Текст книги "Love me stalk me"

Автор книги: Laura Bishop

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

The kind of smile that means home.

"I dated other girls before Sophia,” Matteo finally says, leaning against the counter. "Some lasted a couple months. Some lasted years."

I stay quiet, listening. The clink of glasses from the dining room punctuates the silence.

"And every time," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, "there was something wrong. Sometimes it was obvious—we fought all the time. Everything was a battle, a disagreement."

He shakes his head, exhaling.

"And other times? It took me a while to realize it."

I bite my lip. "How?"

Matteo shrugs. "Because I was trying to make something work that wasn't meant to. I'd excuse the fights. I'd convince myself that love was supposed to be hard."

He turns back to me, expression softer now.

"And then I met Sophia,” he says simply.

I glance toward her again.

Sophia, who is now making funny faces at their baby, who is giggling uncontrollably, drool glistening on her chin.

"And everything was just...easy," Matteo says. "It felt right."

I let out a breath, quiet.

"We fight sometimes, sure," he admits. "Everyone does. But not like before. Not in a way that made me feel like I had to win. We don't scream at each other. We respect each other."

He looks at me now, voice steady.

"She makes me feel special," he says. "And I want to take care of her."

My throat tightens. I run my fingers along the edge of a glass, feeling the cool, smooth rim.

And then he says the thing that shatters me.

"If you're questioning whether Evan is the right guy," he says, "then he's not."

I swallow. Hard.

"Because when you meet the right guy?" he continues. "You won't be able to stop yourself. You'll just know it's him."

And that?

That's the problem.

Because when Matteo says it, when he describes the way it's supposed to feel...

The first face that pops into my head?

Isn't Evan's at all.

It's Cal again.

NOW CHATTING WITH CALEB

Pretty Girl

hi

Caleb

Hey, pretty girl.

Wanna do another sexy bedtime story?

actually

i wanted to get your opinion on something serious

Oh?

Of course. Tell me.

i think i need to break up with evan

…

I’m listening.

i don’t know

it just hit me tonight

at sunday dinner my brother said something to me that i can’t get out of my head

What did he say?

he told me that when you meet the right person

you don’t question it

you just know

And that made you think of Evan?

no

that’s the thing

when he said it

i thought of cal

and that’s insane

because i barely know him

Do you?

i mean

logically, no

but it feels like i do

Because you’re drawn to him.

Because your body and your mind already trust him.

but what if i’m being stupid

what if i’m throwing away years with evan for some… infatuation

Infatuation and love aren’t the same thing, pretty girl.

And what exactly are you holding onto with Evan?

i don’t know

the time we’ve spent together?

the idea of him?

The idea of who you thought he was.

Not who he actually is.

…

yeah

You already know he isn’t right for you.

You’ve known for a long time.

but what if i’m wrong about cal?

what if he’s just being nice to me because he feels bad for me?

or worse

what if he’s love bombing me?

That’s not what’s happening.

how do you know?

Because if he was, you’d feel like you owed him something.

You’d feel like he was trying to trap you.

Not like he was giving you a way out.

…

You’re not trapped anymore, Izzy.

You’re free to make whatever decision is best for you.

But you already know what that is.

i think i do

Good girl.

so i should just do it?

Yes.

but i should do it in person, right?

You owe him that much.

But you don’t owe him anything else.

yeah

okay

i’m going to call him tomorrow

set up a time to meet

and i’ll end it

I’m proud of you.

thanks

So, what about Cal?

what about him?

You’re about to be single.

Are you planning to do something about this feeling you have for him?

i don’t know

he’s my colleague

there’s technically no rule against dating someone in my position

but it’s… frowned upon

Do you care about that?

not really

but i don’t want to mess up my job either

or what if i’m reading this wrong?

You’re not.

but what if i am?

what if i break up with evan and then nothing happens with cal?

what if he doesn’t want me like that?

Would that change your decision to leave Evan?

no

Then it doesn’t matter.

You don’t leave one person because you think you have someone else waiting.

You leave because it’s the right thing for you.

yeah

you’re right

but also

what if it’s too soon?

Then it’s too soon.

And that’s okay.

You don’t have to rush into anything.

but i like him

I know.

But let me ask you something.

When’s the last time you were on your own?

…

i don’t know

That’s a problem, isn’t it?

maybe

You’ve spent so much time trying to be what other people want.

Maybe you should take some time to figure out who you are on your own.

but what if i waste time?

You think learning to love yourself is a waste of time?

…

no

Good girl.

You don’t need to jump from one relationship into another.

You should fall in love with yourself first.

