Текст книги "Love me stalk me"

Автор книги: Laura Bishop

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NOW CHATTING WITH CALEB

Pretty Girl

hiii

Caleb

Hi, pretty girl.

im soooooo drunkkkkk

I can tell.

no u cant

Your typing says otherwise.

ok maybe

but alsooooo i have a probem

A problem?

yepppp

Tell me.

i wanna come

...

That’s a problem?

yes bc ur supposed to make me do it

Am I?

duh

ur my perfect boyfrnd remember?

I do remember.

Tell me, why are you so turned on?

bc a guy at work is really really hot

Hmm.

And your boyfriend?

was a total fucking asshole today

like. new level. went full olpymic gold in asshole behavior

I’m not surprised.

me either

but that other guy?

omggggg

Tell me about him.

he’s like

walking sin

like broad and huge and muscly and he has tatoos

Tattoos?

tattooS with an S yes.

Where?

on his arms but he always covers them so i only see a little and it makes me insane

You want to see them?

i wanna lick them

...

whatttt

its true

What else?

he saved me today

Saved you?

ugh long story but yes

swooped in like a damn hero

he’s so big

like. he could pin me down so easy

Would you like that?

yes

i wanna feel small under him

helpless

Fuck.

that a good reaction?

Very.

good. bc i need u to help me fix my problem

Tell me what you need.

i wanna come so bad

but i want more

i want the vibrator

You don't have one?

nooooo the one that you control

the premium version or something

Since you asked so nicely, how can I refuse?

yessss

i want it so bad

Then you’ll have it.

good bc i need it

bc i want you inside me

Fuck.

yes say more

You want me to tell you exactly what I’d do to you?

yes

make it filthy

If I were there, I wouldn’t just let you come.

I’d make you beg for it first.

fuckkkk

I’d have you spread out for me, already dripping, already desperate.

You wouldn’t be able to think straight.

I wouldn’t let you.

oh my god

i wanna feel wrecked

You would be.

please

say more

I’d tease you until you couldn’t take it.

Until your body was shaking, until you were gasping my name.

Until you couldn’t do anything but take it.

Until you were mine.

fuck

tell me how to touch myself

Where do you want to be touched?

everywhere

but tell me

Start with your nipples.

Are you wearing a top?

no

Fuck, that's hot. I love that you're exposed.

yesss

I wanna send you a pic

Not yet.

ugh why not?

Because, as much as I want to see those beautiful tits of yours, right now, I want you to use your fingers.

Pinch, roll. Make those beautiful little rosebuds ache for me.

fuckkkk

they’re so sensitive rn

Good.

I’d be playing with them if I were there.

Tugging them between my fingers, making you whimper.

I’d drag my tongue over them, feel how hard they are for me.

oh my god

i wish it was ur mouth

It will be.

Now, let your hand drift lower.

Slide it down your stomach.

Touch yourself through your panties. Feel how wet you are for me.

fuckfuckfuck i am

Of course you are.

You’ve been thinking about me all night, haven’t you?

yes

all fucking night

keep going please

Slide them off. I want you bare.

they’re off

tell me what to do

Spread your legs.

Take two fingers, run them through your slit. Feel how soaked you are.

fuck

so wet

Good girl.

Now circle your clit. Slow at first.

Nice and gentle. Let yourself build up.

fuck i⁠—

omg

That’s it.

Let yourself get desperate.

please

i wanna come

Soon.

But first, I want you to tell me just what a perfect little slut you are for me.

oh my god

Say it.

Tell me how much you love obeying me.

fuck

i do

i love it

Love what?

Tell me.

i love listening to you

i love doing what you tell me

i love knowing ur in control

i love being yours

Good fucking girl.

So desperate. So needy.

Dripping for me. Drenched.

yes

Keep rubbing your clit, pretty girl. Nice and fast now.

Let yourself get lost in it.

i am

fuck i need it

What do you need?

