● Sienna ●
He followed me back into my bedroom, but I didn't bother to look at him. I headed straight for the bed, pulling the covers over myself and turning my back to him like that might make him disappear. I heard glass clink softly behind me, followed by footsteps.
He poured me a glass of water and handed it to me, but I ignored him completely. I kept my back to him, staring at the wall, pretending he wasn't there—until he pulled the covers away from me.
Cold air hit my skin and my breath stuttered. My dress, already too short, had ridden up even higher. I reached down to pull it back into place, but his hand closed around my wrist before I could. He tugged me toward him and I lost my balance, sliding off the bed until I was sitting on the edge beside him.
"Drink this." There was an edge to his tone that somehow compelled me to do exactly as he said. I took the glass from him without thinking and drank. My throat burned slightly as the water went down, and I realized just how thirsty I was. I emptied most of the glass before I even stopped.
He took it from my hand and stood, and for a second I thought he was finally leaving. But he didn't.
He stepped closer instead, stopping right in front of me. His hand lifted slowly, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip—not gently. My body reacted instantly, a shiver running through me that I didn't want to acknowledge.
He did it again, his eyes locked on mine, dark and unreadable.
His thumb caught a bit of water that had somehow trailed from the corner of my mouth, and he wiped it away slowly. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. And I hated the way my body responded to his touch, even as fear coiled tight in my chest.
I remained trapped in his gaze, like he had me under some kind of spell. No matter how much I wanted to look away, I couldn't. Those black pools kept pulling me in, deeper and deeper.
His hand slipped from my lips to my throat, curling there without squeezing. Still, something about the look in his eyes set off silent alarms in my head. And yet every nerve in my body lit up like it had been waiting for this.
I should have stepped away. I didn't know a single thing about him—not even his name.
He felt like the kind of man who didn't like to keep his hands to himself. When his thumb pressed lightly into that sensitive spot just below my ear, a shiver ran through me before I could stop it. His eyes darkened instantly—like he noticed. Like he liked it.
I couldn't understand why I didn't stop him. I knew I would feel guilty once this haze faded, once the intoxication fully left me. And I wondered if I would blame all of this on that—on being too out of my senses to think clearly.
My… well, my stalker had a perfect body. At least from what I could tell with his clothes still on. And his hair—he never seemed to comb it. Not that I was judging. I'd only seen him twice, but both times it had been a mess. A perfect one.
A shaky breath escaped me when his fingers reached the clip holding my brown hair. He unclasped it, and my hair spilled down in soft waves over my shoulders.
"You shouldn't tie your hair up if you don't want to be eaten," he said, and the words sent a rush straight through me.
Then, without another touch, he stepped back. He turned away, moving toward the window. I found my voice before I could stop myself.
"Who are you?"
He turned just enough for me to see the smug curve of his lips. My stomach flipped at the bad-boy grin on his face.
"I'll officially introduce myself soon," he said.
And then he was gone—over the balcony, swallowed by the darkness.
This time, I didn't follow. My head was still spinning. The intoxication had faded a little, but not enough.
My fingers rose to my throat, right where his hand had been moments ago. I let out a slow sigh.
I had prepared for this. A hockey stick. Two baseball bats. All hidden behind the headboard. I could have used them tonight—but I hadn't.
Tomorrow would be different. If he showed up again, I would be ready.
I pushed myself up carefully, my balance unsteady but manageable, and headed toward my walk-in closet. I grabbed a pair of shorts and a tee, focusing on the simple task of changing into something comfortable.
It took more effort than it should have, my body still heavy and unsteady, but I managed. When I was done, I drifted back toward the window anyway, even though I already knew he was long gone. Whatever trace he had left behind vanished with him.
I hadn't told my parents a single word about him. Fear kept my mouth shut. I didn't know if he would keep his promise about Maya, and I didn't know what he was capable of. That uncertainty was enough to cage me in silence. So I stayed quiet, swallowing it all down.
But if he came back—if he ever gave me the chance—I might be the one to end him.
Right here.
In my own room.