by KD Robichaux
And just like all my friends say when they find out I’m still a virgin, his next text doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
HunterNumberNeighbor: And you said you’re 22?
I roll my eyes, beginning a defensive reply, but his incoming text stops my fingers.
HunterNumberNeighbor: That’s impressive. I wish I would’ve saved myself for someone special.
I bite my lip, trying to think of how to word my response.
Me: I had more important things to worry about when I was younger. And then I had all these issues with my body and never felt comfortable letting anyone else see me, let alone touch me or even get close to me. Hell, if I couldn’t stand the sight of me naked, how could I let another person see it?
Hating how heavy the conversation has gotten, I do what I always do and make a joke.
Me: And that’s why I’m balls-deep in reading every self-help book/article written on the subject.
HunterNumberNeighbor: If your body is even a fraction as lovely as your face, then you have nothing to be ashamed of.
Before I can thank him for his sweet words, another message arrives.
HunterNumberNeighbor: Tell me about what some of these self-help books are saying. Don’t they usually have exercises for you to try? Steps to take?
I don’t know why, but I love the fact that he’s asking me about that. He didn’t ask me to send him a picture of my body for him to see for himself and judge. Instead, he’s asking me about what I’m going through. I turn on my side, curling into a ball as I type.
Me: Well, it’s actually been hard to find the right books. Most of the ones I find are for dealing with things like “loving your body after having a baby” or gaining/losing weight, or if you’ve been physically scarred in some way. I have no RATIONAL reason for my aversion to nudity. In my brain, I know my body is that of an average 22-year-old chick, but it still makes me extremely anxious to not be covered up.
HunterNumberNeighbor: Gymnophobia.
Me: *side eye emoji
HunterNumberNeighbor: Gymnophobia. According to medicinenet.com, “gymnophobia is an abnormal and persistent fear of nudity. Sufferers of this phobia experience undue anxiety even though they realize their fear is irrational. They may worry about seeing others naked or being seen naked, or both. Their fear may stem from anxiety about sexuality in general, from a fear that their bodies are physically inferior, or from a fear that their nakedness leaves their bodies—and the personalities—exposed and unprotected.”
Me: Sounds about right.
HunterNumberNeighbor: You didn’t seem too anxious when you saw my body.
I smile at that.
Me: Only if you count the fact that I almost dropped my phone on my face… and I might’ve drooled a little.
Hunter: *wink emoji
Hunter: So if we cut that factor out of the definition, then that means it comes from either you being scared of sex OR you’re scared of being physically and/or emotionally exposed and vulnerable. I don’t think it’s the physically inferior part, because you already said you know your body is “average.” Although I seriously doubt there’s anything average about you, lovely Ivy.
This… man. This completely wonderful stranger. He’s taking the time to not only chat with me, but to look up my issues and discuss them in order to try to help me figure it all out. Who the hell does that? Even my friends don’t put that much into a conversation.
Granted, I don’t openly discuss my issues with my friends.
So why is it I feel so comfortable baring my soul to this guy? Airing my deepest fears to him?
Chapter 4
Owen
* * *
My woman suffers from gymnophobia. That beautiful goddess, with tits so luscious and full, and an ass that would have me and any man with a pulse crawling on our knees for. And that pussy. I’ve only seen it from outside the window, but I know if I could get between those bare lips and touch that virgin sex, that beauty would melt in my mouth.
Who made you ashamed of that breathtaking body, my sweet girl?
Ivy: If I tell you any more tonight, dear Hunter, then I would have to kill you. And judging by your physique, I’d have to think of something crafty, since I definitely don’t have the strength to take you. That, and I am too lazy to do that cardio. Ya know—kill you, then I’d have to drag your body to the car, then out of the car, and then… fuck. I’d have to dig a hole? Okay, I just realized someone could read these texts, and now my alibi is shot.
