You, Me, and the Stalker

by Elle Luckett

  “Are you this way all day, every day?”

  “Am I a Master seeking a slave?”

  I nodded. Still not sure this was what I was asking.

  “No, I don't want a twenty-four-seven submissive. I dominate sexually.”

  “With me?”

  “How am I with you?”

  “Dominant. I always feel handled.”

  “Handled?”

  “You're intimidating, and… and domineering.”

  “But you're aroused by that part of me.”

  I nodded, unable to say the words aloud.

  Mark picked up his wine glass again and took another sip, watching me almost thoughtfully as he set the glass back on the table and swallowed. It felt like I was under a microscope, every inch of myself open to his scrutiny. I don't think he understood how it made me feel, or how those looks made me dig too deep inside my head and find some of the mess beginning to spread like a disease.

  “I feel your desire to submit and react.”

  “What?”

  Mark smiled. Not a smirk in sight. It made him look sexy as hell, and far more confident.

  “I think you would be a natural if your submission hadn't been dragged out of you in the worst way. With you and me, it's like a cycle. You look at me a certain way with trust circling those beautiful hazel eyes before fleeing. Your reaction stirs a part of me I normally tuck away until I'm in the club, or until I have a willing and naked woman in front of me. We dance around one another. When I'm in your company, all I'm thinking about is your naked body laid out under me, and all I can see is the beauty of your trust once I earn it.”

  Every inch of my skin tingled at his admission. I could feel it, too, that sexual tension that covered my body and made my skin pebble when he was close by—that want to give myself to him, even when the panic coated it in a thick, oily residue. I’d also felt it on the phone, when his deep, resonant voice demanded I answer his questions. I had put my acquiescence down to an emotional attachment, while he was attributing it to sexual chemistry.

  Maybe it was both.

  Maybe it was neither.

  Maybe I was already in too deep and freaking the fuck out about it.

  I had slept with two men in my lifetime, and sex, for me, carried an emotional connection. Knowing Mark wouldn't feel that made it harder to trust and give myself to him. No matter how much I wanted to.

  “I masturbate after our conversations,” Mark said unabashedly.

  My eyes rose to meet his, and he held me captive. Excitement, arousal, and panic swam around inside of me for a moment. The fear of the unknown rising until the waiter arrived with our food, knocking me off the rails.

  Mark hadn't missed the panic, though.

  He hadn't missed a thing.

  The way he was looking at me said he'd figured out exactly what had been running through my mind, while his slow smile told me that he knew exactly what he was going to do about that.

  Chapter Nine

  Mark's home was in the heart of the French Quarter, less than a ten-minute drive from Bourbon Street. The style was the quintessential New Orleans home, the opulence of the columns paired with the charm of the usual cast-iron railings on the second floor. It was stunning… until you stepped inside where the real beauty of it drew you in. It felt much bigger once you walked through the door—more modern, too, with white walls and highly polished wooden floors greeting you in the foyer.

  “Woah.”

  Mark took my purse and placed it on the entry piece, his eyes taking everything in as though he were trying to see it for the first time, too. I doubted he was able. I'd never seen anything like this before in my life. I loved Lane's apartment, but the whole interior was clean lines and contemporary. This house was New Orleans.

  “You like it?” Mark asked, toeing off his shoes and heading down the narrow hall next to the staircase.

  “It's beautiful.”

  “I thought I was buying two floors of gorgeous New Orleans charm when I noticed it. It turns out this beast has three floors and three kitchens. Each floor is a unit of its own, while being incorporated into the house as a whole. It boasts seven bedrooms and six bathrooms.”

  “Are you boasting?”

  Mark's smile flashed over his shoulder as he nodded me to the stools on the other side of a small island. “Is it working?”

  “Depends on what you're trying to achieve.”

  He turned as I slid onto one of the stools, his arms gripping the counter by the stovetop while he studied me. He'd deliberately put the island between us. I didn't think the man did anything accidentally, but he read me like I was highlighted and underlined. I could feel the quiet consideration before he did anything.

  Our meal had defaulted from the hard conversation to something more natural for a first date. We'd had one glass of wine before we'd moved onto water, at Mark's insistence, and again, I hadn't argued with him. He took control of every situation we found ourselves in and made sure he was the one who directed it. His need for control should have felt manipulative, especially considering Elijah had always done the same thing, but it didn't. This felt different. Like I still had a say in it if I really wanted, and I supposed that was the point.

  “You're more relaxed,” Mark observed.

  Planting my elbow on the granite countertop, I cradled my chin and studied him rather than respond, with nothing more than a soft smile on my lips.

  “I'm curious as to how you would react if I told you to remove your underwear.”

  The stirring of old anxiety rose in my stomach. Defiantly, I dropped my hands and rose from the stool onto shaking legs, the small look of surprise in Mark's eyes spurring me forward as my hands found the split in the dress and worked the lace down my hips and legs. I stepped out of one side and lifted the right leg to pull them from the toe of my shoe. I didn't dare look at him as I dropped the small ball of material on the counter in front of me before I slid back onto the stool. My insides were a tumultuous storm of wings, and high pitched buzzing, while the fancy kitchen shuddered and spun around me.

