by Coralee June
Roe: If it means what happened today never happens again, I’ll happily keep this cell phone on.
I smiled at my text for a moment, feeling proud of myself. It took him all of thirty seconds to respond.
Hunter: Yeah. Today can’t happen ever again.
Gritting my teeth, I quickly typed out an immature response just to fuck with him.
Roe: It was awful. I felt like I was drowning in your saliva. And what the fuck did you eat for lunch? Sauerkraut?
Beneath the anger and sexual frustration, I felt insecure—which was fucking ridiculous. I shouldn’t want Hunter to want me. But for fuck’s sake, most stalkers were obsessed with their victims. Would it hurt him to be at least a little bit nostalgic about our kiss? Maybe he knew that I got high off validation and he didn’t want to fuel my already hard-to-handle ego. Maybe he just didn’t want to admit his attraction to me. Maybe the kiss meant nothing. Either way, I wanted a reaction out of him, and I think I knew just how to get it. My phone pinged again, and the message there made me want to throw my phone through the window or find another locker to slam it in.
Hunter: Liar. You enjoyed it.
Tossing my phone onto the bed, I rolled over onto my back, letting my sleep shirt rise a bit as I digested his words. I stared at the sliver of skin exposed on my abdomen and wondered what it would feel like to have his lips press there. Would he suck on my skin? Would he leave a mark everywhere he went?
I wasn’t wearing shorts. I made the choice to be half-naked on the off chance he was watching. I dropped my knees open, and my body went wild with awareness. An electric feeling made me buzz as I slowly slipped my good hand lower and lower, teasing the boundary of my nude lace panties with my middle finger.
I just wanted some fucking relief, and I wanted to make him frustrated in the process. He left me wanting, and here I was touching myself, hoping he was watching; maybe a little torture would help him admit that he liked kissing me. I was so frustrated with myself. So frustrated with the unaffected asshole that just left without a word. So confused with why I craved his touch.
I curled my finger and touched my clit, closing my eyes and imagining rough lips wrapped around my sensitive nub, sucking and teasing. I knew he was watching. I could feel his presence. Hell, I could practically smell him. Had he been in my bedroom recently?
I was just about to finger fuck myself into oblivion when my phone rang. I smiled broadly with my eyes closed, knowing he could see the sense of satisfaction on my manic, lusty face. Hunter was getting predictable at this point.
I didn’t bother to answer my phone, though. I was in the middle of getting off, and Hunter didn’t deserve my full attention right now. He deserved my vengeance.
I ran my fingers along my slit and arched my back, moaning to try to get myself in the mood. It wasn’t good enough. I needed release, but I didn’t want to do it myself. I was about to call some of my previous hookups when my phone rang again.
Sexually frustrated, I reached for the phone and answered. “Hello?”
“Stop touching yourself.” Hunter’s voice was gritty and harsh. With one demand, he had my body thudding.
“Are you watching me, Stalker?” I asked coyly.
“Are you trying to get off, Pretty Debt?” he replied. Instead of answering him, I propped the phone between my shoulder and ear, then slowly trailed my fingers down my body and back inside my panties. “Fuck,” he growled.
His whispered curse made my lips part and my back arch. “Stop watching, Stalker,” I moaned.
His breathing grew ragged as my finger circled my clit. I’d been getting myself off for years. I never understood being ashamed or scared of masturbation. It was normal. And with Hunter watching and listening, it felt fucking good. Knowing I was pissing him off was half the pleasure. “Are you trying to get back at me, Pretty Debt?” he finally asked. “You think that touching yourself while I watch will make you feel better?”
“You don’t have to watch,” I replied simply. “You don’t have to kiss me.” With each word, I teased more and more. “You don’t have to hate me.”
I pinched my clit between my fingers and writhed in bed. Hunter gasped through the phone. The effect I was having on him made me preen. “Tell me something,” I demanded. It was nice to feel in control for once. Our dynamic had always felt one-sided.