Tell me exactly what you want.

i want you to wreck my pussy

i want you to make me fall apart

i want to come so hard i cant even think

Fuck.

You sound so sweet when you beg.

please please please

Not yet.

whyyyy

Because I’m not done playing with you yet.

Because I want you right there, on the edge.

I want you desperate for me.

I want you so worked up that you can’t do anything but fall apart when I finally let you.

please cal

im so fucking close

I know.

Keep rubbing, keep going.

You’re going to come so hard for me.

fuck fuck fuck

i—

…

You still with me?

Did you just pass out on me?

Guess I’ll have to finish what we started next time.

Sweet dreams.

MY VIBRATOR, HIS ABS, AND MY SHAME

IZZY

I wake up slowly and painfully.

The first thing I notice is the throbbing behind my eyes, a persistent pounding that seems to match my heartbeat. The second is how dry my mouth is, like I spent the night gargling sand. The third is that I am very, very naked, the cool sheets sliding against bare skin as I shift.

Oh.

I blink at the ceiling, trying to get my bearings, but everything feels disorienting, like my brain is buffering. I roll over, groaning as my limbs protest, and that's when I realize the evidence of my bad decisions scattered around me.

1. My panties are missing, lost somewhere in the tangle of sheets.

2. My vibrator is under the covers, kicked down by my feet.

3. My phone is next to my head, completely dead, the black screen reflecting nothing.

Oh God.

What happened last night?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force a memory, any memory, to the surface. Flashes come in pieces, disjointed and hazy. The taste of salt and tequila. The thump of music. Amanda's laugh, bright and reckless. My own voice, louder than usual. My fingers typing messages to Caleb⁠—

I jerk upright, the sudden movement sending pain shooting through my temples.

Oh, shit.

I grab my phone. The screen remains stubbornly black when I press the power button.

I stumble out of bed, still half-naked, half-hungover, and grab my charger, plugging it in. The red charging light blinks at me accusingly. While I wait for the resurrection of my poor, unsuspecting phone, I pull on my satin robe from the bathroom and head toward the kitchen.

I stop short.

Because there is a very large man in my kitchen.

For a split second, panic grips me, my heart leaping into my throat. Intruder? Murderer? Kidnapper? My hungover brain cycles through threats, fight-or-flight instinct kicking in despite my foggy state.

But then my sleep-clouded brain clears, and I actually register who it is.

Not just any large man.

Callahan.

And Callahan is shirtless.

Oh. Oh.

I don't move.

I just stare at him, frozen in the doorway.

His back is to me, and holy fuck. The morning sunlight streaming through my kitchen window illuminates him like some kind of inked up Renaissance painting. I knew he had tattoos, but they're not just on his arms. They snake up over his shoulder blades, across the expanse of his back. It's a lot of black and gray work, intricate and sprawling, but I can't quite tell what all of it is from this distance. The designs shift as he moves, muscles rippling beneath inked skin.

All I know is it's hot.

And I am in trouble.

Because I don't know what happened last night.

Why is he here?

And why is he in my kitchen, making food, half naked?

And then a terrifying thought slams into me.

Did we sleep together?

Is that why my panties were off?

Is that why he's shirtless?

What the fuck did I do?

Before I can spiral any further, something else distracts me.

Something even more disorienting.

The smell of coffee.

And food. Really, really good food. The rich aroma of bacon and eggs fills the apartment, making my stomach rumble traitorously despite my hangover.

Just as I'm mentally debating whether I should run or demand answers, Callahan turns around.

And I nearly trip over my own feet.

Because if I thought his back was bad, his front is a fucking war zone. More tattoos, more hard lines, more muscle than should legally be allowed. The ink continues across his chest and down his arms in intricate patterns that draw my eye to every perfectly defined muscle. A dusting of dark hair trails down his abs, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans that sit low on his hips.

And he's holding a mug of coffee.

For me.

