14. Unsettled

fourteen

Unsettled

Amanda

E rica twists my arm, convincing me to ride over to the store with her so she can show off some of the new inventory. It’s not like I have any big plans today besides my nap. It doesn’t take much coercing on her part. Soon we are in the back room laughing and giggling as I continue to add odds and ends to my pile of clothes to try on.

“You know, I really could use the help with curating different lines. It wouldn’t be much, but it would give you something to work with and the more you put into it, the more you’ll get out of it.” Erica casually suggests, as I hold up a black satin shirt.

“I’ll think about it. Like actually though, I’ve been thinking a lot about quitting my job.” I confess.

She gives me a questioning look. “Is this because he made partner?”

I nod. “He’s like a really big boss now. It’s been kind of nice having a little extra time to spend together since we usually have none. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.”

Erica smiles. “Well, you seem really happy. I say do it. You only live once.”

My face lights up with happiness. I can’t believe I’m actually considering quitting, or at the very least dropping to part time. “Thanks, I need the encouragement. It feels uncomfortable to just rely on a man to take care of me. I’ve never had that before, and part of me would feel guilty.”

“Don’t feel guilty, Amanda. You got yourself a good one, even if he works a lot. He cares about you. You know I believe in you and I’ll support any decision you make. I’m not just saying that because I want you to be my partner in crime.”

“I know. That’s why you are such a good friend.” I give Erica a big hug.

She’s given me a lot to think about. I have options, I’m loved, and all these doubts about my man are probably just nerves. Women everywhere would kill for a man who wants to take care of them and provide everything they need. I have to stop convincing myself he doesn’t want me, or that something is wrong. I should appreciate that our relationship is built on so much more than intimacy.

I help Erica with her inventory and have a blast dressing up the mannequin. We spend some much needed time catching up. It’s late afternoon by the time we finish. Erica has a meeting with the city council in an hour since she sits on the shopping center chamber of commerce. She offered to take me home, but I opted to walk. The last thing I want to do is inconvenience her by sending Erica the opposite direction and making her backtrack to the meeting. Besides, there’s plenty of daylight and it won’t be dark for a few hours.

She hesitates at first. “Are you sure? I can drive you.”

“It’s only a few blocks home,” I quickly reassure her, gathering the clothes I picked out, pay her for them at an insanely steep discount because she insists, then wave goodbye.

“I promise I’ll text you when I get home so you aren’t worrying about me.” I say, before turning to walk away.

I begin my trek home. It’s two blocks back to the house and late afternoon. There’s plenty of traffic around and plenty of sunlight. I convince myself I’m not worried, but deep down inside, I am riddled with anxiety. Honestly, Amanda, you should have just asked Erica for a ride back home. She wouldn’t have thought it was an inconvenience, I scold myself as I cross the street.

I notice a man sitting alone outside the smoothie shop. His back is to me, so I can’t see his face. He’s wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants. I’m not sure why, but he makes me feel uncomfortable. I walk a little faster and soon I’m rounding the corner of the first block.

When I turn, my eye catches movement out of the corner and I spin around to nothing. There’s no one there, but it feels like someone is following me. I have a nagging feeling in my gut, telling me I’m not alone. I cast a glance over my shoulder and immediately do a double take. For a minute I freeze, staring down the street. I’m certain a man in a black hoodie just dove down an alley and out of sight. It’s not cold, but I shiver anyway.

Deep in my chest, my heart is pounding. I’m walking as fast as I can but still a half a block from the corner that will lead me home. My blood is pumping so hard it whooshes in my ears. I chance another look back over my shoulder. I don’t see anything, but when I turn back around, I run right into a large, firm, muscular body. Big strong hands envelope my waist, drawing me in close against his body so he can rasp into my ear.

“Hello, Masterpiece.”

Fuck! My pussy shouldn’t ignite at the sound of his voice, but it betrays me, erupting with burning, fervent desire. I knew I didn’t imagine this. It was all far too real to have been a dream or figment of my imagination.

“I knew you were real,” I whisper foolishly, not intending to say it out loud.

“Of course I’m real. If I wasn’t real, would I be able to do this?” He asks, placing his hand between my thighs and forcing his fingers against me to rub over my pussy. It’s wet and waiting for him.

Even it remembers how good he felt and the piercing. Thinking about the way it felt to slide across it has me quickly turning into a puddly mess. He grinds his hand against me, more firmly this time, and a soft moan escapes my parted lips. My head falls back and the sunlight glistens in my eyes, blinding me long enough to snap me back to reality. Still hazy with desire, I try to push away from him, but he stops me.

“Oh, tsk, tsk tsk, Amanda. What’s the hurry? Be a good host and entertain me.” His words drip with a lust filled danger coated venom as he grabs my hand and rubs it up and down his hard length.

When I don’t willfully stroke him, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the knife from the other night. “I said, be a good little whore, and greet me properly, Masterpiece.”

My nipples harden from the silky, alluring way his words set off alarms in my body. You’re sick, Amanda. You shouldn’t be enjoying this. But I am. In fact, I’m enjoying every bit of it. Even though I know I should run, I want to fuck him again. It’s not fair, my life is perfect. Why does this masked man have to make everything so confusing? Knee him right in the cock and run, Amanda. My brain screams at me, but my feet remain firmly planted on the sidewalk.

