The Unsettled Series

HER

I wake up to an empty bed, disappointed at the smack back to reality.

I knew he would never stay over. But some part of me still hoped that last night was a step toward something more. I let out a deep sigh as I roll over and sit up, eyes snagging on the message that lights up my phone.

It’s from him. I never saved his number; I’m not sure why. Maybe to add to the mystery? I still know it’s him, though, because he’s the only unknown number that texts me like this.

How the fuck—

I look up and see that my curtains are open. Anyone could see straight through the window, bright as day—though I know it’s unlikely anyone other than him would be positioned right for that.

But the open curtain means he has a perfect view of my naked body, along with the hickeys he’s ingrained into my neck. The spots are sore, but nothing I can’t hide with a little makeup.

I frown. I don’t snore.

And as if he can read my mind:

I snort before wandering to my bathroom for a much-needed shower. He fucked me a lot yesterday, once at the mall and a few times last night.

I woke to his cock sliding through my folds at some point. He seemed half asleep, barely conscious of what he was doing.

I could have pulled away; I probably should have. But, greedy as I am, I let him slip inside and take what he wanted. He awoke as he orgasmed, filling me to the brim, pleasantly surprised that I had taken him in.

We spoke about it afterward and I found out very quickly that so long as he’s inside me, anything goes. He has the stamina of a horse, and can keep fucking me long into my sleep.

I just wish he could have woken me up with his cock this morning too. But maybe…one day.

I pull myself together and get dressed, knowing that I need to return to my regularly scheduled life. He has consumed my last two days, and I can’t tell if that’s because he’s getting antsy or bored. Am I not at home enough for our usual games?

Throwing that thought to the back of my mind, I hop into my car and drive to work.

I used to try to follow the cars behind me through my rearview mirror, to see which one was his. I could never find it. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I realized—since he knows my schedule by now, he doesn’t have to be behind me.

I stroll into the office, smiling as wide as I can to let everyone know I’m okay. Sara immediately catches my arm and drags me into her cubicle.

“What the fuck? You barely texted me back last night. I wasn’t even sure you got home safely.”

I was afraid of this. “I’m fine. Jer just scared me a little.”

“A little? Girl, he looked pissed. After you took off, he stormed back into the mall and caught us before we left. Told us that you were being all high and mighty, not talking to him.

“The others don’t know why you broke up, but I do. He’s threatening you again, isn’t he?”

I shake my head. “No. He just…wanted to know why—”

“Report him,” she hisses. I look around to see if anyone’s noticing us making a scene, but they are all actually working.

I know I should report Jer, but every time I think about it, a little voice in my head scolds, You have two stalkers. Why are you fucking one, while you’re willing to turn the other over to the police?

I shake Sara off, pacifying her with an “I’ll take care of it,” before making my way over to my cubicle.

I smile when I see the huge, black bouquet sitting on my desk beside an iced coffee.

I forgot to grab my caffeine fix this morning, too distracted by the thorough fucking he gave me last night, so the coffee might be even more welcome than the flowers.

Sighing as I slip into my chair, I take a swig, instantly excited because it’s a new flavor on my tongue.

My phone beeps.

I giggle, licking the foam from my lips.

My blood runs hot as I glance around, trying to figure out if he’s in the office. We’re on the ground level, so maybe he’s watching through the window? I look outside, trying to see if I can pinpoint him.

Ding!

I shiver and refocus, giving the roses a little sniff before I sip my coffee again. He’s a fucking god, bringing me coffee and flowers—something Jer never did. How the gifts found their way to my desk is beyond me, but I’m not complaining.

I dive into my work, trying not to think of my mysterious man, but it’s hard. It’s like we’re dating, but we’re not. I can’t expect anything out of him—nothing more than his watchful eyes and commanding words.

Right now, the only thing I want to do is go home and open my curtains for him.

I keep nursing the coffee until there’s only one miserable drop left. He stays on my mind all through lunch, and all through the staff meeting that could have been an email. Even as the light dims outside and I’m still at my desk, all I can think of is that man.

Near the end of the day, my boss rounds my cubicle, glaring at the display of love that takes up half my desk.

It’s the first time I’ve called it that—love—and now I have a burning need to ask my neighbor if he loves me. I Googled black roses on my computer; in flower language, they mean obsession.

“Who’s the secret admirer?” my boss asks, gesturing at them.

I shrug. Fuck if I’m giving up that information.

He pries anyway. “One of your coworkers mentioned that you have a stalker. Is someone giving you a hard time?”

“What are you talking about?” I don’t want anyone to know about my neighbor. He’s mine. Fuck, I have it bad.

“Your ex, Jer Scholls? He’s at the front, asking for you.”

I grimace. “Why is he here?”

“If I knew that, I would tell you. He’s got a folder, and he’s saying something about a court appearance. Do you want me to go down with you?” It’s a kind offer, though he’s clearly uncomfortable making it.

I shake my head. Jer is full of shit. There’s nothing in that folder. It’s just another tactic to force me to talk to him, to spend time with him.

Jer’s fucked in the head—differently than my neighbor. It’s a distinction I have to make, because I refuse to see them in the same light.

Giving my boss a little smile, I pack up my papers, then stare at the roses. I wanted to take them home, but Jer won’t take well to seeing me with flowers from another man.

Fuck it.

I’m going to carry them anyway.

I march my ass downstairs, armed with my bouquet, hoping that he is watching. It’s stupid to think he’ll step in for me, but my romance-riddled brain is still daydreaming that ~he~ might really love me.