touching that pussy of yours? You wait for me."

I shouldn't… I shouldn't…

"You're here now."

Did I mean to dare him? Tempt him?

Give him an open invitation to my body?

Who's to say—but that's exactly how he takes it.

Now, did I know that hitting it off with Jake would lead to my stalker finding his way into my bedroom? I can't say that I did—or that I'm complaining.

I should have been glad that the Watcher gave me some distance after our shower. I wouldn't put it past him to believe in the whole ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder' bullshit, or to think that, the longer he left me wanting, the more I'd be grateful for a sliver of his attention.

Are there other girls? Is that what it is? He watches me Mondays, someone else Tuesday, a third girl on Wednesday… If he's as possessive of me as he wants me to believe, shouldn't he have been back before now?

All good questions, but I find the words suddenly stuck in my throat.

I wanted his attention, didn't I? Because, one way or another, I've definitely got it now.

He's stalking me around the room. Keeping my eye on him, regarding him like a predator, like a wild animal on the hunt, I know I should stay still. Predators usually like the chase, and I'm the worst kind of prey.

I back up from him.

I can't see his face, but I can only imagine the shit-eating grin his mask is hiding when I run out of room. Instead of breaking for the door, I subconsciously—consciously—went the other way. I scooted back and back until, next thing I know, my legs have bumped up against the edge of my bed.

I trip. Fling myself? I don't know. He's still coming for me, his every step forward telling me that I could try to get away but that I would only be wasting both of our time, and before I know it, he's right there.

The Watcher's hand takes my shoulder, easing me back to the bed. He gives me every opportunity to resist. To shake him off, to kick him in his very prominent junk, to tell him I don't want this…

But fuck. I do want this. I'll probably regret it come morning, but tonight? I lay back on my bed, running my hands over his warm chest.

My stalker isn't an idiot. He has a woman spread out beneath him, so turned on because he managed to get past every locked door, including the bedroom. He had to want this. Had to want me.

I can see it in his eyes. I can feel it in the thrum of his heart beating wildly as his chest is pressed down to mine. His body weight is keeping me pinned in place on the bed, as though he's trying to make sure I'm not about to go anywhere.

I'm not. I'm ready for this, and I let him know with a soft, "Please..."

That's all I have to say.

He lifts up off of me just enough to grab my sleep shorts, pulling them off completely. My panties go next, flying behind him in his haste to get my bottom half naked. He doesn't bother with the top. A quick shove to bare my boobs to him is enough before he turns his attention to his jeans.

Less than thirty seconds after I murmured that one word to him and we're both wearing a single piece of clothing: my rumpled sleep shirt and his mask.

There's no foreplay. For my stalker, foreplay was walking around my room, the way I taunted him, and the way he chased. I already could tell he was aroused from the bulge in his jeans. He arrived like that, almost as though this was inevitable… and it probably was.

The idea of something wanting me so badly that they'd do anything to have me is such a fucking aphrodisiac. I'm panting softly, basically begging him to do what he said—to give me some relief—before he puts his two large hands on my inner thighs and pushes.

"Oh, yes. Baby… you don't know how long I've waited to see you like this. Your pussy is so pretty. So pink. I can't wait until I can spend the whole night worshiping it with my mouth like it deserves."

"Why… why don't you?"

He taps the bottom of his mask. "If I take this off, then I go. You don't want me to go though, do you?" Dropping his hand, he dips his finger inside of me, gathering up evidence of how turned on I am. "Not when you need what my cock can give you?"

I clutch that sheets beneath me. "Then what the hell are you waiting for?"

He grins. "For you to say ‘please'."

"But I did."

He bows his body over me, shoving his cock all the way in with one powerful thrust. "I know."

This is it for me. This is my forever. I'm holding it in my arms, and after the way she welcomed me into both her home and her body, there's no fucking way I'll ever let go of it.

Of course, the moment I think that, she starts to slip away from me.

I tighten my arms.

