Playing with Fyre: A Dark Stalker Romance

by Logan Fox

  “Good girl,” I murmur as I reach for her bike’s handlebars.

  She freezes, blinks, and dismisses what she thinks she heard as a blush creeps onto her cheeks. I love that shy look. Her hair’s too wet now, but when it’s dry and she ducks her chin like that, a black curtain falls in front of her face. Every time she does it, I have to stop myself from going over and smoothing those raven locks away from her face. It would raise too many questions, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s how to avoid questions.

  I take her bike and wheel it to my truck, easily imitating a sane, helpful college professor. It should come easily enough—I’ve been playing the part for years now. By the time I’ve secured her bike in the back of my truck and slid into the driver’s seat, I’m just as wet as Charlotte. She throws me another shy glance from the passenger seat as I twist to the side to put on my seatbelt.

  “Thanks,” she murmurs, and then scoops wet hair from her face and twists it into a knot at the base of her neck.

  “How could I ignore a lady in distress?”

  She lets out a huff and rolls her eyes at lady, but the corner of her mouth curls up. We sit for a second, rain drumming on the roof of my car. I’d have let the moment go on for eternity if it meant I could keep breathing the same air as her, but it’s too soon. I have to keep up appearances.

  I’m her teacher, not her lover.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I clear my throat. “So, I could try and guess where you live, but then you might not get home in time for supper. What would your boyfriend say?”

  She jumps a little and then laughs. “God, sorry.” She points. “Make a left two blocks down.”

  “Sure thing.” I make sure my voice is cheery even though I’m far from happy. This shitty neighborhood gets worse the further west you go, and if she’s going where I think she’s going…

  “So, uh, have you seen me before?” Her voice is soft, almost meek. For a second, I wonder if that’s how she always was, or if this is the new her. I’ve had firsthand experience in how trauma can change a person.

  “Yes, of course. You were in my class an hour ago.”

  She laughs again, louder this time. “No, I mean—” She cuts off. “When you’re meeting your patient.”

  “Of course I have. It’s impossible to miss your black hair.”

  She blushes at this and bunches her hands in her lap. We’re barely more than two feet apart, but that just reminds me how much closer we were earlier today.

  Christ, I shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t have entered her personal space like that. Anyone could have noticed. If they’d reported it to the Dean, she’d have asked questions. There are many things I shouldn’t have done. But I’m not perfect. No one is. Everyone makes mistakes. Like the one I’m planning to make with Charlotte.

  It could cost me everything. My position at the college, my career…my life. I’ve been trying to talk myself out of it for weeks already, with no success. I want to see those small, pale hands trembling. I want them running down my belly and wrapping around my cock. I want to stare into Charlotte’s sea-green eyes as she opens that pretty little mouth of hers so I can shove my cock down her throat.

  I want it so bad, I dream about it.

  “Right up ahead.”

  I blink, my mind scurrying to recall the last few minutes of the real world as I hastily shove away the image of young Charlotte moaning around my thick cock.

  “This isn’t the best area,” I say grimly. “You bike home all the time?”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  I suppress a growl at her casual response. With both windows closed, her smell is intense, intoxicating. My blood is singing in my veins, and it takes every molecule of discipline I have not to pull the car over and shove my hand between her legs. And then take her to her apartment, pack her things, and move her into a better apartment. One where she’ll be safe. One where she’ll be close.

  Fighting off those thoughts, I duck my head and scan the apartment blocks ahead. “Which one, Charlotte?”

  When I glance at her, her face looks carved from white marble. Then she blinks, her lips parting and tongue darting out to wet them.

  Jesus Christ, if she knew how close I was to turning this truck around and just—

  “That one,” she says, pointing past my shoulder.

  She must have seen something in my eyes, heard a tremor in my voice, because the truck barely stops before she’s outside, struggling to get her bike off the back of the truckbed. I watch her in the rearview mirror for a few seconds, composing myself, before stepping out to help her. But by the time I get to the back, her bike is on the ground and she’s swiping damp hair from her face with the back of her hand.