I forget how to breathe.

And then another horrifying realization hits me, sending a fresh wave of heat to my face.

I'm barely wearing anything.

The robe I threw on?

It's not even tied shut.

It's just hanging there, wide open, because I always lose the stupid ties. Because why, why, do they not just tie the stupid things into the robe itself? The silky fabric parts to reveal entirely too much of me—sleep-rumpled, hungover, and completely unprepared for this moment.

Callahan's eyes flick down, just briefly, before he looks away. I make a strangled noise, clutch the robe closed with one hand, and spin on my heel.

"Sorry!" I practically yelp, darting back into my bedroom.

I slam the door, leaning against it, pulse racing.

What is happening?

I force myself to breathe, count to five, then stumble to my dresser. I grab some actual clothes, and throw on sweats and—most importantly—a pair of panties.

Because I need something to drench, apparently.

I steel myself and step back out into the kitchen, more clothed, but still not emotionally prepared for this. The worn floorboards protest beneath my feet, announcing my return.

Callahan glances at me as I walk in. "I didn't mean to startle you," he says, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet morning air.

I wave a hand, still flustered. "No, yeah, it's fine. Totally normal to wake up to a half-naked man in my kitchen." My voice comes out higher than intended, betraying my nervousness.

The corners of his mouth lift slightly, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. "I guess we have different definitions of 'normal.'"

I narrow my eyes, but he just hands me the coffee, unbothered. The mug is warm against my palms, the rich aroma drifting up to tempt me.

I take it, mumbling, "Thank you."

We sit down at the table, plates of actual breakfast in front of us. Eggs, bacon, toast. It smells like heaven. Steam rises from the perfectly cooked food, making my mouth water despite my hangover.

I glance at him. "So, uh...what happened last night?"

He leans back, sipping his own coffee. "You got wasted. Amanda shoved me in a booth with you. You nearly passed out in the restaurant. I drove you home."

I’m stunned. "You drove me home?"

He nods, taking a sip of his coffee like it's not a big deal. "There was no way I was letting you get into a car with a stranger."

I put my coffee down too hard, the liquid lurching up the side of the cup. "Wait. I tried to get into a car with a stranger?"

His lips twitch, like he's holding back a laugh. "No, I meant a cab."

I exhale dramatically, pressing a hand to my chest. "Jesus, Callahan, clarify faster next time. I thought you meant I was about to get kidnapped."

He takes a sip of his coffee, and then the ghost of a smile twists his lips. "Not on my watch."

I roll my eyes, but something warm and stupid unfurls in my chest.

He didn't have to do any of this. He could have put me in a cab, washed his hands of me, let me deal with my own bad decisions.

But he didn't.

Instead, he drove me himself.

Made sure I was safe.

Stayed in my apartment to look after me.

Because that's who he is.

Protective.

Uncompromising.

Steady.

And the worst part?

I love that about him.

"That was...really sweet of you," I murmur, tracing the rim of my mug with my finger. "I'm sorry I ruined your night."

He shrugs. "You didn't."

I poke at my eggs, suddenly feeling weirdly shy. The yellow yolk breaks, spreading across my plate. "Where, uh...where's your shirt?"

"Soaking. Got grease on it while cooking. Didn't want the stain to set."

I nod slowly. "Oh."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asks, cocking a brow, his voice tinged with amusement.

Before my brain can stop my mouth—I—like an absolute fucking idiot—say, "Oh no, I prefer it."

Silence.

I blink.

Callahan blinks.

Then I slap my forehead and groan, the sound echoing in my small kitchen. "Please just ignore me."

His amusement grows. "Noted."

I shove bacon into my mouth to stop talking forever. The crispy, salty flavor explodes on my tongue, momentarily distracting me from my embarrassment.

I swallow hard, pushing my eggs around my plate, summoning the nerve to ask the question that's been gnawing at me since I walked out here and found him in my kitchen half-naked and beautiful.