And then when you do find the right person—you’ll recognize love when it’s real.

i guess that makes sense

Of course it does.

okay

can we do a sexy bedtime story now?

That’s my girl.

I’VE PASSED THE POINT OF NO RETURN AND I’M FINE WITH THAT.

CAL

I set my phone down, running a hand over my jaw. The stubble rasps against my palm, rough and familiar.

Fuck.

That was...

That took every ounce of willpower I had.

Telling her to wait. To take her time. To not jump from Evan to me. Even though every selfish, possessive part of me wanted to tell her, Fuck that. Come to me now.

She is mine.

She just doesn't fully realize it yet. And that's the reality I have to accept.

I don't want to manipulate her. I don't want her to come to me out of confusion or vulnerability.

I want her to come to me because she wants me.

Because she knows it's right.

Because she knows we're inevitable.

And if that means I have to wait a little longer, then fine.

I'll fucking wait. I never thought I'd want to be with another woman anyway. So what's a little longer for the one who was clearly always meant to be mine?

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. The cool air of my apartment raises goosebumps on my arms. I know it's my nervous tick. It's probably why I could never rock a beard. With the amount of times I run my hand over my jaw, I'd probably rub it off.

My body is still wired. The sheets beneath me feel too rough against my skin, my nerves hypersensitive. Because even though I spent the last hour being the rational, level-headed guy she needs right now...

After our conversation?

I was stroking my cock to the sound of her moans, the memory of her voice echoing in my ears.

I was whispering filthy things to her, telling her a bedtime story that she came to in under five minutes, her gasps filling me through the phone.

She's getting so fucking bold.

So playful.

So uninhibited.

The first time she asked for a "bedtime story," she was hesitant, unsure, her voice barely audible through the phone.

Now?

Now she asks for them like they're her fucking oxygen. Her voice eager, almost demanding.

And the one I gave her tonight?

It was a new favorite.

I took her back to that dark forest.

Had her running through the trees, breathless, body tingling with anticipation. I described the fallen leaves crunching beneath her feet, the cool night air against her heated skin, the moonlight casting dappled shadows through the branches.

She knew what was coming.

That she wouldn't escape.

That I was going to catch her and take her.

She wanted to be overpowered, thrown onto her hands and knees in the dirt, claimed entirely. I told her how the forest floor would feel against her palms, how the scent of earth and pine would fill her nostrils as she was pressed down.

I had her begging.

Repeating the words I told her, her voice breathy and high.

"Say it," I ordered her.

"I'm completely yours,” she whimpered.

Fuck.

I had to bite my lip so hard it bled. The metallic taste filled my mouth.

And when I told her she was ready for my cock, dripping and waiting, needing to be filled?

She said it back.

"I'm completely yours,” she whispered. "Ready for your cock."

That was the moment I nearly lost it.

I adjust myself, shifting in my seat, but my cock is already hard again. The fabric of my boxers drags against the sensitive skin.

Because she's going off so fucking fast now.

So easy.

Tonight, she finished before I even could. And, tomorrow she's getting a little present.

A special upgrade to her premium version of the app.

Sure, the normal premium comes with the ability to video call and a vibrator that integrates into the AI.

But mine?

Mine is better.

Because the vibrator I sent her?

It integrates with me.

With my phone.

With the remote I programmed.

Which means soon, very soon, I'll be able to make Izzy slip that thing inside of herself...

And I'll be the one in control.

I'll decide when the vibrations start and stop. When they intensify.

I get to edge her, tease her, make her fucking writhe and beg for me. I imagine her soft curves tensing, her full thighs trembling, her back arching off the mattress as she surrenders to the sensations I create.

I stroke myself faster, the sound of her name barely held back.

Tomorrow, I’ll have her trembling beneath me, gasping as I push harder, deeper, until she can’t take it—until she’s falling apart just the way I want.

I’ll watch her unravel, knowing I’m the one pulling the strings. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes gone unfocused, her mouth falling open as she breaks for me.

I grit my teeth as my release builds. The muscles in my thighs tense, my spine straightens.

And when I come, my hand tightening, my breath ragged, all I can think about is her.

Her soft cries of pleasure.

Her body—those luscious curves she tries so hard to hide—trembling as she falls apart for me.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

I SHOULD HAVE LEFT SOONER

IZZY

I sit in my office, staring at my phone. My inbox overflows with unread emails. Calendar notifications flash across the screen. Nothing gets my attention.

Just...staring.

Because I know what I need to do.

And I really, really don't want to do it.

I've very specifically and actively avoided Callahan today. Not because I don't want to see him. But because I want to see him too much. After what happened Saturday...after that kiss...

I just don't think I can handle running into him right now.

