My Husband, My Stalker

By: Jessa Kane

When I returned to him, we spent weeks, possibly months, lost in each other. But he recognized my need to be productive, so he encouraged me to start designing again. I started with our own home and discovered my purpose. Designing homes for single women who feel a need for extra security. I design with an eye toward eliminating hiding spaces, shedding light on dark corners and providing safety. It’s fulfilling in a way I never dreamed.

What about my life isn’t fulfilling, though?

The means of getting here, to this state of bliss, might be far from normal, but the means are for me to decide. I love a man who has an unhealthy fixation on me, one that seems to grow more potent as time goes on and that will never change. No matter how many times I wake to find him staring at me in the darkness, my discarded clothing clutched in his hands. No matter how many times he inks my name onto his skin. No matter how many storage lockers he fills with pictures of me in private moments.

With the lighthouse coming into view, I run a hand down my throat. I fondle my breasts, imagining they’re his capable hands. My eyelids flutter briefly and when I open them to look in the rearview mirror…

Evan is sitting in the backseat.

My heart flies up into my throat and I swerve slightly on the dirt road, though there is no danger since there are stretches of grass fields on either side.

“Pull over,” he says gruffly.

The rain is starting to fall hard now, the sound of moisture hitting the roof drowning out my harsh breathing. I do what Evan says, pulling the car onto the side of the road, my fingers trembling when I put the vehicle into park.

“Turn off the ignition.”

I gasp at the sheer depth of his voice, fumbling to follow his instructions.

And then I feel his breath on my neck. He’s close.

So close.

His lips graze my ear when he talks. “Unbutton your dress.” I flick open one button and his breath begins to saw in and out. “Faster.”

I undo them quickly, though it’s difficult when I’m shaking.

“You stayed gone too long.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Were you at home, missing me?”

His laugh is dark. “Oh, I was following you the whole time. But I can only stand watching so long without…having.” He rips my dress open the rest of the way, yanking down the cups of my bra to knead my breasts in his strong hands, and the car fills with my breathless whimpers. “Get in the back seat.”

Damp with excitement, I start to open the driver’s side door, but he doesn’t allow it. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me over the console. It’s rough and a little violent. Desperate. It’s us. The way he throws me down on the back seat and shreds my panties in his hand…it’s us. The way he braces a hand on the window and drags his panting open mouth down my throat, across my nipples, back up into my hair, like we haven’t been together in months…it’s us.

“You’ve had me hard all day, little girl.” I hear his zipper being pulled down. “Open your fucking legs.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I breathe, dropping my thighs open, savoring the flare of primal lust in his eyes when he looks at my sex. Every time is like the first. He runs cherishing fingertips over the mound of it, down the damp slit.

“My God,” he moans, shuddering. Groping for his erection, he fists it and fills me with a strained grunt. Thrusting crudely once, twice, his mouth falling open. “Oh Jesus it’s so sweet.”

I drag my nails down the front of his shirt, twisting the material around my fingers, pulling him closer, sobbing when he pins me, giving me the full effect of his dominance, his muscles, his obsession. “You feel so good,” I say through my teeth. “Mine. You’re mine.”

“That’s right,” he rasps against my mouth, his eyes wild. “Claim me while I’m claiming you. You know I love that. Tell your Daddy all about it.”

“I need you.”


“I feel sick without you.”

Lips peeled back, he pounds into me now, our bodies straining, our heat fogging the rain-dappled windows. “Good girl. More.”

“I love you.”

His big body quakes at that, his mouth consuming mine, his body bucking into me mercilessly. “Jolie,” he grates, his hand fisting on the window above me. “I love you. I love you.”

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