Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Making my way through her apartment, I head toward her bedroom door, making a mental note of all of her new cameras as I go. Seeing them through the app was enough to tell me exactly where they were, but there’s something comforting about seeing them with my own eyes.
I love that she’s playing along, doing all of this just for me.
It’s going to be the best fun we’ve ever had.
Stepping through to her bedroom, I find Kyah sprawled out on her bed, her blanket down around her waist, and as I walk over to her, I take the blanket and pull it up to her shoulders, knowing that’s how she prefers to sleep. Then crouching down beside her, my gaze trails over her beautiful face, and I gently brush her hair back behind her ear, obsessed with the soft moan that slips from between her lips.
God, I need to hear it again.
Leaning into her, I press my lips to her soft cheek. “I hope you’re ready for me, sweet Kyah,” I whisper into the darkened room before pulling back. There’s so much more I want to say to her, so many wicked promises that I know will have her clenching those pretty thighs, but it needs to wait. She’s not quite ready, but she will be soon. Every day, I feel her inching closer to me, preparing for what’s to come, and I can’t fucking wait.
Then turning around, I pull the lipstick I took from her bathroom before quickly uncapping the lid. Facing the wall, I raise my arm, and with a twisted smirk stretching across my lips, I get to work.
20
KYAH
Fear blasts through my veins like a bullet, rendering me breathless as I stare at my bedroom wall. The early morning sun streams through my window and shines upon the message scrawled across the drywall like a spotlight.
But fuck. It more than has my attention.
I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I grasp my blanket, holding it to my chest as though it could somehow offer me protection as I scan over the words for the millionth time.
PRETTY, PRETTY, KYAH.
ARE YOU READY TO PLAY?
What in the ever-loving fuck is that?
I was right. Someone is coming into my apartment each night, but more than that, this asshole was in my room while I slept.
Chills sweep down my spine, my blood turning ice cold as my heart pounds a million miles an hour. I knew something was happening. I was starting to come to terms with the possibility of someone sneaking into my apartment, and not just some crazy neighbor fucking with me, but this? FUCK.
This asshole is escalating. It’s not just sneaking into my apartment now. He’s leaving me messages, asking me if I’m ready to play. What the hell does this mean? Is this guy dangerous? And what does he mean by play? Is he going to try and fuck with me? Play mind games? Or is it something much worse?
I swallow over the lump in my throat and get to my feet, my knees shaking wildly beneath me.
This guy knows my name. This is more than just some random guy sneaking into my apartment. He knows who I am, and from the looks of it, he’s only just getting started.
How long has this been going on? I started noticing the open window last week, but has it been longer than that? That day I came home with Crew before heading out to the bar, my window was open and there was the smell of a man’s cologne. I assumed it was my upstairs neighbor, but what if it wasn’t? Could this have started back then? And what about last Sunday when I’d gotten home to find my door kicked in? I’d assumed it was Crew because of his message that went along with it, demanding to know where I was, but is it possible the door wasn’t Crew at all? Did I get in his face and accuse him of something he didn’t do?
Shit.
My chest heaves, barely able to take in a proper breath, and despite it being way too early to get to work, I haul ass, not wanting to be here a minute longer than necessary. I hurry toward the bathroom, my gaze bouncing around my apartment, trying to take in every last corner, when I notice the wide-open window.
I come to an abrupt stop, my heart pounding so damn hard I feel it will send me to an early grave. Shit. What if that’s what this asshole is trying to achieve?
Oh God. I can’t handle this.
I’m not exactly a good girl and don’t entirely lead the kind of lifestyle that would please a man’s mother, but I draw the line at psychopathic stalkers who sneak into women’s bedrooms at night and leave messages on their fucking walls. Like what the hell is that even about?