  “You have nothing to prove to me, little bird,” Mark grunted, crossing his arms over his chest, making his biceps force the material to pull tighter.

  “I didn't know the answer until I tried.”

  I could feel the dampness between my thighs even as my blood chilled in my veins. My body was such a giant contradiction that I wasn't even sure how I was breathing.

  “You're not afraid of dominance. It's the sex that scares you.”

  “I—”

  “You don't have to say it unless you need to.” Mark rocked from his heels and crossed the distance between us, until he was now standing opposite me, his eyes dark with what looked like anger.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

  Covering his mouth with his palm, Mark dragged it down his face until he was gripping his chin, releasing it with a quiet rasp of stubble against his palm. “My anger’s not aimed at you. I just didn't know the asshole had weaponized sex with you.”

  The fuzzy buzzing of the white noise made the kitchen jerk around me. Memories flooded my brain like poison, the mention of Elijah, even indirectly, turned off any excitement that had been building throughout the evening. This panic was what happened the last time I'd tried to get past this hopeless fear that now came with men I was attracted to. My breaths started to quicken, and before I was aware of him moving, Mark's arms caught me as gravity pulled.

  “Jesus,” he growled, scooping me up from the stool.

  “No,” I mumbled, pressing my clammy cheek against his warm chest. The material of his shirt was so thin, I could feel his heart beating.

  “No?” he asked.

  “Don't want to go home,” I murmured.

  “I wasn't planning on that.”

  I could see the front door, and we had been heading in that direction until he turned and headed up the stairs. I bleated quietly. If I asked him to stop, to take me home, or leave me
alone, he would do so without question. This week, talking with him, had already assured me of that. So, I pressed my lips together, absorbed his body heat, and waited to see where he would end up in this maze of a house.

  We arrived swiftly on the second floor, and he carried me to the back of the building into a beautifully ornate bedroom with patio doors that led to a balcony. The bed was cast iron with four posts, the comforter a fluffy white down number with matching white sheets. Mark placed me atop all of it, his hands gentle but confident as he arranged the skirt of my dress to keep me covered. Then, he stepped back, taking another step and another until he was on the other side of the room, sinking into a wingback leather chair, his hands gripping the arms.

  Sitting up, I blinked at him in confusion.

  “Do you think I want to be inside you while your memory is fresh with the asshole who made you feel this way?” Mark asked, his hands tightening enough to make his knuckles white.

  “Then, what—”

  “I'm going to help you to take back control.”

  “And how am I going to do that, exactly?”

  Mark tensed his legs, the corner of his mouth curling up just enough to make that small part of my libido flair to life.

  “Have you touched yourself?”

  Just like that, it disappeared again. My stomach bottomed out as my memory took me to the only time I'd tried after that last night I'd been with Elijah. Two months after I'd left him, I'd woken up feverish, my body aching after a dream I couldn't quite remember with any clarity. The moment my hands had slipped between my thighs, I'd gone cold and dry. All signs of arousal had been gone.

  “I tried.”

  “I want you to try again for me.”

  “Right now?”

  Mark's lips stretched until he was smiling hungrily.

  “Yes, now. Do you want me to direct you?”

  I nodded.

  His hunger became palpable, eyes flaring as he studied me for a few rapid heartbeats.

  “Okay. First, the rules. No and stop can't be a part of our vocabulary here. They fall from the tongue too easily. If you want to stop or need to take a breath you're going to use club words. Red for stop, yellow for pause. Do you understand, little bird?”

  I nodded, making his smile fade a little.

  “Tell me out loud. We need open communication between us, Zara.”

  I wasn't sure why it was so powerful when he used my name like that, but it worked. The sound pulling me toward him rather than drifting to the past and the mistakes I'd made.

  “Red for stop. Yellow to breathe.”

  “Good girl.” Raising a hand, he pressed the side of his index finger to his mouth, taking his time before continuing. “If I start masturbating and it disturbs you, upsets you or scares you, you're going to use those words.”

  He was going to masturbate?

  I blinked at him.

  “You think I can watch you fucking yourself and not get aroused?” Mark slid his hand back and forth over his bottom lip until the pad of his finger paused in the middle. Such a simple action made curiously sexual with the topic of conversation. “I'm a man, sweetheart, and you're beautiful. What did you think was going to happen?”

  I nodded in muted response, but a slight narrowing of his eyes had me stuttering out the words. “Red to stop. Yellow to slow.”

  “For tonight, you're setting the pace for yourself.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, reminding myself to answer aloud, even as the blush rose in my cheeks.

  “Would you prefer to keep your dress on?”

  I looked down at myself, my legs already slightly parted, the slit of the dress revealing my hip bone, while the rest of me stayed covered.

  My history stayed covered.

  Part of me wanted the dress to be off. I longed to feel his eyes on my body, to acquaint myself with his gaze, but I couldn't do it. I wasn't ready to lay it all bare yet.

  If I was going to do this—and I had a feeling I was—I couldn't revisit memories that threatened catatonia. That meant nakedness wasn't an option for me.

