Page 6 of My Stalker, My Protector
Probably a sixth sense telling her I’m not what I seem.
But I take another step and her gorgeous body is up against mine now. My cock isthrobbing.She’s been thrown to the wolf right at mealtime and I’m not well. I’m not fucking well, because ofher. My hands move on their own, grasping her around the waist and dragging up her ribcage, watching her distracting lips pop open in response. “Cash?”
“We need to check your clothes and belongings for listening devices. Apple tags. He could be tracking you without your knowledge.” I am. I’ve been tracking her for months. But not through the use of a device. I stole her phone at a party ages ago and shared her location with my burner phone. “Hell, they make devices now the size of an ant. It could be attached to your clothing. In between the pages of your planner. Inside your phone.” Christ, I’m so wrong for this. IknowI’m wrong. But I need to invent a reason to get my hands on her. I have to find a way to touch her while disguising this uncontrollable infatuation. If I don’t touch her, I’ll die. “I’ll go through your backpack, but first we need to take off your clothes. We need to search them.”
“Really?” She watches my hands as they skate down her arms and grip her hips, massaging them, desperate to rip off the fucking skirt and yank her thighs open so I can finally get a look at my dream pussy. “You think he’s tracking me right now?”
I track her from her bedroom to her bathroom and back. To her kitchen, to the store, to her couch. Daily. Hourly. Just watching the dot move with my dick in my hand. “Anything is possible.”
“Oh gosh.” Her cheeks turn the color of roses. “You want me to take my clothes off right here? In the kitchen…in front of you?”
“That’s right. I need to search everything, angel. Right here. Before you go somewhere to change your clothes and it falls out, unnoticed. If he knows you’re here, we’ll have to move.” Pretending to be all business, even though I’m sweating like a marathon runner beneath my clothes, I reach around to the back of her waist and find the zipper of her skirt. Sliding it down slowly. Letting it slither down her hot legs and pool around her feet, my palms smoothing eagerly over her buns, squeezing them, before dragging my middle and ring finger up the crack of her ass, feeling that tight rear breach through the thong. Oh my God, she’s sweet. Touching her is making me high. “We’re going to need to take off these cock tease panties, too.”
Jesus, if Russ walked back in right now, I’d never be able to explain this.
I’m sick. I’m immoral.
I’m performing a search that I know damn well isn’t necessary.
But these supple ass cheeks are in my hands and she’s wearing an emerald green thong that fits her like a glove, dividing up her sexy backside, clinging to her hot cunt like it was painted on and there’s no stopping this train now.
I’ve never been alone with Scout. This is why.
Me losing control has always been inevitable.
“I’m taking your panties off now, Scout,” I say into her ear, sounding choked.
“Um…” She shifts against me. “No one has ever taken off my panties before.”
My balls squeeze like they’re in a vise, as does my skull, my soul, every cell in my body. “Are you saying you’re a virgin?”
“Yes,” she whispers, sneaking a look up at me, as if to get my reaction.
I scrub my palms down the slopes of her buttocks and clutch it hard in both hands, erotic visions plaguing me. How easy it would be to bounce her up and down on my cock like a tight little toy. “I already knew, Scout.”
She sucks in a breath. “How?”
I drag her thong down, over the pert cheeks of her ass, past the crease on the underside, letting it drop to midthigh. And immediately I know I overestimated my control. Simply knowing her sex is exposed in my kitchen is enough to make me goddamn feral. My mouth begins to water, my pulse thundering in my ears. The need to spin her around and shove her face down over my table for a fuck is nearly unbearable, but I overcome it, because this obsession with Scout is multifaceted. I want to slake my lust with her body. I want to scare her to keep her from dating. Right now, however, when she is standing in front of me, so soft and warm and trusting, all I want to do is be her hero. Make her feel safe.
These impulses war with each other, turning my head into an inferno.
What should I do? The good side of me begs me to let her go. Set her free.
She’s not in danger from anyone but me, after all.
But she says something to eclipse that last vestige of good inside of me.
Shock blends into the mix when she lifts up onto her toes, pressing her mouth to my jawline. “Should I take my shirt off now?”
My stomach muscles contract so violently, I have to grind my teeth. There is something in her tone of voice that I wasn’t expecting. Is it a hint of…excitement? Is that too much to hope for? I tilt her chin up with two fingers, searching. Hoping. “Do youwantto show me those pretty freshman tits, Scout?”
Her eyelids appear to grow heavier. “I…I don’t know.” Her voice falls to a whisper. “I think so.”
Color blossoms in my brain, turning the black and white to vibrant shades of green and scarlet and indigo. She wants to take her shirt off for me? Is this a dream? Perhaps it’s not an authentic crush, though. Maybe she’s just grateful that I am willing to guard her for the weekend when she’s obviously very scared.
Don’t take advantage of that. Don’t.
Lord, I can’t help it.