"So...um," I start, feeling my face heat up. "Did anything...happen last night?"

Callahan pauses mid-bite, then slowly lowers his fork. The metal clinks softly against the plate in the sudden silence.

Callahan watches me a second too long.

"What do you think?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

Then he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, and Jesus Christ. I should be thinking about his words, about the implications of what he's asking. Instead, my brain short-circuits because his tattoos are on full display.

Thick bands of ink snake up his strong, veined forearms, black and gray designs etched into his skin, bold and intricate. I've never seen them this close before. Never had a full view of the way they wrap around his muscles, shifting with every subtle movement. One design appears to be a compass, another some kind of military insignia—details I hadn't been able to make out from a distance.

I swallow hard.

"What do you think?" he repeats, his tone amused.

I think I'm in so much trouble.

I swallow. Hard.

"...I don't know."

His smirk returns. "You don't remember?"

I groan, covering my face with both hands. "Just tell me."

He laughs, amused as hell, clearly enjoying my mortification. "Well... you told me I smelled like mulch."

My hands drop. "I did what?"

“And you did get naked in front of me."

I choke on air. "WHAT?!"

"I mean, just a little," he says. The amusement in his voice is impossible to miss.

I stare at him, horrified, my face burning with embarrassment.

He finally gives in, shaking his head. "Relax, Russo. Nothing happened. You came home, got into bed, and pretty much immediately passed out."

I exhale, pressing a hand to my chest. "Jesus. Don't do that."

"Too easy."

I narrow my eyes at him. The tension drains from my shoulders, leaving behind only the dull throb of my hangover.

"So...why'd you stay?" I ask, taking another sip of coffee. The rich liquid warms me from the inside, helping to clear some of the fog from my brain.

Callahan shrugs, as if it's no big deal. "Didn't have a car. Didn't want to leave you alone in case you got sick."

I feel instantly guilty. "I'm so sorry. You didn't have to do that."

He tilts his head slightly, watching me. "You really don't need to apologize."

"But—"

"I made the decision," he cuts in. "I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't want to."

I stare at him, digesting that.

The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, so solid—makes my chest tighten in a way I don't fully understand. There's something about his certainty that's both intimidating and incredibly attractive.

I clear my throat, needing to shift gears.

"How did you even get me home?" I ask, setting my coffee down. The mug makes a soft thud against the wooden table. "I probably wasn't capable of giving directions."

"Nope. You were a little busy mumbling about how much you wanted tacos."

I groan. "Kill me."

"Nah," he says. "Figured it out. Pulled up your address from the company directory."

"Oh. That was...smart."

He just shrugs. We eat in companionable silence for a while, and I have to admit—his food is good. The eggs are perfectly cooked, the bacon crispy but not burnt, the toast lightly buttered and golden.

"This is really good," I say, gesturing to my plate. "Where'd you learn to cook like this?"

Callahan lifts a shoulder. "When you're alone long enough, you learn a thing or two."

I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. There's something about the way he says it. Something that makes me wonder just how long he's been alone. The casualness of his tone can't quite hide the hint of loneliness beneath. I take another bite, chewing slowly, then set my fork down.

"I don't think I properly thanked you for yesterday," I say quietly. "For everything with Evan."

Callahan shakes his head immediately. "You don't have to thank me for being decent to you."

I press my lips together, fingers fidgeting with my napkin. "I don't know...I guess I feel like I do."

His eyes lock onto mine. "Well, that's something we can work on."

I huff a small laugh, picking up my coffee. "Now you sound like Evan."

The mood shifts instantly.

The teasing drains out of his expression.

His eyes darken as his entire demeanor changes. "I'm nothing like that scumbag," he says, voice dangerously low.

I freeze, mug halfway to my lips, suddenly realizing my mistake.

He leans in slightly. "He wants to 'work on you’ to tear you down, Izzy. I want to build you up." He tilts his head. "There's a big difference."