  “Thank you,” she blurts out, and then hurries down the road.

  She’s going in the wrong direction. We passed her apartment half a block ago.

  Clever little girl, leading the wolf astray. She doesn’t seem to realize that I’ll always be able to find her, now that I have her scent.

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte

  The Sizzling Griddle diner is always packed on a Friday night, but it’s the closest decent restaurant to my apartment. Here, I can order a cheeseburger and fries and not feel like I’m consuming half a gallon of cooking oil on the side.

  But they’re so busy that the only option when the craving hits me on the weekend is walking two blocks to go fetch my order, or wait an hour for my food.

  I’m not a patient woman.

  Which is why I’m glaring at the back of a guy’s head, the one who’s been standing at the front of the queue for ten minutes because he can’t make up his mind about what he wants to order. I’m about to go over there and demand he falls back in line until he’s ready when an invisible touch strokes the skin between my shoulder blades.

  Through a brief lull in the ambient chatter-clatter of the diner, I hear the jangle of the door’s bell. I turn, glance at the man who’s stepped inside, and face forward again. Then I do a double take.

  It’s Professor Fyre.

  Suddenly, my lust for a juicy cheeseburger is snuffed out. Something else replaces it…something much, much more carnal.

  I’m starting to sweat.

  It has nothing to do with the temperature inside the diner, or the jacket I threw on when I left my apartment, or even the walk over here.

  It’s all him.

  I can feel him behind me.

  I’m still mind-blown about the fact that he gave me a ride home earlier this week. I know I shouldn’t have said yes, but I couldn’t resist him. I mean, he’s handsome in class, but seeing him on the side of the street, out in the real world, was something else. Those five minutes I spent in the cab of his truck with him was the fuel for several dirty dreams and three exquisite masturbation sessions—two in the shower, one in my bed.

  I just couldn’t get over how fucking sexy he looked with his dark, wet hair and his concerned expression.

  Wait. Why is he here? Is he…is he following me?

  The hair on my arms stands up. A rush of heat floods through me, warming my already pink cheeks. I unzip my jacket and flap the two halves to try and cool down a little, but as circumspectly as I can so I don’t draw Fyre’s attention.

  Unless he’s already seen me. Shit, what if he thinks I’m avoiding him?

  Now my cheeks are on fire. And the worst part is, even if I wanted to escape this infernal torture, I’d have to walk right past him to get to the door.

  I’m trapped.

  A trickle of sweat tickles down my back.

  Think, Charlotte, think!

  I jerk when my phone rings impossibly loud. Instantly, I hear a bunch of grumbles around me. I fumble in my pocket, trying desperately to silence my phone. But when I try and take it out of my pocket, it hooks on my jacket and goes flying out of my hand. I scamper after it, but a loafer comes down just right and stops it from slamming into the wall a few feet away.

  My heart stutt
ers. I recognize that shoe.

  When I look up, Fyre’s bronze eyes are hooded, his jaw taut. “I thought I recognized you,” he murmurs, his deep voice turning into a low rumble.

  He bends down and picks up my phone, dusting it off against his dark trench coat before handing it over to me. When I try and take it, he catches me in a steely grip, crushing the phone between our fingers.

  I open my mouth to tell him to let go, but then he drags me closer. My eyes fly back to his, and I swallow hard, my phone forgotten in my hand.

  Is he going to kiss me? He must be. Why else would he be drawing me close, scanning my face—

  Someone bumps my shoulder as they squeeze past the queue.

  That’s why.

  Because I’m in the goddamn way.

  “Sorry,” he says in that deep but quiet voice of his, but it’s a lie. He’s not sorry. Someone else pushes past me, and they’re not as polite as the one before. They jar me so hard, I fall against Fyre.

  His dark brows twitch. “Are you okay?”

