Never A Saint (COMPLETE)

Three: Saint Morseti

My beautiful girl.

My favorite time.

Taking a nice, romantic walk. At least that's what it was for me.

That's what stalking is.

Romantic walks and activities being done together. But only one of us knew that.

I logged into her instagram on my phone and looked through her saved videos.

She had a thing for golden retriever boys.

She didn't know she needed me. Not yet.

But no blonde, little prissy boy will do better than what I can for her.

I looked through her feed, if anything remotely darker in aesthetic came across I liked it, hoping to change her algorithm.

I stared at the painting in front of me.

She had a gift.

My computer pinged with an updated location.

I smiled as she walked into my restaurant.

I was having the manager of my restaurant hire her.

I've threatened cutting her hours and pay by half if she tries to mess anything up. She's to work for me and that is final.

Then finally I can have financial involvement in her life.

I adjusted the cameras to her office on my second screen.

My Danika sat down, messing with the end of her dress that was far too short.

Showing off my body.

My thighs. Soft, tender, delicious.

Fortunately I had three variations of her location.

Phone. The set of earrings I mixed with her other jewelry that she wears often, and a necklace she wore currently.

Silly girl, mentioning that in her therapy session.

Stupid girl, mentioning me at all.

I looked down at the rose in my hand.

She smelt of the best kind. Deep. Red. Fresh.

Clean.

I inhaled the smell, thinking of my Dani.

I imagine her thighs feel like the soft fleshy petals of the rose.

My rose.

A stupid thought.

I debated going to her apartment.

But chose against it.

I would tonight after she was asleep.

I hadn't for two nights and not feeling her curls between my fingers or her lips on mine was beginning to drive me off the edge.

My leg bounced, my heart spiked.

I took a deep breath, pressing the center of the rose to my nose, inhaling.

I watched how she spoke, how her perfect lips output intelligent words.

She was gorgeous.

She was everything.

I was addicted.

She tasted like heaven.

Like medicine.

Like drugs.

And I've barely had her.

She is the reincarnation of every single dark thought I've ever had.

Her tanned skin, brunette curls, perfect mouth.

Her green eyes that would look amazing looking up while my dick is down her throat.

Her only facial freckle perfectly placed atop her left cheekbone.

And she got the job.

She left, my computer pinged with her movements.

I watched her leave into her trashy car.

If she was mine bills would never be a concern.

If she was mine her body would be permanently satisfied.

If she was mine I'd cook any and every meal simply to watch her eat.

Her have her near me.

To have her know me.

I've been inserting myself within her life bit by bit.

I refuse any more face to face interactions.

I already fucked up going and asking for that damn paint because I needed her voice.

But that was my only fall back.

I changed cameras as she seemed to be getting followed why this white SUV.

I immediately left, driving to her house.

I'd save her. Over and over.

Just as often as I'd remove anyone she enjoys or loves so her only shelter could be me.

She was mine.

I'd be found dead before anyone had laid their hands on her.

They'd be founded before laying their hands on her.

Because who the fuck was he?