Somewhere nearby a trash can crashes to the ground with a thud. He releases me, instantly caught off guard. There are no second thoughts. This time my brain powers on my feet and I bolt, running as fast as I can back to the house.

”Run, run, run, little masterpiece. You can’t hide from me. I know exactly where to find you,” he bellows in his deep, raspy voice.

I look back over my shoulder, but he’s gone, and I can’t hear any shoes slapping against the concrete but my own. By the time I turn the corner, I’m panting hard, gasping for breath. I might be on the verge of an asthma attack, but I’m not stopping until I make it inside safely. My feet carry me racing up the front steps swiftly, where I stop to fumble with the door.

The moment it clicks open, I dive inside, terrified but safe. I’m not fucking crazy. This guy is real, and he’s stalking me. I don’t know how to feel or react. My body gives out and I slide to the ground, pulling my knees in and hugging them tightly. I sob, wrapping my arms around myself. Why the fuck did I let any of that happen? What’s wrong with me? My body didn’t just want him, it craved him. My pussy salivated for him. Even now, it throbs and aches at the thought of him. The memories from the other night came flooding back rapidly. The dangerous allure of his presence was enough to send every nerve in my body into an electric frenzy.

When I’ve calmed down and worked up enough courage, I peek through the slats in the blinds by the entryway, but just as I expected, the street is empty. It feels like I am losing my mind. I should have just had Erica drive me home. Fuck. Erica. I need to text her. I pull my phone out and shoot off a text, then immediately send off another text to my boyfriend asking if he’s on his way home yet. He doesn’t answer, but I figured he wouldn’t.

What was I thinking, planning a day at home alone? I’ve been a mess lately, and now I’m texting him like a completely idiotic baby. It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to fuck me. It’s no wonder my skin desperately begs for the feel of a masked psychopath’s touch; unrelenting, starved, and claiming me for himself. I’m such a complete train wreck. How am I supposed to go back to work when I can’t get a handle on my own psychotic episodes? Or maybe I just need to get a handle on my stalker. Fuck. I really need to pull myself together, I think as I allow myself to fall against the wall and slide to the floor once more before stealing a look out the bottom of the window again, just to be sure he’s not outside. There’s nothing but a few lone leaves blowing down the street. Get a grip, Amanda .

I wait a few more minutes to see if I get a text back. When I don’t, I pick myself off of the floor and climb the stairs to my room. Water therapy and a good cry in the shower are exactly what I need right now. I have all the best intentions to get in the shower, but I stop short and fall into my bed. I grab one of my favorite comfort reads and curl up with a book. Damn, I’ve missed the escape reading brings me.

I don’t even know how long I’ve been reading for when my boyfriend finally texts me back, but it’s dark now, and I can tell from his one-word answer, no , that it won’t be worth waiting for him. Despite wanting to ignore the rumble in my stomach, I decide I may as well make myself some dinner and after the day I’ve had a glass of wine to settle my nerves is perfectly reasonable. When I pass by the front door, I check to make sure both locks are set. In the kitchen, I grab a plate and build myself a mini charcuterie with cheese, meat, fresh fruit, and a handful of nuts. I pour myself a nice tall glass of wine, cork the bottle, and return it to the wine fridge. The wind blows the nearly bare tree branches against the kitchen window, making me jump. It’s okay, Amanda. It’s only the wind. I reassure myself on my way back to the bedroom and my book. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, setting my wine on the entry table to tap the security screen and arm the house before heading upstairs.

In my room, I set my glass on a coaster from my last book box, and my plate next to it. Then I pull down the covers and toss my stuff onto the blankets. Before I climb into bed and get comfortable, I snatch the remote off his side and flip on another Halloween movie for some background noise. Satisfied, I slide into bed and snuggle in. I leave the curtain pulled open, intent on catching anyone who might be hiding in the shadows. I open the security app on my phone and make sure I have the notifications on.

“Cheers,” I say, toasting my screen and switching to my e-reader, so I can use the stand and the remote to continue reading while I snack.

I settle back into my book, getting so immersed I completely lose myself within the pages. Things are getting spicy by the time I’ve drained my second glass and finished my snacks. It’s time for an intermission and thirds, also known as finishing the glass. I cast a side-eye at my bedside table and then the clock. Do I dare let myself get carried away or is it cutting it too close to the time he has been getting home when it’s late? I shrug, springing off the bed at the realization that maybe he will walk in on me and so what? Maybe it will take him from a vanilla boy to the men in my books. Just thinking about him getting into it and the way I imagine he might react has me hot. I snatch my phone, then race downstairs to pour the rest of the bottle into my glass in a hurry. His loss. This book is my favorite for a reason, and it’s far too good to let a wasted opportunity pass by. From the bedside table drawer, I pull out my favorite toy. My fingers wrap around it in a familiar embrace. Tapping the screen, I dive back in. It’s not long before I’m another half a glass deep. The soft buzz fills the room and I flip through page after page. All the while, my orgasm builds.