  Fuck no. I’m all hot and bothered because just last night, I fell asleep seconds after climaxing to the thought of him eating me out.

  Wetness pools in my underwear.

  I gasp, utter mortification staining my cheeks. I’m wearing a denim skirt and knee-high boots today, so all that’s standing between me and the whole world knowing how wet this man makes me is a tiny slip of fabric—which is already soaking wet.

  Twisting out of his grip, I charge out of the diner’s entrance, not caring who I knock into on the way out. He calls my name, but I don’t turn back.

  Chapter Four

  Charlotte

  When I go to open my door almost an hour later, it’s with the full expectation that it’s my cat-hoarding neighbor who’ll be standing there, asking me if I’ve seen one of her many feral cats.

  But, instead, when I wrench open the door, it’s Professor Fyre looming over me, not Mrs. Crawford with a cat on her arm.

  Am I hallucinating? Is this some weird sex day-dream?

  But no. As soon as Fyre clears his throat and holds up my phone, I know it’s real because the screen is cracked.

  My dreams are never this detailed.

  I take my phone with trembling fingers. “Wh—How—Where—?”

  “Third time lucky,” he says with a half-shrug. “Is there a reason why you lied about which apartment block you live in?”

  I manage a mute shake of my head. His eyes flicker past me, as if he’s waiting for me to invite him inside. Instead, I push out another, “But how did you know which room—”

  “You’re the only Ash on the intercom system,” he says.

  When my shocked expression doesn’t change, he adds, “I’m your therapist. I do happen to know your surname.”

  “B-But the buzzer didn’t…” I trail off because I don’t know why I keep trying to challenge the logic of this situation.

  “A very kind lady let me in, but only after she made sure I didn’t know anything about her missing cat.”

  “Mrs. Crawford let you in?” My head’s swimming and I have a feeling it’s to do with Fyre’s frank, unblinking stare.

  “You left in quite a rush,” he says, mildly admonishing me with his gorgeous eyes. Then he holds up a brown paper bag printed with the name of the diner we were both just at. “Cheeseburger okay?”

  I don’t know how I feel about Professor Fyre sitting on my couch. Hell, I don’t even know how I feel about eating in front of him. Especially since I’m starving, and goddamnit this cheeseburger is so fucking delicious. I try to restrain myself, but then I lose concentration after a bite or two and realize I’m devouring my food like my last meal was a pretzel I ate seven weeks ago.

  “Damn, she wasn’t kidding—they do make good burgers,” Fyre says.

  I’ve been avoiding looking in his direction as much as possible, but this has me intrigued. “She?” I ask through a mouthful of burger patty and cheese.

  “Sally, my patient.” Fyre stares at the window opposite us as he pops a fry into his mouth, and then glances over at me. “My session with her ran late tonight, and she recommended this place to me when I left. Guess she heard my stomach grumbling.” His laugh is the warmest, richest sound I’ve ever heard.

  How does he do it? How can this man add such vivacity to my dark, colorless world with just one laugh?

  “Their burgers kick ass,” I agree with a nod, “but they make a mean pizza too.”

  He smiles around another fry, and then his expression turns serious. “I’m concerned about you, Charlotte.”

  My food gets stuck in my throat. I swallow hard, but it doesn’t budge. Snatching up my soda, I suck down a sweet sip. “What? Why?”

  “You’re acting irrationally.” He glances at my cracked phone where I left it on the coffee table.

  Because I ran out so fast, I left him holding my phone. Now what the hell am I supposed to say? Oh, it’s nothing, Professor Fyre. I’m just hopelessly in love with you, is all. Nothing but a silly crush, I’m sure, but it makes me do stupid, stupid things.

  “I got claustrophobic,” I lie, not making eye contact. “I had to get out, and then I thought I was going to be sick, so I ran home.”

  Worst. Excuse. Ever.

  “Shit,” Fyre says, cocking his head to the side. “This claustrophobia, is it new?”

  My stomach plunges to my feet. I look away, my hands tightening around the soda can. “No. I mean, I’ve had it for a few months.”