Not until I do what needs to be done.

Not until I finally break up with Evan.

Then maybe, maybe I'll talk to Cal.

Because he deserves that. And also, because I want to. I really, really want to. But then I think about Caleb. What he said last night. About not rushing into things. About falling in love with myself first.

And yes, okay, sure—he's AI. But he's programmed with the entire internet, right? So he's probably as good as a therapist.

And what he said? It made sense. I shouldn't just jump into bed with Callahan just because I broke up with Evan. Even though that's what I really, really, really want to do.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The scent of stale coffee from my forgotten morning cup fills my nostrils, a reminder of how long I've been sitting here, procrastinating.

And then I do it.

I call Evan.

He actually picks up, which is a miracle because he never answers his phone. Even though he gets mad if I don't answer on the first ring.

"Hey," he says, distracted.

I clear my throat. "Hey. Um...I need to talk to you."

Silence.

He sighs dramatically. "I'm kind of busy, Izzy."

I roll my eyes. "You're never busy," I say. "You're literally always taking days off."

"Excuse me for having financial security," he mutters.

I bite my tongue. I've never understood how Evan makes so much money. He works in finance, but he never seems to be at work. I guess that's a finance guy thing.

"I can come to your place," I offer.

"No."

I’m taken aback by his vehemence. "Okay...but I need to talk to you."

He sighs again, louder this time. The sound grates against my ear.

"Fine," he says. "I'll come to you. Give me thirty minutes."

He hangs up. I drop my phone onto my desk and exhale. The thud echoes, punctuating the finality of what I've just set in motion.

Thirty minutes.

I just have to get through the next thirty minutes. I try to distract myself. I open my laptop, click through emails. I answer a few urgent ones. I send off a schedule confirmation. I refresh my inbox. I check the time.

It's been four minutes.

Oh my God.

I push back from my desk and start pacing. My office feels too small now, the walls closing in on me with each passing second. My heart races, a rapid drumbeat against my ribs that I can't slow down. My blouse sticks to the small of my back, damp with nervous sweat.

It's just Evan. It's just a breakup. It's not a big deal.

Except, it is.

Because I've been with him for years.

Because no matter how awful he is, this is still...an ending.

And even though I know it needs to happen⁠—

I hate the way guilt starts creeping in anyway, wrapping around my thoughts like an unwelcome vine.

Somehow time passes and eventually my office phone rings. I jump, startled by the sudden noise. I scramble to grab it, clearing my throat before answering. It's one of the security guys. Ramirez.

"Hey," he says. "There's a guy here asking for you."

"Yeah," I say, steadying myself. "Can you escort him up to my office?"

"No problem."

I hang up, press my palms against my desk, and take a deep breath. The door opens with a soft creak, and Evan steps inside. I exhale.

Ramirez lingers at the door, not moving yet. His eyes dart from me, then to Evan, then back again. "You sure you're okay, Ms. Russo?" he asks, his voice calm and professional, but there's concern there too.

Evan huffs out a breath, scoffing. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

I force a small smile. "Yes, Ramirez. Thank you. You can go."

He doesn't move right away. He just gives me a long look. Like he knows something's off. I stand there, willing him to just leave, because the longer he’s here, the longer this will take. Finally, he nods and steps out, closing the door behind him. The latch clicks into place.

And then it's just us.

Me and Evan.

One last time.

Evan folds his arms, scowling. "What the fuck was that?" he snaps. His cologne—too strong, too spicy—fills the small space, making it even harder to breathe.

He gestures toward the door, still visibly annoyed. "You had me escorted by security, Izzy. Like I'm some fucking criminal."

I press my lips together, feeling them go dry under the pressure.

"I—" I start, then stop. Because I was about to apologize.

Again.

I was about to say, I'm sorry you felt that way.

I'm sorry? For what? For his feelings?

"I didn't mean to make you feel like that," I say carefully. "I just thought it would be easier to talk here. Privately."

Evan rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He drops into the chair across from my desk, slouching like he owns the place, like this is his office, not mine.

"What did you want to talk about?" He pulls his phone out of his pocket, already starting to scroll, showing me exactly how much this conversation matters to him.

I take a breath, the air filling my lungs with what feels like my last moment of peace.

Here I go.

"I think we should break up."

His head snaps up, his brow furrows, and then he laughs. A short, laugh of disbelief. "Oh my God," he says. "Are you on your period or something? You're being super emotional right now." He turns back to his phone, dismissing my words entirely.

I stiffen. But I don't let myself react. Not this time. "No. I just think this is right. We haven't been working for a while."

He puts his phone down now and narrows his eyes. "Oh, so this is my fault?"

