Unhinged Desires : A Dark Romance (Sick Love Duet Book 1)
Unhinged Desires: Chapter 6

To say I’m freaked out would be putting it lightly. I’m so glad I convinced Shar to stay the night. I would not be able to be alone in this apartment. I thought I was going crazy with that feeling of being watched. Tonight my suspicions were confirmed. I’m not crazy, and I am being watched. Followed. Stalked…

But by whom? Who the hell is watching my every move? Who would want to?

Even I’m not stupid enough to think Casper is texting me from beyond the grave. Whoever this is, it’s a real-life person. An asshole is more like it. I was on my way to getting laid tonight until those messages came through. Though I was still willing to bet whoever was on the other end was all talk. And I wasn’t about to give in.

Then Breanna McKinley of all people walked up, whispered something in Zander’s ear, and left. I would recognise her anywhere. It’s hard not to. We’ve met before at a few charity functions I’ve attended with my parents. I wouldn’t say I know her, just that I know of her. She’s the heir to the McKinley fortune, meaning her net worth rivals my family’s. I also know she’s engaged to Ash Williamson, who owns every nightclub worth visiting in Australia.

I saw the split-second of surprise when she recognised me, and then she smiled and walked off. Quickly followed by Zander, who I thought was destined to be my latest one-night stand.

I’m so tempted to press call on this number and find out who the hell is following me, who the hell thinks they can control what or who I do. I can’t stop reading the messages. Looking for any hint of who it could be. I wonder if it’s the same person who sent the tulips. I decide to go out on a limb and assume it is. But maybe I can find out for sure…

Before I can talk myself out of it, I type a message to my mystery man… or woman. I don’t discriminate when it comes to psychopaths.

ME:

Thank you for the tulips.

What the hell am I doing? Whoever this person is, they’re a complete nutjob. I shouldn’t be encouraging any kind of communication with them. Even knowing that, I can’t help the way my heart starts beating faster as the little dots indicating they’re replying to my message pop up on the screen.

UNKNOWN:

Blue tulips represent things that are one of a kind. And you, Little Bee, are one of those things.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. How am I meant to respond to that? As I’m contemplating that very question, another message pops up.

UNKNOWN:

Why aren’t you sleeping?

This one I can answer.

ME:

Because I’m worked up and stressed, and someone made the remedy to my current predicament disappear on me tonight.

UNKNOWN:

Your remedy for stress is some douchebag with too much hair gel?

ME:

Yep.

I know I should stop. I should block this creep’s number and maybe move or something. I could go and stay at my parents’ house for a bit…

UNKNOWN:

I can help relieve some of that stress for you.

Yeah, I bet you can, creeper.

ME:

How exactly do you plan on doing that?

My phone starts ringing and an unknown number flashes across the screen. I hold my breath as my fingers hit the green answer button.

“Hello?” I whisper, sitting myself upright in my bed.

“Lucy, run your fingers down your stomach. Dip them into your panties,” a deep, husky voice says into my ear, almost as if he’s somehow in the room with me.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m the person who’s going to get you off right now so you can go to sleep. Now, do as you’re told,” he urges me.

I’m contemplating hanging up. I want to. But more than that, I want to follow his instructions. What could it really hurt? It’s not like he can see me.

“What’s your name?” I question as my fingers follow the path down the middle of my bare stomach.

“You don’t need to know my name to come.”

My body shivers. There’s something about his voice that seems to run right through me.

“Slide your fingers into your panties, Lucy,” he tells me again.

Without thinking about the consequences of encouraging a possible sociopath, I do as instructed. My fingers slide beneath my waistband, right through the centre of my folds.

“Are you wet for me, Little Bee?” he asks.

“I’m wet for myself, not you,” I say, even though it’s one hundred percent his voice that’s turning me on right now.

He chuckles, and the sound is both comforting and dangerous. “Whatever you need to tell yourself. Now, insert two fingers into your pussy. Push them right in.”

I gasp as I fill myself with my fingers. I’m not a stranger to masturbation. I am, however, a stranger to doing it with an audience.

“I bet your pussy feels so good. I can’t wait to shove my own fingers in there. Now, pull them out, drag your wetness over your clit, and circle.”

“Mmhmm,” I murmur while caressing my clit. The pressure and speed increase with each passing second.

“Circle those fingers around your clit. I want to hear you come, Lucy. I want to hear your moans.”

“Oh god!” I hiss out.

“That’s it. Get yourself there. Give it to me.”

My legs close around my hand and my body goes rigid as I fall over the edge of bliss.

“Oh shit,” I curse. The phone drops onto the bed, and it’s at this moment that what I’ve just done hits me. I scramble to pick up the phone and disconnect the call.