I laugh. She's witty, hilarious, adorable, fuckable, and absolutely all mine. But judging by her deflecting, I believe it’s the latter. She can’t be emotionally exposed and vulnerable. Ivy lacks intimacy, because she is terrified of it.
That will be the first thing I change. I’m going to teach her how to worship my body, how to sit at my feet and peer up at me while she begs to ride my cock like she was made for it. Because she was. And while she worships me, I’ll praise her, eat her alive with my senses—touch, sight, and taste. Then I will come inside her as she rides out her climax on my cock, and I will tell her that her body was made to take and give pleasure for only the two of us.
I will make her realize her worth. She will have no phobia left when I get my hands on her—except for one that leaves her scared to live without me.
There is so much more to Ivy and the passion and lust I feel for her. But right now, every breath I take is to make her want me, and I’m convinced it’s the very way I will be able to make her mine completely. I want to fuck her until her only vocabulary is my name and “please, more!”
I smile at her laughing at her own comment, proud of her conversation changer. I let her have it for now.
Me: You're pretty funny, so I guess the whole self-help thing is going well. You love helping people. Have a gorgeous fucking smile. And you’re witty. Careful, Number Neighbor. You might just make me trip and catch some feelings.
I imagine her biting that lip, taking a second to respond before standing then walking to the full-length mirror, naked except for barely-there, lace, black panties. They’d look like they’re painted onto her exquisite flesh they fit so perfectly. When I look down at my screen and see the camera symbol in place of the dancing bubbles, indicating she’s taking a picture, my brow furrows. If she’s doing what I think she is, my breath catches in excitement, but my rage boils.
“Don’t you do it, naughty girl,” I whisper into the air. My dick grows hard just thinking about it. Fuck!
I stare at my phone, waiting for her next move, praying she sends me a selfie of her glorious body, yet growing hot with anger at the same time. She doesn't know who I am, and something about the thought of her sending a naked photo to anyone drives me mad. Of course, it’s me, but she doesn't know that, and I don’t want her sharing her body.
I sound mental, the entire concept of my thoughts not making any rational sense. I linger on the border of two polar opposite emotions and wait as if I were standing on the edge of a cliff.
But then her self-doubt must creep in, because the camera icon disappears and is replaced with the dots. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. I’m still not sure what side of my brain would’ve won, but her response takes me off that train of thought.
Ivy: Now don’t go doing that. Have my messages not taught you anything? I basically laid out my plans of how I would kill you. If you fell for me, that would make you some sort of masochist. #JUSTSAYING #imnotjudging.
I give a low chuckle in my chest. But then my alarm goes off, signaling I need to get to bed so I can make my gym session with my trainer in the morning. If I keep missing them because I’m sitting outside of Ivy’s house at all hours of the night, then he’s going to kick my ass even harder. Which would be hellacious, because I’m already in impeccable shape.
Me: Very true, very true. Well, it’s getting late and I need to get some rest. You should too, lovely Ivy. Don't dream of my 8-pack too much tonight. *wink emoji
Ivy: *eye-roll
emoji Don't flatter yourself too much. Night, Number Neighbor.
Clicking the button on the side of my new phone, I put it to sleep and make my way to my bedroom. I can’t wait to talk to her again.
The next morning, my 4:00 a.m. alarm goes off, and I drag my ass to the gym. My trainer and Mena are both there. Today is training day, and we plan to hit the boxing ring. I need it. I barely slept last night, too wrapped up and consumed with Ivy. The things she shared—and almost shared but didn’t. I think of her taking that picture, and the idea of her sending it to some man who isn't me just doesn't sit well.
I’m bordering on insanity. So I do what I know best, since I’m pent up with rage, arousal, and tension. I hit hard, showing my trainer I’m not fucking around and he should be careful with what words he says to me today. He tends to bust my chops most days, and usually I’m okay with it. Hell, I even give it back tenfold. But not today.