  That’s not a lie. I do get claustrophobic when I’m in confined spaces, but not when I’m surrounded by people. I actually kind of feel safe when there are other people around. Which is weird, because I’m always looking forward to being alone.

  My head is a messed up place lately.

  “Claustrophobia can be treated with exposure therapy,” Fyre says, his intelligent eyes locking onto me. I’m swept up, incapable of looking away as he puts down his container and shifts forward on his seat. “Is it something you’d be open to?”

  “What is it?”

  He smiles faintly. “Exactly what the name suggests. Your therapist would expose you to various levels of confinement—in a safe space, of course—which would gradually help you overcome the source of your anxiety.”

  I shake my head, just the thought making my throat close up.

  Fyre chuckles. “I agree. It’s not for everyone. But sometimes, exposure therapy is the only way to tackle a debilitating anxiety.” He glances around my apartment. “Could you point me in the direction of your bathroom?”

  Oh fuck.

  “You…uh…now?” My heart starts galloping. I’m pretty sure it’s a fucking mess in there. Underwear, dirty clothes. When last did I wash out the sink?

  Shit, shit, shit!

  “I just want to wash my hands,” he says, a crooked smile jumping onto his lips.

  “Oh, I just use the kitchen sink. Water pressure is much better.” I stab a finger toward the basin. Not so much showing him where it is as demanding that he use it instead.

  “That’s terrible,” he says through a laugh as he goes over to wash his hands. “Pressure that bad in the shower too?”

  “Oh no, that’s fine. Maybe it’s from a different pipe or something.” Oh my God, the lies! How am I ever going to keep all this shit straight?

  Fyre wipes his hands on a paper towel he tore off from the roll tossed haphazardly onto the counter, walking closer with a broad smile on his face.

  It’s unreal how he fills my apartment. In the classroom, I never realized just how big he was. How tall, how broad-shouldered. But here? I feel like I’ve let a giant into my home.

  He’s headed straight for me, which I guess is the closest route back to his seat after visiting the kitchen sink. But he stops a foot away, towering over me until I’m forced to crane back my head and look up.

  At the sight of his expression, I shoot to my feet.

  His eyes are narrowed, his jaw bunched. “Wait a second,” he says
.

  Oh fuck.

  I want to step back, to keep away from him in case he lashes out at me. I don’t know why that’s suddenly a possibility, but the instant I think about it, I can’t get it out of my head.

  “What?”

  “Your file didn’t mention anything about claustrophobia.”

  My heart hammers in my chest.

  Fyre steps closer. His full mouth is set in a straight line. “Why are you lying to me, Charlotte?”

  His earthy, woody scent envelops me. I’m sucked into his eyes like they’re whirlpools out on some midnight ocean.

  Trapped.

  My heart pounding in my chest.

  But is it fear…or excitement?

  He opens his mouth again, his expression becoming even sterner, and I do the only thing I can think of to stop him from interrogating me.

  I kiss him.

  I have to grab hold of his jacket and haul myself onto the tips of my toes to get it right, but I do it. I kiss Professor Fyre like my life depends on it. When Fyre wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer, I can barely hold onto reality.

  I’ve been dreaming about this moment for weeks, and it’s just how I imagined it.

  Wild, and violent, and utterly intoxicating.

  Chapter Five

  Fyre

  I’m thankful the rain has passed. Forecasts predict clear, chilly weather.

  All the better to stalk you in, my dear Charlotte.

  I’m parked in my Audi directly opposite her apartment building. I never drive this car to the college, so she can’t know it’s mine. And, with its tinted windows, she can’t know that I’m inside, watching.

  I’m conflicted as fuck right now. Guess I have been since the moment she laid that pretty mouth of hers on mine. Hell, maybe even before that. I was fucked the moment she first slipped silently into my class, shoulders hunched and face hidden behind her hair as if she would be all too happy if no one ever noticed her.