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 ultimate obsession, and I will become her uncontrollable addiction.
enjoyed the flowers I’ve sent you?
My breath gets caught in my throat when I realize this must be my mystery
hell! It’s him!
contact me now? And what in the hell do I say to him? It’s become a routine.
I’ve gotten used to getting the roses and not knowing who they are from.
Question after question runs through my mind. Who is he? Why send me flowers?
Why not introduce himself? Where did he first see me? How did he find out where
I worked? And how in the hell did he get my number?
sure how to take it.
ways. You didn’t answer my question.
tightens with fear at his answer. I push back the fear and ask another question
I’m dying to know.
thank you. Who are you?
out soon enough.
like that answer. I have no idea who you are. What if I don’t want to know you
once I find out?
up my leg, keeping my eyes on the screen the entire time. This is really weird,
him having my number. I’m sure it’s not too hard to get the information, but
it’s the point that he went through the trouble to get it. I hate being left in
the dark like this.
to know me. Trust me.
when I have no idea who he is?
someone I don’t know.
doesn’t take long.
to get a travel mug of coffee ready. He seems so confident, and cocky. Maybe a
little too much, since it’s coming from a total stranger. How can he be so
the need to know who sends me roses every week is overwhelming. It’s no longer
a curiosity—I need to know. I should
be more afraid, but I’m not, and that gives me pause. Why am I not more
fearful? He’s obviously hiding something, right? But what?
day at work, Beautiful.
for eight months, messages me out of the blue with cryptic messages, then
wishes me a good day at work? Pissed off vibes has my gut clenching. How dare
he contact me and leave me hanging.
all I get out of you?
travel mug, my purse, and with phone still in hand, I leave my house, locking
it up behind me.
something. He can’t just expect me to accept his non-answers.
me? How do you know where I work?
of things about you, Poppy.
your case of me wanting to know you. It’s freaking me out that you know stuff
about me, personal stuff, when I don’t even know your name. That’s not normal.
It’s pretty stalkerish, don’t you think?
minutes before I need to leave, so I decide to wait for his reply.
Unknown: Just call me Mr. A for now. Have a safe trip to work.