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Standing on shaky legs, I walk into the bathroom and turn on the cold water. I wash my hands and splash my face before staring at myself in the mirror. I know what everyone else sees when they look at the girl reflected back at me. They see a beautifully maintained trust fund brat. A princess. Flawless, because she has to be to keep up appearances.

What I see is a girl trapped in a gilded castle. Someone destined to take over a multi-billion-dollar organisation that she’s not even sure she wants. I know it makes me sound like a spoilt, ungrateful little rich kid. Which I’m not. I’m extremely grateful to my parents for the privileges I was born into. I know that I have a good life, a life some would and have killed for. That doesn’t mean everything is rainbows and unicorns. Honestly, at times, it feels like I’m not living it all. I’m simply following a well laid-out plan someone else created for me.

My older brother Xavier did what he wanted to do. He became a defence attorney. Which basically leaves the Christianson Corporation to me. I’m sure he’d step in and help when that day comes, but he has his own business he’s excelling at.

I wonder what would happen if I told my parents I wanted to study design instead of business? Where would that leave Christianson Corp, a family-owned empire that has been managed by our namesake for generations.

Turning off the tap, I walk back into my room and climb into bed. I pick up my phone and immediately notice a new string of notifications.

UNKNOWN:

That was more than I ever imagined it would be. I can’t wait to see it in person.

I don’t respond. Instead, I choose to ignore the message, plug my phone into the charger, and close my eyes. However, that husky voice continues to run through my mind.

How the hell did I get so turned on by just a voice? And what on earth is wrong with me that I’m encouraging the attention of a stalker?

A lot. The answer is there’s a lot wrong with me.

“THESE ARE BEAUTIFUL. WHO SENT THEM?” Shar asks, inspecting the vase of blue tulips on my kitchen counter.

“I have no idea,” I tell her, my eyes involuntarily flicking to the flowers.

I need to throw them out. I make a mental note to carry them outside with me today and throw them in the dumpster at the side of the building. I also need to figure out how to block that unknown number. Whoever is the owner of that dreamy voice on the other end seems to think we’re some sort of friends now.

I woke up to a message that read: Good morning, my Little Bee. I hope you managed to have a restful night’s sleep.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard to reply, but then I decided avoidance was the best tactic. I shouldn’t have engaged in the first place. I won’t be making that mistake again. Besides, for all I know, this guy wants to chop me into little pieces and dump me in the ocean. Or on the side of the road. Or in some dark woods where no one will ever find me.

It’s happened.

I wonder if any of Ted Bundy’s victims had that tiny voice in the back of their head screaming all the reasons they should run instead of jumping into his car. If so, did they do what I did last night and ignore all those warnings?

Knowing my luck, I bet my stalker isn’t even half as good looking as Ted Bundy was. Not that I ever plan to find out. I think I’m going to stay with my parents for a while, or maybe I’ll crash with my brother. I would stay with Shar, but she’s the only one that will ask too many questions. Nobody knows me as well as my best friend.

“Wasn’t there a card?” Shar asks.

“There was, just no name.” I pull out the ingredients to make us an omelette, turning my back to her so she can’t see my face.

“What did it say?” she presses.

“I really don’t recall,” I lie, dropping a handful of veggies and cheese on the counter.

Returning to the fridge, I pull out the eggs and milk. Once I have all the ingredients in front of me, I find the mixing bowl and chopping board. After pulling a knife out of the block, I glance up at Shar, who is staring at me with an inquisitive look on her face.

“What?” I ask her.

“What aren’t you telling me? What did the card say, Lucy?” she asks again.

“It was some cryptic message about finding peace or something like that. I don’t know who sent the flowers and, honestly, I’m throwing them in the trash today anyway.”

“Finding peace? Why would someone send you flowers with a message to find peace?” she continues her line of questioning.

“No idea. It doesn’t matter. Make yourself useful and pour us some coffee. I need more caffeine if I’m going to face the rest of today,” I tell her.

“Fine,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Do you think you have an admirer? Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s been crushing on you.”

“Seems that way. But whoever it is obviously has money. Those flowers aren’t cheap and neither’s the vase. It’s probably one of those lame trust fund assholes I keep turning down,” I tell her. And the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced I’m right.

“You’re probably right,” Shar says as if reading my mind.

And then I remember I let that asshole talk me into making myself come over the phone. What if he recorded me? Oh shit, what if that recording ends up plastered across various media outlets? Fuck, how could I have been so stupid?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pick up my phone and send a message.

ME:

If you plan on releasing a recording of me from last night, think again. Because if you do, I WILL find you and I WILL make you wish you were never born.

I wait a few minutes with my phone in my hand, but no response comes. The message is unread. So I toss the device to the side and continue making my omelette.

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