The Unsettled Series

Book: 1: Mine

HER

If my friends knew what I was doing, they’d tell me that I’m a glutton for punishment, that it’s dangerous to get off on guys who stalk me. And they’d be right.

But fuck, the ghost of his fingers trailing down my stomach and the fiery kisses he leaves on my skin are too much to resist.

I don’t even know what he looks like. I just know that every night when I plod up to my bedroom, I keep the light on so he can see me undress and lie on my bed.

Three months ago, after moving into a new town, I did my neighborly duties and tried to greet each member of my new community. He, however, never once emerged from his dwelling.

It seemed strange, but everyone told me to leave him alone, to stay away.

I didn’t.

I slid my phone number into the mail slot of his door, saying that if he needed anything, he could contact me. I didn’t want anyone to be alone—not like I was.

Two days later, I received a series of texts.

It quickly became clear that my neighbor, that he, was watching my every move, following me around my new city. I probably should’ve been turned off by it, but I found it sweet.

I let him see me naked that night. I’ve kept letting him. I’ve even moved my mattress closer to the window and propped it up on stilts so it’s more visible.

He is the only one who can see inside—our houses are side by side, the windows only a handful of feet apart. And he calls to tell me that he likes what he sees. Sometimes, in the dark, he comes and shows me just how much he likes me.

He is definitely crazy—but I get off on it.

Any rational person would have gone to the police, but all I want is for him to touch me again, to hold me, to use that raspy, deep voice of his and whisper into my ear as he takes me from behind. I’d do anything. And that fucker knows it.

It’s nearly 9 p.m. He usually calls by now. I look through my bedroom window—not that I’d be able to see him, even if he is home.

He keeps his house dark at all times, to the point where rumors abound that he doesn’t even exist. But I know better.

Silently, I wait, hoping he’s okay.

He left me a present on my doorstep when I came home from work today, but the rules are simple—I’m to wait for him before I open it. He likes to see me when I open his presents.

Ring!

I jump, eyes wide as I scramble for my phone. “Yes?”

“My sweet doll, you were waiting so patiently.” His voice is rich like molasses, with a slight southern drawl that always gets my panties wet.

It hits me all at once: I want to ask him to come over. I want that voice whispering right into my ear, without a phone as intermediary. But that’s a step we’ve never taken. He’s come over, yes, but I’ve never been the one to ask for it.

“You wore the purple one,” he says, referring to the little violet lingerie piece I shoved myself into as soon as I got home.

I grin and nod, sucking my lip between my teeth. I know he likes purple. He’s mentioned it several times, and I always do my best to wear something purple to keep his interest.

I’m not sure what I’d do if I found that he watches others like he watches me. He tells me that I’m his doll, his sweetheart, his only, but I’ve taken enough psychology classes to know that men lie about stuff like that in the heat of the moment.

“Doll, what have I told you about biting your lip? I don’t want you to ruin your pretty lips.”

I can almost feel his rough hand around my neck, tilting my head up as his thumb runs along the seam of my lips. I relax my mouth, mostly because I want to play whatever game he’s about to start.

My curtains are spread; he can see everything, including my nipples pebbling against the purple silk of my bra. My entire body feels like it’s on fire. I need him.

God, I’m just as sick as he is, aren’t I?

He chuckles as if he can read my mind. “Tomorrow, doll. Tomorrow, I will be inside you. Tonight, though? I want to hear those pretty little sounds. The ones you make when you think of me.” I hear something hitting his window through the phone.

I still can’t see anything when I glance out there, but I imagine his large hand spanned out on the glass, his eyes glued to my seductive form.

I sigh as I slowly reach down with my free hand, glad that I chose the crotchless panties, and swipe two fingers through my folds.

I’m embarrassingly wet for a man I’ve never seen, and that should terrify the fuck out of me. Instead, I’m about to pleasure myself right in front of my window to the sound of his thick voice over the phone.

“Doll, wait.” I freeze, and he chuckles a little at my easy obedience. “You received the box I sent you, right? Open it like a good girl.”

A whine is on the tip of my tongue. I need release so bad I’m shaking, but I reach over and grab the package, waving it in front of the window.

“I don’t need the attitude,” he snaps, and fuck if I don’t get a little wetter. “Be nice or we won’t play.”

That’s a very effective threat. He knows how much I love the game. I press my lips together, no more sass, and open the homemade box.

Inside is a small, silver device that reminds me of a bullet. I stare at it for several moments. I’m pretty sure I know what it is, but there’s no way—

Moments after I pick it up, it begins to vibrate in my hand. I look up through the window, waiting for an explanation.

“I can’t be there, beside you, behind you, but I want you to scream for me. To truly ~scream~. Doll, I have the remote. Let me fuck you.”

My insides turn to mush. What he’s suggesting is so dirty. Every time before now, whether he’s been fucking me or talking me through fucking myself, it’s always been a little on the rough side. The vibrator will make that way more intense.

The whine I’ve been holding back slides out into the air, and my eyelids fall shut. He’s waiting for me to comply, so I lay down the phone, put it on speaker, and slowly lower the bullet to my clit.

I gasp as it sends shockwaves through my body, my back arching in response.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I should be calling the police.

A man watching me through my window, getting off on me—while I get off on him watching me? Bad news.

Then again, we’re both adults.

With one last, deep breath, I slide the bullet inside of me, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. For now, the bullet’s just giving off a pleasurable, soft thrum, but I’m starting to sweat.

My thighs press together as I try to find some kind of friction, but like this, there is none.

He definitely knows that.

“Doll, hands on the windowsill. I’m going to fuck you now, and I want to hear your screams.”

This game is simple enough. I stand in the narrow space between the bed and the window and bend forward, white-knuckling the sill as he turns up the vibration.

A second later, though, I realize it’s doing more than just vibrating. Somehow, it’s also fucking in and out of me. I let out my first scream, cumming immediately.

He doesn’t stop.

In fact, he turns it up.

Tears stream down my face. I’m already barreling toward my second orgasm, and one of my hands slips off the sill to massage my clit. As soon as I do, though, the vibration halts. I’m left with the aching need to finish. “Wha—”

“Hands on the sill. Where I can see them. I’ll pleasure you all night long, doll. I’ll wake you up with an orgasm, but only if I can see your hands.”

I whimper again, resituating my hands. The vibration starts again, max speed right away. I jerk forward, not ready for the sensation shooting through my limbs. My hips move through the air, trying to meet the bullet’s thrusts.

He keeps speaking to me through the phone, telling me how much of a good girl I am as I cum again and again until I’m a bumbling mess, unable to stand up anymore.

I collapse backward onto the bed, and this time he doesn’t scold me for taking my hands off the windowsill.

My juices are trickling down between my legs, my orgasms threatening to put me to sleep. He chuckles. “Goodnight, doll. Should you leave it in, I’ll wake you up at 10 a.m. for your girls’ night out tomorrow.”

The thought intrigues me. This is a very new step in our taboo relationship. But then, there have been a few firsts tonight already.

I’m still shaking when I crawl under the covers, opting to leave the lights on.