“What?”
“When did you start to be attracted to me?”
He cursed. “I’m not fucking attracted to you,” he replied. It sounded like he was clenching his jaw.
“Could have fooled me,” I rasped. “When, Hunter?”
“Shut the fuck up and hurry. I’m tired of watching you,” he growled. Oh, he was mad. So, so mad. It made me bite my lip.
“Was it after the car accident? Did you like seeing me bruised and broken, Hunter?” I asked. “Was it when I ran away? Was it just today?”
“Stop talking and come, Pretty Debt,” he begged.
“I’ll come when you admit it,” I promised, forcing my fingers to a full stop.
Silence stretched across the phone. We battled the tension with nothing between us but pants and wanting. I had the worst case of blue balls, but I wasn’t about to give him the show he craved until he admitted it to me. I didn’t expect anything more than hate, but I wanted the truth of his attraction.
“When?”
“I met you the night of your birthday,” he replied lamely.
Shock plummeted in the base of my stomach as I processed his words. Hunter was the man in the woods. I’d been too drunk to remember or really care much about that interaction, but it all made sense. “It was you,” I replied in astonishment.
“You got your fucking answer, so finish what you were doing now,” he gruffly replied. He hadn’t officially admitted that he was attracted, but we had a starting point for lust, and that was enough.
“What did you like about me?” I asked, a teasing hint to my voice.
“What the fuck does it matter?”
It mattered to me. I didn’t understand why or how we’d gotten to this point, but it did matter. I wasn’t about to get off for an audience without some payoff. And the only currency Hunter had to offer right now was knowledge and validation. I wanted to get drunk off his desire. The silence stretched, and I looked at my legs, raising the left one up slowly so I could brush my fingers down it. “You’re ridiculous,” I replied.
“Don’t make me come over there,” he said.
“Please do,” I dared him.
Lowering my leg, I started rubbing on my clit again with quick fingers, giving him the show he wanted. I let the conversation fade into harsh breaths and moans. I let him listen to how my needy body responded to touch. I imagined him stroking himself on the other end of the line. I imagined him feeling as frustrated as I felt earlier. It was wrong to want one another, but our mutual need to suffer bonded us.
The line went dead just before I came. It was like he could feel the blooming pleasure sparking within me. I smiled to myself at the silence that answered me, knowing that his absence spoke louder than his presence. He felt wrong for wanting me.
I got off quickly. It was good enough to ease the friction of my soul, but it wasn’t the explosion of pleasure my body craved. Regardless, I moved my body like it was the best damn orgasm this world had ever seen, putting on a show for my stalker because I wanted him to suffer.
And when it was all done, I felt disgusted with myself. I lay there for a moment, wondering if I was crazy but also feeling proud that I’d gotten him to express something other than hate or dismissal toward me. I just couldn’t figure out if my fucked up brain was finding attraction where it didn’t exist, just for the chance to feel something.
I grabbed my pen and a scrap of paper, writing a line that crossed my mind.
Bee Sting Kisses
What a tragic thing, to crave what kills you.
HUNTER
I thought we were taking things too far when we kissed, but of course Roe
couldn’t stop there. Last night left me feeling disgusted with myself. I wasn’t oblivious to how messed up this entire situation was. My commitment to keeping her safe bordered that line of appropriateness on the daily.
My only consolation was that I didn’t watch her come. I didn’t deserve the pleasure of seeing her perfect, tight body blissed out and writhing. I didn’t deserve to see her arched back and parted lips. I turned off my laptop and hung up the phone just seconds before I knew she was coming all over her nimble little fingers. I wanted to punch myself. It was wrong.
I wasn’t expecting to get up early and drive to their house. I had spent more time at their house in the last three weeks than I’d ever been there. It was so strange, yet with each passing day, it took on a sense of familiarity I was clinging to. Being an assassin cut me off from the world, and what was once a thin thread tethering me to humanity was now weaving its way into a thick rope.