She taps the top of my hand. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Fuck. I should've known that. She let me come inside of her, but I was a delusional fool if I thought she'd just lay there with her sticky thighs and my come dripping out of her.

My first instinct is to roll her onto her back and plug her up with my finger to make sure she doesn't lose any of me. It's pointless since I already know that the reason why Simone didn't even try to mention condoms is because she's on birth control. I've followed her to the doctors, heard her discussing different options before she settled on the shot.

I'm okay with that. Once, I thought that the ultimate sign that one of my girls was mine was getting her pregnant with my kid. Even if she wanted to escape me, if we shared a child, good luck trying to get too far away. I've matured since then.

Simone will have my children one day. I'm not in any rush, though, and I'd like to keep her all to myself for as long as possible. It's my possessive instincts that fight back against her trying to get rid of me anyway she can, but as much as it hurts me to let her go so soon after I had her, she asked so sweetly, I can't refuse.

Still, I give it one more try.

"Stay here. Let me?—"

"No." She's firm enough that I know better than to push her on this. "I have to pee. Can I have privacy for that at least?"

Getting laid makes me magnanimous. Opening my arms so she can leave them, I tell her, "Hurry back."

Devious little minx. She doesn't answer, but it seems like an eternity that she's in there.

Just when I'm sure that I'm going to have to go drag her back out again, the bathroom light clicks off, gentle footsteps heading back into the room.

She hesitates in the doorway. I can see her searching for me in the shadows, frowning as though she expected me to have taken the chance to slip out into the night while she was gone.

Or maybe it's the mask.

I refuse to take it off. Consider it hedging your bets if you will, but if she rejects the Watcher, I've got my foot in the door as myself. I got to see a different side of Simone when she allowed me to take her out to the diner by my job, and it only reinforced how addicted I am to her.

She's funny. Sly. Sweet, too, and generous. When I threw down a ten for the tip, she added a second one even though we already split the bill and it was barely thirty bucks to begin with. Smart. Devoted to her car which, to a guy like me, is a huge plus.

And she's fucking gorgeous.

Simone also managed to play perfectly into my waiting hands. For months, she never noticed Jake. She never noticed me. But as soon as the Watcher made his move, and then so did Jake, she teased on, then tempted the other.

Because that's what she did. Sitting across from me at the diner, looking at me as if she finally did see me… I didn't think it was possibly for me to want her more.

But she doesn't know that we're the same. For her to play with the Watcher in the shower, then go out with good ol' Jake to dinner, she was just begging my dark side to retaliate.

And, tonight, that was exactly what I did.

I'm not done yet, either.

I pat the space in front of me. "Come back to bed, Simone."

I'll put her there myself if I have to. If she thinks she's going to get cold feet and run now…

The bed dips as she lays out in front of me, giving me her back.

"I don't know who's crazier," she whispers into the darkness. "You or me."

Grabbing her by the hip, I pull her backward until I'm spooning her. Throwing my naked leg over both of hers, I trap her right where she belongs: with me.

Simone fits perfectly against my body. I bury my face in her hair, wishing I could give up the mask and breathe her in deeply. The fabric muffles the scent of her shampoo, her conditioner, and any trace of my come she's still wearing. I get tiny whiffs as I nestle my cock between her thighs, already so hard, it wouldn't take much for me to find my way inside of her again.

So why shouldn't I?

I hold her in place the same time as I grab the base of my dick. Lifting my leg up just enough so I can push hers apart, I trail my finger through her folds, checking to see if she can take me now.

I don't know for sure what she got up to in the bathroom, but there's not a drop of resistance as I slide through her moisture. She's so fucking wet. Just begging me to fill her up again.

And that's exactly what I do.

She gasps as I stretch her out, bottoming out with her ass against my groin. "Already?"

I bite down on her shoulder. Not hard. Fuck that. I'll never cause this woman any pain, but the slight pressure from my teeth digging into her skin is enough to have her squeezing me tightly.

