Jessa Kane - My Husband, My Stalker

Evan

I m cleaning my Glock after tonights hit when I see her face on the news.

A full minute passes before I remember to breathe.

Without registering my own movements, I find myself on my knees.

Inches from the screen of the motel room television.

Whois she?

Her face is exquisite, but God, shes tired. Her strength is fragile, though very much alive in her big, golden eyes. Beneath her beautiful face are the words Kidnapping Victim Speaks at Sentencing and my blood is already beginning to boil as I turn up the volume.

Miss Dubois, what was it like to come face to face today with the man who kidnapped you?

The question jars the young woman, but she hides it well, tucking a loose strand of chocolate-brown hair back into her ponytail. It wasntpleasant. But hopefully, someday, seeing him put away will be part of my closure.

Her voice sends my blood rushing south, my cock stiffening painfully behind the zipper of my jeans. Soft, husky, resilient, pure, honest. Ive never been so drawn to a sound in my life. But here I am, pressing my forehead to the screen, my breath fogging up the glass. My hands grope for the sides of the set, all but pulling it off the cheap dresser in a need to be as close to her as possible. Who is this girl? Who tried to hurt her?

I will end their life. Im a professional, after all. Its what I do.

And I will do it for her. One glance and already I would do anything for her.

Miss Dubois tries to pass through the throng of reporters, but they pipe up in a grating chorus, daring to block her path. Miss Dubois! Jolie!

Jolie.

Thats her name.

Jolie Dubois.

I dont bother writing it down, because its already engraved on my brain.

There are claws in my chest, rearranging organs and making me new. Making me into whatever she needs me to be. I will worship her. I will find this sweet girl and protect her from any harm. She is mine to guard, to keep, to marry. To fuck.

Ive never had much interest in females. They are merely objects that need to be avoided so I can kill the men I am contracted to execute. They are occasional, faceless tools of comfort. This one is my angel. She was sent for me. My singing blood is telling me so.

On the screen, she draws her bottom lip through her teeth and I come very close to ejaculating in my pants. The pressure behind my fly becomes too intense and I have to unzip, have to stroke myself, standing on shaky legs and showing it to her. Letting her see the last cock shell ever have between her legs.

Jolie, I choke, dragging the head of my erection over her face.

What will you do now? a reporter shouts at my girl. Mine. How will you move on after such a terrible trauma?

That question draws Jolie up short, her golden eyes crowding with worry. Thoughtfulness. And God, I am a miscreant. To be able to rifle a hand up and down my dick while she deals with such intrusive questions. While she speaks about this terrible thing that happened to her. But I will atone as soon as the sun rises tomorrow. I will make it up to her. Perhaps the anticipation of giving her real closure, making her happy, is part of the reason Im so hot. So sick with the need to come.

Finally, she answers the question. What I hope for isa quiet, normal life. Blessedly normal. And if Im lucky, some laughter. She ducks her head and pushes through the crowd. Thank you. Excuse me.

Quiet. Normal.

Can a hit man give her these things?

No.

No, but someone else can.

I will simply have to become someone else.

The news station moves on to another story and I turn, stumbling to the bed and falling face down, fucking my fist like an animal, imagining her big, beautiful eyes flashing up at me. Imagining her sopping wet pussy clenching around my shaft, that sweet voice calling my name.

Shes woken something inside me. An instinct to mate. To claim. And I snarl into the scratchy comforter now, my hips jerking forward and back violently, vowing to find her.

Vowing to stalk her, until I know exactly what will please her.

Vowing to make her my wife.

When I come, its a boom of thunder that changes me irrevocably. Into her man. Into her perfect husband. My spend soaks the bedclothes and bubbles over the tight grip of my fist, wringing me out, making me roar, until Im slumped over, visions of Jolie rotating in my head.

Im coming for you, angel eyes.

Ill be there soon.