I don’t respond, but that only causes his irritation to grow. "You think you're so fucking perfect, Izzy?" His voice rises.

"That's not what I⁠—"

"You're the one who's been pulling away. You're the one who's been acting weird. You don't even try anymore."

I watch him twist my words, flip the narrative, and make me the villain. Before, I would have crumbled under this pressure, second-guessing myself until I apologized for things I never did wrong. I would have believed I was throwing away something precious, something I was lucky to have at all.

But that pattern breaks today. I see through his tactics with startling clarity. The gaslighting doesn't cloud my judgment anymore.

"You're gaslighting me," I say, voice flat.

"Excuse me?" His words are slow as he leans forward, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You're gaslighting me, Evan. Right now."

He laughs again, but it's forced. "Jesus, where did you even learn that word? From one of your little girl-boss self-help books?"

"I mean it," I say. "This is over."

His expression shifts. And suddenly, the anger is back.

Real anger.

Not just annoyance.

Not just manipulation.

Real, boiling rage. His face flushes crimson, a vein pulsing at his temple like it might burst.

He stands up abruptly and I tense, my heart starting to pound. Then he walks to the door. I think maybe he's leaving and this is over. But then, he locks it. I hear the metallic click as it slides into place, the sound of my escape route closing.

I take a small step back, the edge of my desk pressing against the back of my thighs. "Evan," I say carefully.

He turns back to me. "You're not breaking up with me."

My heart is pounding now, to the point where I can hear its beat. "Evan," I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yes. I am."

I see it before it happens, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. His body tenses, his muscles rigid beneath his expensive Oxford. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists and his face contorts, transforming from handsome to monstrous in seconds. And then, he lunges at me.

I try to move, try to run, but he's too fast. He grabs me, shoving me back against the desk. The edge digs painfully into my spine, sending pain shooting up my back. His hand wraps around my throat. I gasp, clawing at him, fingernails scraping against his wrist, trying desperately to break his hold. I kick my legs, my heel connecting with his shin.

"You're not ruining us, Izzy!" he snarls, spit flying from his lips, landing on my cheek. "You're not wasting all those years of my life just to walk away now!"

I struggle, my vision blurring at the edges, my pulse roaring in my ears. I twist, shove, try to break free, but the office is too small.

There's nowhere to go.

He throws me to the ground, pinning me down with his weight. My head cracks against the floor. Stars explode behind my eyes, bright and disorienting.

Panic overtakes me.

It drowns out everything else.

I kick, scratch, shove—anything to get him off me. My nails catch his cheek, drawing blood. I see the red line appear, but it doesn't stop him.

He's too strong.

Too determined.

His hands are everywhere.

Gripping.

Tearing.

Taking.

"Evan, stop!" I gasp, thrashing under him. The carpet burns against my exposed skin, rough and unyielding.

He doesn't stop.

He presses his weight against me, pinning me down, my softer curves crushed beneath his angular frame. I can feel every bone in his body digging into mine.

My lungs burn with each desperate gasp for air. My muscles scream as I struggle against his grip. My mind fragments, unable to process what's happening, unable to believe this is real. That a man I spent years of my life with could do something like this.

He grabs my wrists, yanking them above my head, holding them there with one hand while the other⁠—

No.

I won’t let this happen to me.

I buck against him, desperate, frantic. My knee connects with his thigh, missing its target by inches.

His breath is hot against my face, the scent of coffee and mint invading my nostrils. His fingers dig bruises into my flesh that I know will bloom purple tomorrow.

"All you did was deny me," he snarls, voice thick with rage and lust—a toxic, predatory hunger that makes my skin crawl. "Tell me ‘no.’ Well, guess what?"

He yanks at my blouse, the buttons popping and scattering across the floor.

"I'm not taking that from you anymore."

No, no, no.

I scream.

I thrash.

I try to twist free, to break away, but I can't.

He's too heavy.

Too much.

His knee wedges between my legs, forcing them apart. My skirt rides up, exposing my thighs.

I choke on a sob, fighting harder, writhing beneath him. Tears blur my vision, hot tracks streaming down my temples and into my hair.

A memory floods my mind.

Cal.

His voice: "I'm always watching. If you ever need an out, you signal me."

Signal him.

Say his name.

"Cal—"

The moment his name leaves my lips, Evan's hand swings.

His hand connects with my ear and pain explodes through my skull. It’s white-hot and disorienting. My head whips to the side, my vision tilting as my world becomes a kaleidoscope of blurred shapes.

My ears ring, a high-pitched whine that drowns out all other sound.

The world spins faster.

Darkness.