I’ve silently watched her for a year, staying hidden in the shadows, biding my time.
She may know me as two different men, but she doesn’t have a clue what I’ve done.
She unknowingly became mine the minute my eyes touched her beauty.
But I’ve done things. Things she may not be able to forgive.
I know all her secrets, her habits, her preferred coffee, what she does in her spare time, her favorite lingerie brand, even that she sleeps naked.
At night, I watch her from her window. During the day, I watch her from my computer. She innocently bares her heart and body to me, and I soak up every single fucking second.
I’ve stayed away, but I’m tired of watching from afar. It’s time Poppy finds out just who I am and what I’m willing to do to take what’s mine. She may hate me when she finds out my what I’ve done, but she has no choice but to accept it.
She will be my wife.
She will mother my children.
I will claim every part of her heart, body, and soul.
Anything else is unacceptable.
Poppy Lexington has become my endless obsession. I will become her uncontrollable addiction.
The woman frantically tries to get the key in the lock before he reaches her, but isn’t fast enough when he stops at her back. She spins around as he bends at the waist, trying to catch his breath. Fucking asshole is so weak he can’t even catch his breath after jogging twenty feet. Again, my dick takes notice at the harsh look on her face as she watches the guy.
He stands and says something to her. I can’t hear through the window of my Lexus, but whatever it is, causes the woman to curl her lip up in disgust. She cocks out a hip, throws her hand on it, pokes his chest with her other hand, and screeches loud enough for me to hear. “You pig! Stay the hell away from me!”
A rumbling laugh escapes my lips as I witness the firecracker take down the idiot in front of her. She’s so different than the woman I know. I can’t really blame the guy for trying. After all, I’m just as fascinated with her as he is. Hell, I’ve been watching the woman for a year now. The first time I saw her I had just walked out of Colt’s office. He’s a good friend of mine, who also happens to be a client. Something caught my attention, and I looked over and nearly fell to my knees at the beauty sitting on the brown plush leather couch in the waiting area. After unsticking my jaw from the floor, I turned to him to demand he tell me who she was.
“Poppy Lexington,” he supplied, looking down at a file in his hand. “She’s here for an interview for the receptionist position.”
Without thinking, I told him immediately, “Don’t hire her.”
Even though my eyes were glued to Poppy, I still felt his questionable stare.
“Refer her to my office. Make up some excuse if you have to… I don’t care. Just get her to my office.”
When he didn’t answer after several seconds of silence, I turned to him and caught him watching me warily. I raised a brow in question. No words were spoken—none were needed. He knew I was serious by the look on my face.
Since that day I’ve lived, breathed, and slept Poppy. I know where she lives, obviously, and I also know where she works, who her family and friends are, her favorite foods, and how she takes her coffee. I know what she does on weekends and holidays, what size shoe she wears, what shampoo she uses, and the brand of her toothpaste. I know her mortgage and car payment, when they are due, what credit cards she has, and even the purchases she’s made with them. I know the layout of her house, what’s in her closet, that she likes expensive lingerie, and that she sleeps nude. The first time I witnessed the latter, I damn near lost control and gave myself up. I ended up jacking off in a pair of her silk panties.
Sick? Yes, absolutely. But it was either that or crawl into bed with her, which wasn’t an option. I’m not up to getting thrown in jail for breaking and entering, or taking the chance of her finding me out. Fuck no. I need her too much. I need her to know and accept me, without making a mess of things.
It wasn’t until recently, the last few months, that I’d gotten into a position where I could approach her the way I want to. However, I’m not ready yet. I’m having too much fun with my current game with regards to her. A game she knows nothing about, but still participates in. Hell, who am I kidding? This isn’t a game, it’s more of an uncontrollable obsession. I love watching her, knowing she’s oblivious to it. It turns me on more than I’ve ever been before.
I think it may be time to change things a bit though. Make it more thrilling. I plan to reveal myself to her soon, my body is in constant demand of that, and I know my control will snap soon, but the timing needs to be perfect.
I have a key to her house and frequently visit her while she sleeps. When I can’t be there in person, which has happened too much for my liking, I can always pull up the video feed I have on my phone and computer. Yes, I have cameras in her house, as well. The woman has completely taken over my mind and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it. Not that I want to. Poppy’s mine, she just hasn’t been informed of it yet.
Some might say I’m sick and demented, that I should be locked away for my obsessive behavior. That may be true, but I’m not the typical kidnap-the-victim-and-rape-and-torture-stalker. I have no desire to hurt Poppy. I won’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do. I won’t kill her if I can’t have her, but I’ve embraced my obsession and will use every damn thing I have in my power to prove to her that she belongs to me, and only me. She will know that I’m the only man for her and that I will love, cherish, and worship the very fucking ground she walks on.
Alex Grayson is originally from the south, but has recently moved to Northern Ohio. Although she misses the warmth of Florida and often times detest the cold of Ohio, she absolutely loves living in the north. Her and her husband bought a house on two acres of land and live there with their daughter, son, one dogs, two cats, eight ducks, and three chickens. She hopes to eventually get a couple of goats to add to their country way of living. Besides her family and home, her next best passion is reading. She is often found with her nose obsessively stuck in a book, much to the frustration of her husband and daughter. On more than one occasion Alex found herself wanting a book to go a certain way, but it didn’t. With these thoughts in mind, she decided to start writing stories according to her own visions. Although this is a new endeavor for her, she hopes that readers find her concepts on romance intriguing and captivating. Alex welcomes and encourages feedback, of any kind. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.