I feel my throat tighten, an unexpected emotion washing over me.

I don't know what to say.

I don't even know what I'm feeling.

Because he's right.

Because Callahan is everything Evan isn't.

Because Callahan is everything I've ever wanted, and I'm not even sure I realized it until right now. The thought hits me with surprising clarity, cutting through the lingering haze of my hangover.

I hear the chime of my phone turning back on.

I jump at the distraction, grateful for the out.

"I should check my messages," I say, already standing up. "Amanda might be worried."

I all but run into my bedroom, closing the door behind me like I can physically shut out my own humiliation. The soft click of the latch feels like the only barrier between me and a truth I'm not ready to face.

I grab my phone from where it's charging, the screen flashing a slew of missed messages.

Amanda (12:37 AM)

U alive???

Amanda (12:59 AM)

Bitch. Answer me.

Amanda (1:22 AM)

If you don't text me back I'm gonna assume Callahan murdered you with his stupidly perfect arms and hid the body.

Amanda (2:00 AM)

I swear to God if I wake up and have to read about you on the news...

I roll my eyes and fire off a quick response, thumbs tapping against the screen.

I'm alive. Just hungover as hell.

Amanda's reply is instant, my phone vibrating in my hand.

THANK GOD. I thought I was gonna have to identify you in a morgue.

I snort, shaking my head.

But before I can respond, something else pops up.

A new message.

From Caleb.

I stare at the notification for a second too long before tapping into it, my heart beating a little faster.

Caleb

Good morning, pretty girl.

Did you sleep well?

Eat breakfast. And before you even think it—coffee ≠ breakfast.

I hesitate.

And then, heart pounding and dread creeping up my spine, I scroll up.

And I see exactly what I did last night.

Oh. Oh no.

The messages are right there.

Me practically begging him to tell me how to touch myself.

Me whimpering about how I wanted him inside me.

Me losing my damn mind in a way that was entirely too revealing.

I groan, dropping my forehead onto my knee. The embarrassment is physical, a hot wave washing over me.

And then I see the worst part.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, in one of my drunkest moments, I called him Cal.

Panic shoots through me.

Because that's way too close for comfort.

That's way too close to the very real man just outside my bedroom, cleaning up the breakfast he made me. The man who saw me drunk, vulnerable, and half-naked and still treated me with more respect than my own boyfriend.

Before I can spiral any further, I hear his voice through the door.

"You good in there?"

I jump slightly, my phone slipping from my hands before I scramble to tuck it into my pocket. The fabric of my sweatpants muffles the notification sound as another message comes in.

"Yeah!" I call back, clearing my throat. "Sorry, just checking in with Amanda."

I force myself to breathe, to calm the hell down, before stepping out of my room.

When I do, Callahan is already cleaning up the breakfast plates, loading them into my dishwasher like he's been here a hundred times before.

Like he belongs here.

I stand there, watching him, trying to make sense of the way he scrambles everything inside me. He looks at me, and the floor feels a little less steady beneath my feet. And then he holds something out.

A thermos of coffee.

"You made me coffee to-go?"

He shrugs. "Figured you might need it."

I take it, smiling before I can stop myself.

"You're very...prepared," I say.

Callahan nods. "Always."

I shake my head, taking a sip, grateful for the distraction. The coffee is perfect—just the right amount of cream and sugar.

"Do you mind driving me back to the store?" he asks after a beat, watching me carefully.

I arch a brow. "Don't you just want to go home?"

He lifts a shoulder. "Good point. We can stop at my place first so I can grab a shirt."

Then, with a glint of amusement, he adds, "And then we can finally go over that security brief you've been putting off."

I groan dramatically. "You really don't let things go, do you?"

"Nope."

I shake my head, laughing. The sound feels good after the tension of the morning.

"Fine," I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I guess I owe you that."

He watches me, like he knows something I don't.

And the worst part?

I think he does.