  “Dress on, please.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “I want you to move to the bottom of the bed. Pull your skirt over your hips and brace your legs on the foot of it. I want to see you.”

  Heat flooded me. What the fuck was I doing? And why was that excited pulse of want tightening everything inside me?

  Just looking at the man studying me answered any questions I had about the why. If Mark directed me, told me what to do and when to do it, I could overcome this first hurdle. I had to start somewhere. Why not here?

  I moved slowly, rolling to my knees so I could crawl to the end of the bed on all fours. I dragged the material up and over my hips as I did, making my movements easier. When I reached where I needed to be, I sat on my heels and stared at the design of the bed, flushing when I noticed beautifully formed cradles in the metal. It was designed for this kind of thing.

  “Legs up, beautiful.”

  With my heart hammering, I did as he asked, slow and cumbersome, my actions clumsy and jerky from the fear thundering through my heart and veins.

  “I need you to breathe, Zara.”

  I sucked in a breath as I slipped my right leg up and braced my foot against the cast iron. Then released, dragging in another as I repeated the action, all too aware of the scar on display.

  “Jesus. You're fucking gorgeous.” Mark sat forward slowly, deliberately, his thumb rubbing the dent below the center of his bottom lip as hunger rose like an animal. “And you're wet.”

  I’d felt my arousal as I crawled down to the other end of the bed, and moved my body into position, the fresh air caressing my heat. As memories battled against the walls of my mind, there was part of me that was reassured being in Mark's company.

  Feeling his eyes on me.

  Hearing his growled commands.

  Anticipation was playing a more significant role than fear.

  “Tell me what to do,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with need and trepidation.

  “Close your eyes and listen to my voice.”

  I did as he asked, allowing my hands to slide down over my stomach and between my thighs. The dampness was unavoidable now. He guided me, telling me to push my fingers between my folds, talking me through the touching and pressing of my clitoris while injecting a little pinching of the nerves as I did. My legs trembled as I lost myself to the feelings and sensations, my breaths leaving me in spurts of moaned sound, while my feet pressed into the cold metal, and my hips rose to grind against my fingers when the pleasure rose.

  Only once did my mind begin to betray me in those first moments—that roll of euphoria rising inside of me sparking some distant memory of his face. Mark noticed, and he changed direction, letting me get lost in the eroticism.

  My breathing quickly turned to panting, my fingers taking control as Mark began simply to make suggestions, and my instinct took back control. My feet curled around the cold metal as I pressed against my bundle of nerves in faster sweeps.

  “Come, Zara,” Mark barked quietly when my body was writhing against the two fingers, pressing and squeezing where I bordered between pleasure and pain.

  I obeyed without thought, my nails biting the sensitive flesh as my toes curled and gripped the cold metal, my hips pressing and seeking out more. I rode out my orgasm, my fingers sliding through my natural lubrication as my pussy pulsed with the euphoria I’d denied myself for too long.

  “Don't you dare stop now,” Mark growled from across the room as my hips dropped back to the mattress below.

  An aroused laugh fell from my lips, but I did as he asked. By the time my fingers found their way inside of me, Mark's voice had died away, the only sign he was still there were the heat of his gaze and quiet grunts of his arousal. I started with one finger, my hole tight around the single digit, and tighter still since that last night with Elij—

  “Look at me,” Mark ordered.

  My eyes flickered open to the man i
n the chair on the other side of the room.

  He was still there, just dropped lower, his thick, hard cock in his hand. The tip glistened as he ran his hand down the length of his erection.

  “As much as I like your eyes on my dick, I want your eyes up here.” Mark snapped his fingers by his face, and I finally dragged my eyes up to his, my index finger joining the first and stretching me more. It had been so long since I'd allowed myself to feel and want any of this. Now all I could do was want.

  Mark held my gaze as I fucked myself; his gray eyes flickering when my hips rose to allow deeper penetration. I gave and took from myself, always needing more: more friction, more feeling, and more everything. Mark's gaze turned into pure sex when I added a third finger and stretched myself wide for him. I was on my toes again, my hips hovering over the mattress with my fingers and pussy on full display.

  Mark grunted once, his hips pushing his cock into his hand as he came, his forearms turning to bands of muscles as he milked himself dry, eyes never leaving the connection between my hands and body as he did. For the second time that night, I came, but it was harder, more sensual than the first, and rather than by my ministrations, it was from the way Mark was looking at me.

  His gaze was pure, unadulterated hunger and arousal. It shone from him.

  Satisfaction filled me at the sight of his pleasure.

  I'd done that.

  I liked that I'd been the one to bring that out in him.

  I liked that it was Mark who had done this to me.

  Whether it was the right thing or not, it was his name that left my lips when my head fell to the mattress, and my body followed, limp, sated, and calm. Three things I wasn't sure would have ever gone hand-in-hand again mere hours ago. The desire for the man watching me to close the distance and touch me was another mountain I hoped to conquer tonight.

  It was still early, after all.

  Chapter Ten

  “How do you feel?” Mark asked in a voice that was pure liquid sex. He reached for some tissue that was sitting on a table next to him, wiping himself clean while he studied my face.