With my hand hovering by the door, I once again asked myself what the fuck I was doing. I convinced myself that I was simply here to tell her that what happened last night couldn’t happen again, but that was a fucking lie. Maybe I was messed up in the head. Maybe I wasn’t the chivalrous protector I built myself up to be.
I didn’t even get a chance to knock before Mack was opening the door, a wide grin on his face. “Roe and I were just sitting down for breakfast; want me to make your plate?” he asked in greeting, like he already knew my sick ass was headed over. He loved Roe like a daughter, and if he knew what kind of sick things I’d done, he would kick me off his porch.
“Is she actually speaking to you now?” I asked. I was happy to hear that they were having breakfast together instead of avoiding one another.
“Yes!” Mack replied with a clap of his hands. “She even asked how my weekend was. Whatever you said definitely worked!”
I was happy for the guy. Having them on the same page would be better for me in the long run, but having a family breakfast wasn’t necessarily on my agenda for today. I was here to draw a clear boundary between right and wrong, a boundary I wasn’t very familiar with but knew needed to be established nevertheless.
“I'm not really hungry,” I said.
“Sure you are. Don’t come here looking all broody. Roe hasn’t had breakfast with me in three weeks, and I’m not letting you ruin this for me.” I felt sheepish while looking up at him. I might be the boss, but there was a lot of give-and-take where Mack and I were concerned. He let me be the ruthless bastard I was, and I let him be the father hen from time to time. “You’re gonna come inside, sit down, and we’re all going to have a nice breakfast.”
“Sure,” I replied before following him inside.
At the kitchen table, Roe was sitting in her pajamas and struggling to cut her pancakes with one hand. She was wearing pajama pants, and her wild hair was thrown up into a bun on top of her head. She didn’t turn to face me; I bet she was too embarrassed to look me in the eye.
The tips of her ears were red as I sat down in the chair directly next to her, making sure to brush my leg against hers in the process. I felt like a bastard, but I wanted to see those rosy cheeks bloom a bright shade of red, like the flush coating her skin last night.
“And why are you here?” she asked while stabbing her pancakes with her fork. I eyed Mack and noted how the temple in his forehead was throbbing furiously, as if daring me to fuck up his happy little breakfast.
“Just making sure the two of you don’t burn down the house with your one-handed cooking,” I joked. My attempt at humor wasn’t amusing enough for Roe, though, because she simply scowled at me.
“You’re the one that broke his arm. And whatever gang activity you’re involved in is what broke mine,” she argued with an unamused roll of her eyes. She had a point.
Mack spoke up. “I knew the deal when he hired me. I’m not afraid of a little pain, and I’m more than compensated for it.”
I knew that was the absolute worst thing to say, and judging by the look on Roe’s hurt face, Mack had just completely fucked up his pleasant breakfast.
“Oh. I almost forgot for a second that you were my hired fake uncle. Now I can add that you’re bat shit crazy and let some psycho hurt you to the list of things I’m absofuckinglutely not okay with.”
Oh, she was utterly pissed now. Vibrant and beautiful. It was a sticky situation, but my cock wasn’t getting the inappropriate memo. He grew hard in my pants, and it was taking everything I had not to groan in discomfort. I couldn’t help it. The fight in Roe’s personality was not only the most annoying thing about her, but also the hottest. I loved when she stood up for herself and got pissed off at the world. I loved that she wasn’t some helpless little lamb. It made feeling obligated to keep her safe an easier pill to swallow if I knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“You wanna talk about this?” Mack asked with a huff while dropping his fork. I felt like I was assigned the job as their therapist, mediating this fight from a distance. What the fuck?
“Yes. I think I do,” Roe replied while crossing her arms over her chest. “Why do you work for this psychopath?” she asked before nodding at me.
Psychopath? I wasn’t a fucking psychopath. Delusional, maybe. But not a psychopath.
“We’re friends,” Mack answered with a shrug.
“Friends don’t break each other’s arms, Mack. Not good enough.”
