Outside your window (18+)

Chapter twenty one

I found Sasha and we were back in her car and on our way back home in under ten minutes. We didn't speak the whole ride back. I had too much to think about anyway, so I hadn't minded the silence. Both her and I looked a little disheveled. Her hair was messy and she looked out of breath, not to mention the glittery lipgloss she was wearing was gone and her mascara had definitely been wiped away at some point. But I don't think I looked any better myself. I looked like I'd just gotten fucked and she looked just the same. We both knew it. But neither of us mentioned it. I think there was a silent understanding between us in that moment. I think we both had gotten enough of partying that night.

I know sitting in bed and weeping about it isn't the most ideal way to go. But it is the comfiest. And who's going to stop me? Whoever tries to can kindly fuck off because I've earned the right to sulk and feel sorry for myself. I just got fucked by my stalker and a damned criminal.

But that's not the part that bothers me the most. I know it should. I know I should feel violated and empty and disgusted and everything but I don't. Well, I feel a tiny bit violated but that's not why. He didn't finish. I mean, was it me? Didn't he like it? To be honest it was the best I've ever felt during sex. And I've had a lot of good sex. Didn't he feel the same?- I don't get it.

I groan, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth to keep it occupied, but also to cool the warm throb between my legs. I know I'm fucked up for liking it. I know I should file a report and send his ass to jail but I already know it's impossible. He killed Lauren for nearly sending him to jail. Then he sent me a text saying that should've been me. What happens when he decides to act on his twisted thinking of justice and actually goes through will killing me? The thought makes me shoved but my thighs clench together at the thought of being killed by him. His hands around my neck, choking me while he pounds in and out senselessly- what the fuck.

I shuffle under my thick and warm duvet, my bed letting out a soft groan as it dips beneath my weight when I begin to get up. My bare feet touch the cool floor, sending shivers up down my spine as I pad over to the window in my bedroom. The one he snuck in through. I think. I don't really know how he snuck in. I should feel scared. And I am. But lucky fucking me, one of my kinks happen to be fear. Which I just found out thanks to a Russian mafia boss whose attention I have caught without intending to.

There are so many questions running through my mind. Will he ever come back? Has he lost interest now that he's had sex with me? Is Marshal his fake name? Is he faking being my boss at my job? I hate it. I hate how he's messing with my head. What if I'm the reason he even started working at my law firm? What if he burned down the building? Goosebumps prickle my skin at the thought. He's capable of things I can't even begin to imagine so would it really be so surprising if he did?

God, I can't go to work after this. And there are only so many days I can pretend to be sick and call in to stay at home. As far away from him as possible. Maybe I can work from home. Or should I maybe leave and find another job? I can't let that asshole be the reason for me leaving my job. I don't want him to have that big of an impact on my life at all. He's already cost me many sleepless nights, the feeling of being unsafe everywhere I go, and I don't want one of that. Not anymore. I'm pretty sure the knife I wanted to protect myself with is still hidden under my pillow.

As I glance back at the bed I feel a rush of heat buzz through my body. The image on him towering over me like he did when I was bound to the bed, tied up and blinded with a blindfold. It was wrong. I should hate him. I should fucking loathe him for that, too. I can't even begin to describe all that was wrong with what he did. But something is clearly wrong with my body 'cause that throbbing at my core only gets worse. I can blame it on the fact that I'm still sensitive from when he took me in the hallway of his club, and that wouldn't be a half bad lie. I know I'm still turned on because of him. Not because I'm 'extra' sensitive. My panties are already slick with arousal just from the bare thought of him. And how he didn't cum.