When I finally did close my eyes last night, I saw Ivy in my dreams, but it wasn't the usual one—the ones with her on her knees, sucking my cock while her eyes look up at me so lovingly. No, it was her talking to someone else. I could see it was a man she was speaking to, but I couldn't quite make out his features. It was more of a shadow of him, and she was looking at him with those gorgeous eyes in a way she should only look at me.
I wanted to rip him limb from limb when he reached out and touched her back. But I couldn’t. I woke up in a cold sweat sometime during the torturous dream, and it hit me then.
I’m her stalker.
There is no way she would ever fall for her stalker.
Chapter 5
Ivy
* * *
I wore less makeup today, something I do when I get the occasional bold pep in my step. I slept well last night, my mind still on Hunter. I can’t believe it actually happened and that I opened up to him in the way I did. I mean, it’s not like me to just let people in, but that’s part of this whole new self-help journey I’m on. It’s also nice to have new friends. So why not?
I grab myself a coffee, Jenika her usual green tea, and Dr. Sage his black cold brew.
“Jenika. Don’t worry—I got it. Thanks, bitch,” I remark sarcastically, greeting my favorite girl as I struggle to get in the door with my hands full. Walking into the office, I see Jenika’s hair is up in a fun-styled bun, unique and very much like her. Her makeup is a brighter color today, going with the summer trends we read about on Buzzfeed between patients.
“You’re welcome, hooch.” She shrugs, and I roll my eyes.
I place the drinks down and then slide my bag off my shoulders before placing my glasses atop my head and plopping down in my seat.
“You’re not going to believe what happened last night.”
“You played DJ Clitoris to Game of Thrones.”
This gains her another one of my infamous eye rolls I reserve mostly for her. “No, I save that for Judge Judy,” I quip, gaining her gorgeous, lopsided smile. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted.” I start up my computer by shaking the mouse and then type in my password. I swivel my chair toward her and see she’s waiting with a quirked brow and an “I’m waiting” look on her face. “My number neighbor texted me.”
She pauses, the tip of her pen sitting between her teeth as her face remains unreadable and impassive. I can’t tell what she's thinking. Then after what feels like a small eternity, she scoffs.
“Piss off. They did not.” She shakes her head, turns to her computer, and continues typing in patient notes.
“I’m serious. He texted me. Hunter—that’s his name—and he texted me. No bullshit, Jenika, and I swear I almost had a lapse in judgment.” This earns me her partial attention.
She turns her head just slightly and squints her eyes, trying to decide whether to go along with it or if I’m pulling her leg. “Prove it. I want to see them.”
I shake my head, pulling out my phone from my purse and scrolling to the very first message he sent. I won’t let her scroll too much, because I can’t have her seeing I divulged one of my biggest secrets to a stranger when I haven’t even told her. Jenika is laid back and all about being a “let it roll off your shoulders” type, but I still think it would hurt her just a little. She's my best friend. The Grey to my Yang.
I watch her eyes as she reads it over—one, two, three exchanges down. “Well slap me on the tallywacker and call me Barbara,” she remarks in a terrible attempt at a British accent.
I giggle. “That’s not the saying. And now you're British?”
“Shut up, hooch, but oh my actual God. So like… did you flirt and sext?” She wiggles those brows and I flush, my gymnophobia starting to show through.
“No. I mean…” I pause then let out a huff. “You can’t judge me when I tell you this!” I give her a stern look.
“I won’t! Spill. It’s almost time for Mrs. Peeson to make it in.”
I chuckle at the nickname she gave one of our regulars, Mrs. Neeson. She has a ton of cats and always smells like their urine.
“We talked, flirted a little, but not in like, a traditional way, I guess? It was more of a passive flirtation. But… I almost sent him a nude picture, Jenika,” I hiss.
Now that comment has her brows nearly flying off her head. “You dirty girl! Wait—you almost did? What stopped you?” She pushes on my shoulder, and I drop my head in my hands, shaking it and letting out an exasperated groan.
“Him. God, it’s him. I can’t think about showing myself to anyone that way but him.” She knows who I’m talking about. I don’t need to say his name.
