My body moves on autopilot. I’m scrambling out of my bed and storming to the closet door before I can think it through. I have no idea what I’d do if he’s standing there.
Probably shit myself.
I tear the doors open and stop short when I’m met with nothing but way too many clothes that I don’t wear.
There’s nowhere for him to hide in here. It’s not a deep closet and certainly not big enough to hide a six-foot-too-many-inches man. My hands tear through my clothes anyways, searching for him. And even when I’m positive he’s not there, I stare harder, swiping my clothes aside with heightening aggression.
Get a fucking grip, Addie. It’s like you want him to be there.
I sigh and turn away, the adrenaline rush diminishing. There’s nowhere else in this room for him to hide. As immense as the room is, it’s an open concept with minimal furniture.
Now, I just feel like an idiot.
I plop on the bed, crisscrossing my legs as I stare at my phone like it’s a mousetrap with a big ass block of cheese in it. Gourmet smoked gouda fucking cheese, to be precise.
The phone lights up with an incoming text, the vibrations in the bed traveling straight up my legs.
I snatch it up. I fucking love gouda cheese, goddammit.
UNKNOWN: I’ll be seeing you tonight, little mouse.
I snarl.
ME: From outside my house, and preferably in a cop’s handcuffs.
UNKNOWN: You don’t need a cop to get me in handcuffs, baby. I’ll let you do anything you want to me.
I’m going to suffer from a heart attack with the severe directions my blood keeps rushing to. My pussy pulses from the illicit thought of him handcuffed to my bed, a smirk on his face, dripping with sin. And those goddamn mismatched eyes looking up at me the way he did when he was fucking me with his gun. Like I’m a little mouse that he wants to devour, stuck in the trap with the gouda cheese puffing up my cheeks.
Fuck.
My hands shake as I try to force the thought from my head. But it’s taken hold and I can’t get it out.
I straighten my legs, squeezing my thighs together. But it doesn’t ease the steady throb between my clenched thighs, nor the wetness pooling between them.
My heart races as another ping vibrates my phone.
I don’t want to look, but I have no fucking self-control.
UNKNOWN: Are you playing with yourself, little mouse? Touching your sweet little pussy to the thought of me handcuffed to your bed?
ME: You’re disgusting.
But that’s exactly what I’ve begun to do. As soon as I read the words, it was like he possessed my body to do exactly what he was asking. My hand snaked down into my panties, my finger gently swiping at my engorged clit. Even as I wrote back my scathing reply.
I’m wearing nothing but a long t-shirt and comfortable underwear.
I feel bare and exposed beneath the thin cotton. When my legs begin to fall apart, I rip my hand out like I touched a burning stove, hissing at my own stupidity.
UNKNOWN: And you’re a liar.
ME: Fuck. Off.
UNKNOWN: Next time you tell me to fuck off, your clit is going between my teeth.
My bottom lip goes between mine. I suck my lip in sharply, shocked by his nerve. By the pure audacity this man possesses. Yet just as turned on.
I squeeze my hand around the phone, hating myself more and more as this conversation progresses.
My fingers twitch with the need to tell him to fuck off again. The asshole probably doesn’t even know how oppositional I am.
Tell me not to do something, and I’ll only want to do it more.
And with a threat like that, I’m so fucking tempted. I feel my heart tumble in my chest again, beating against my rib cage as my thumb travels over the letters.
I stare at the two words on my screen, my thumb hovering over the Send button. My shadow has proven to follow through with his threats.
So why do I want to do it so badly? I mean, who instigates their fucking stalker? And to put his mouth on their pussy, no less.
I throw my phone as soon as my thumb skates across the button. The message swoops away, and I know I just did something idiotic.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My head is in my hands again, my fingers clenching my hair tightly until I feel the strands pulling taut, tiny stabs of pain following suit.
Ping.
The racing muscle inside my ribcage bursts free and climbs up my throat.
I can’t look. Abruptly, I stand, restless energy coating my nerves until I’m nearly convulsing. I need to… do something. Distract myself.
Snatching my phone, I hurry down the hall, down the creaky wooden stairs, and into my kitchen.
It’s dark in here. Eerie. But my stubbornness prevents me from turning any lights on.
Ping.
Shakily, I pour two fingers of my grandfather’s whiskey into a glass. And then I hold up the decanter, noting how little is left.
Asshole.
I shoot the alcohol down in one swallow. The taste is smoky, with a hint of citrus. It burns on the way down, turning the insides of my body into an inferno.
As if I wasn’t already burning up.
After I pour myself another two fingers and swallow that down, I work up the courage to look at my phone.
UNKNOWN: Oh, little mouse.
UNKNOWN: I can’t wait to eat you. There will be nothing left of you once I’m done.
Goddammit.
Shivers wrack through my body, and I drop the phone. It clatters loudly against the island, disturbing the stilted air.
“God? Why do you fucking hate me?” I ask aloud, my voice ringing out into empty air.
Of course, she doesn’t answer me. She never does. I’m not even talking to God. I’m talking to myself and the ghosts inside this house.
Not even they will answer me.
Fuck it. I’m going to bed.
I storm up the stairs, turn off the T.V., and slip back into my bed, connecting my phone to the charger, and then toss the blanket over my head.
Under here, the monsters can’t get me. I’m safe. Untouchable.
I ignore the throbbing between my legs and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.
And despite the sporadic thoughts floating around in my head, I manage to drift off into a restless sleep. I toss and turn, the blanket keeping my body too warm, but my subconscious won’t allow the blanket to go past my eyes.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I feel rough flesh skate across my arms. My subconscious slowly starts to drift away from my dreams, but it feels like I’m weighed under a heavy fog.
Something rough glides around one wrist, jolting me further into consciousness. When I feel the rough texture tighten around my other wrist, I finally start to slip back into reality. My surroundings rush in, and even in my half-asleep state, I know something is wrong.
My face feels tight, and my body is exposed.
I feel the blanket drift past my breasts, down my stomach, and past my hips. When the cool air settles, tightening my nipples into sharp buds, I jerk awake.
My eyes open wide, and my breath lodges in my throat when I see a dark figure settled between my legs. Immediately, I panic. My heart races and my adrenaline surges.
I go to scream, but something constricts my mouth. My eyes round when I realize my mouth is taped shut.
Several realizations hit all at once. My arms are above me, tied to the headboard with thick ropes. I tug against the binds, desperately trying to slide my wrists out of the loops to no avail.
I struggle hard, but my body can only move so much. Thick thighs trap me into a firm hold as my stalker props himself above me, his face concealed by the shadows.