She rips a groan from my throat as the jolt of pleasure. Releasing her shoulder, I squeeze her hip, muttering in the Watcher's gruff voice. "Fuck me, Simone."

I didn't mean it as an order.

But she's doing just that. Rocking into me, fucking me softly, panting so beautifully, I nearly blow my load then and there.

I lick her skin, enjoying the tang of salt that hits my tongue. After pressing a kiss there, I selfishly let her pump me a few more times before I only still her by grabbing her hip again, giving it a noticeable squeeze.

"Hm?"

"It's okay, baby. Just… relax. Can you do that for me?"

"Relax? With your dick inside of me? Is that what you're asking me to do?"

I love that she's not scared. The one thing in the world I don't want to do is frighten this woman. That she's hesitant and nervous—for damn good reason, too—but not scared… maybe I would rather just fuck her again.

No. No. I need the connection, and if she'll give me this, I'll give her the world.

I'll give her it anyway, but I still want this.

"This is where I belong. Where I've always belonged. I told you. This pussy belongs to me, baby, and it always will. I filled it once with all the come I saved just for you. Now it's my turn to enjoy just how good you feel wrapped around me."

"So I just… lay here?"

"You keep me warm," I tell her, reaching around her so that I can cover her tits with my hands, completing the connection. "And I'll do that same for you."

She doesn't fight me. In fact, she arches her back jack enough that there isn't an inch of me that she hasn't taken inside of her.

And then she gives a wry laugh before she says, "I'm definitely crazy."

"Why do you say that?"

"You mean, besides the fact that I have conversations with my dead husband. I don't know. Maybe because there's a masked man in my bed with his dick inside of me," she reminds me. "He broke into my house. He's been watching me for weeks?—"

"Months."

"Months," she echoes, her voice back to being a whisper. "I should be calling the cops."

She should. I'm not gonna deny that.

"So why haven't you?"

She shrugs, and though the way she moves sends another jolt of pleasure through me, I control myself. This is too important for me to get distracted with sex.

"I don't know."

She doesn't. I do. "It's because you know they can't save you from me. You're mine. They wouldn't understand our love?—"

Simone's whole body tenses and, shit, her pussy is like a vice on my dick. "Love?"

"Yes."

I already told her. She didn't deny it in the shower. She only tested me on how well I knew her, and I passed that with flying colors.

You know what? My Simone doesn't deny it now, either.

Instead, without looking over her shoulder at my masked face, she asked pointedly, "Are you dangerous?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you know what happened to my husband."

Of course I do. I sent her that note, plus the ring. I made it obvious from the beginning that she didn't have to worry about him bothering her anymore. She got the message. Those conversations with her husband…

That's okay. She can talk to all the dead people she wants so long as I still get to call her mine. If she needs therapy, I'll take her. If she's happy to be crazy, I'm good with that, too.

After all, we both know I've got issues of my own, don't we?

Letting go of her left boob, I move my hand across her mattress, searching for hers. When I find it, I fold all of her fingers down except for one.

I'm sure she wants to ask me more about her husband. As I run my thumb over her ring finger, though, she breathes a little more heavily, waiting to see what I'm going to do—or say—next.

"Do you know how much I hated seeing you wear his ring?" I ask, my voice both gruff and conversational. "I like seeing it bare, but it'll look so much prettier when you're wearing my ring."

"Your… your ring."

"That's right. When I become your new husband."

"Because you got rid of my last one."

It's not quite an accusation. More a guess, but that's only because she doesn't know for sure.

"Do you want to know what happened?"

I can tell that she's torn. Part of her needs to hear it, while the sweet part of my sweet vixen wants to pretend like her lover isn't capable of doing what I did to her husband.

But I am. And if she's ever going to accept me as her next one—and she will—she needs to know just what sort of man she invited in her bed.

So when Simone finally nods into the night, I lay my hands on her shoulders, keeping her right in place as I press my lips to ear hear and admit, "He came here thinking that he could take you from me… hurt you… so I slit that fucker's throat."