“Oh, Ivy, you can’t keep pining over him. He’s so cold and dismissive at times. You know you can’t cross that line.” She turns off her sarcasm and her voice lowers, as if she just stepped into the den of a lioness and needs to calm her down.
“I know that, but it still just didn't feel right. I can’t date or even talk to a man without seeing him in my mind. They aren't him.” And as if I conjured the man in question with my thoughts, Dr. Sage walks in. He looks immaculate in a three-piece suit sans tie. It’s dressy, yet he somehow makes it look casual. My breath hitches and my heart rate jacks to two hundred beats per minute. I stand on shaky legs, nearly losing my footing, but I catch myself, placing my hand on the counter.
“Good morning, Dr. Sage. I got your favorite cold brew,” I tell him, my voice all breathy.
He looks me over, and I wish it were a look of desire and lust, but his expression is blank. It makes me even more aware of my insecurities and fears. I swallow past the lump in my throat as he stops and collects the coffee from my hand. Our fingers touch, and I swear I feel my leg pop like a cheesy romantic comedy.
“Thank you, Ivy. I need it. I had a late night going over some of my files. Speaking of, I would like to see Mrs. Dower’s latest blood test she had done at the hospital. I saw something alarming on her ultrasound and want to follow up, but I need all the results from her hospital stay. I require them no later then 11:00 a.m., so have them on my desk.”
I blink, my mouth opening and closing once from shock. That’s the most words he’s ever said to me all at one time before, and it’s the first time he’s ever given me an assignment other than my usual tasks of answering the phone, greeting guests, and checking them out after their appointment.
Before I can do anything other than nod, he makes his way toward his office, and I watch him leave as I hold my breath. His suit is tight on his body, showing every single defined slab of muscle. Once he shuts his office door, I release my breath and my head starts spinning. I swear I can’t get enough oxygen back into my brain, and I grow lightheaded.
“Take a seat and a breath. I will go fax a medical release request for Mrs. Dower. Don’t even think for one second we’re done talking about this.” Jenika pulls me from my thoughts and leaves me at the desk. I look around, trying to rein it all back in.
This is what he does to me. He’s cool and brisk toward me, but that’s where my fucked up and twisted comes in.
> I like it. I like the way he makes me feel. I yearn to gain his approval and lust. My phobia keeps me fearful of intimacy and many other things, so his dismissive behavior toward me is something that causes the slow burn in my stomach, that ache between my thighs, and that heart-wrenching pain in my chest that just longs for his desire, to come to life.
I almost sent a nude to a stranger—something I thought may help with my phobia of intimacy. I was testing boundaries, but I didn't want to test them with anyone other than the man I can’t have. So now I sit here a mess as my nerves bundle into tight knots in my stomach and I don’t know what to do.
Jenika has heard it all before, and she always tells me everything I don’t want to hear. And right now, when my adrenaline and longing is still high, I want to be told what I want to hear. Something overtakes me then, and I can’t stop my hands or my mind from what they’re doing—forming an alliance.
Me: I’m in love with my boss, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.
I expect him to not respond. I mean, why would he? I probably seem crazy. No, I don't seem—I am. I have reached the point of needing to be admitted to the loony bin.
But I’m wrong. He does answer, almost immediately.
HunterNumberNeighbor: Well. This just got interesting. Tell me about it.
I take a deep breath. There is something about Hunter that makes me feel safe. Maybe he was right. Talking to a stranger may be just what I need. It’s not like he can do anything with the information. And why would he? What does he have to gain? What’s it to him other than just another conversation with some random person?
Me: I have these feelings, deep feelings of desire for him, and he doesn't even know I exist. Talk about a mind fuck. I just need someone to talk to. You game?
This time, he doesn't respond right away, and I worry I lost him. Jenika comes back to her desk just as Mrs. Neeson walks in. We share a knowing look, and before I place my phone in my top drawer, Hunter messages me back.