Mack let out an exhale and looked at me for help. Nope. I wasn’t touching this conversation. If he wanted to mend the fence in his own home, he’d have to man up and do it himself.
“My daughter is dead,” he blurted out. It was like dropping a bomb on the conversation. No warning, no bracing for impact. Four words that hurt and rocked Mack. “She died of cancer, Roe,” he added. His shoulders slumped. His eyes turned to the door. His mouth quivered with emotion. No tears graced his eyes. I’d only seen Mack cry once, and it wasn’t when I was breaking his arm. “I was a single dad. Worked for the same...family...my entire life. Guess you could say I was born into it. I wasn’t the best father, but I loved my little girl something fierce and provided for her the best I could.”
I glanced at Roe and noticed the moisture swimming in her light brown eyes, the empathy sliding down her face. “I’m so sorry, Mack,” she whispered.
“After M-May died,” Mack stuttered on her name, making even my cold, dead heart pang, “I went a little crazy. I did...aggressive things. I hurt people. I wanted to take on my daughter’s hurt, but you can’t steal away someone’s cancer. I had so much fucking guilt. Hunter understood me. He offered me redemption. He offered me a chance at a family again. You could never replace my daughter, Roe. But I’m so happy that I got another chance to save someone, ya know? I needed to feel capable of that.”
I watched as Roe took in his words, staring at the table as she gnawed on her lip in contemplation. I’ve known Mack since I was ten years old. He’s part of the reason I got hooked up with the Bullets when I became older. I’d seen him work through his pain. In many ways, he was another one of my obsessions. But I didn’t feel the need to protect Mack. I just wanted to help him feel like a man capable of saving someone.
“How did you meet Hunter?” she asked. Mack averted his gaze to me, asking with his eyes just how much he was allowed to share. I gave him a look that said fucking tell her nothing, and the corner of his mouth tilted up in amusement.
“We met at the hospital once. May was there for treatment. He was just a boy, separated from his family, looking for labor and delivery.” I gritted my jaw. He better not go much further into detail. “I ended up walking him. I’d just gotten bad news that May would need to go on hospice, so the distraction was nice. We started chatting, and here we are. He kind of followed me around after that. I’d run into him occasionally around New York, and when he was old enough, I got him out of foster care and set up with my employer. Things just progressed from there.”
That was definitely more information than I wanted to share, but it was good
enough for now. “And here I was, thinking I was special,” Roe said with a sigh. “You just stalk everyone.”
Mack let out a relieved laugh, like he was thankful for the heavy conversation to be over. But I wasn’t as willing to let this conversation drop. “I don’t like hurting Mack. But sometimes he...needs it,” I interrupted, slicing through the attempt at lightheartedness with a knife. “Whatever happens to you, I do to Mack.”
Roe snarled at me. She didn’t seem to like my explanation. I wasn’t a therapist, but I understood Mack’s needs. I never pretended to be anything but myself, and the ruthless solution might be unconventional, but it worked for us.
“Don’t use Mack’s grief as an excuse to be a terrible human being. You like hurting people. You like feeling powerful and in control. It’s why you control my life. It’s why you’re always watching.” Roe’s words were focused and razor sharp. She put me under her thumb and pressed. She was right, in some ways. I did like being in control. I did like handing out pain. I’d been on the receiving end of it for the majority of my childhood, and I liked dishing it out more than taking it.
“You’re a control freak with anger issues. Don’t pretend you’re doing Mack or me any favors. I didn’t ask for you to hurt him. I didn’t ask for your protection, either.”
Mack looked like he wanted to stab my eye with his fork. I’d definitely ruined his idea of a pleasant family breakfast.
Getting up from her seat with a frown, Roe didn’t even bother excusing herself. She simply marched to her bedroom, her tight little ass swaying with every step.
“Well, that went just perfectly,” I muttered under my breath while turning to look at Mack. The man was staring at his fist. Clenching. Unclenching.