belle

Everyone gets bored of you in the end. 

Three months pass and then a year, and you decide that it's finally time to end things, your stalker can’t stop you this time. You had been clinging on from the very beginning. 

This time you will finally finish something. 

You leave the support group, walk down to the dinner. Order your cherry pie in your booth, sitting in silence, you eat it like always, so quickly you can’t even taste it. You don't want to savour it. Then you stand. Grabbing your scarf and jacket. Shrugging it on. Cash falls to the table as you take a cigarette out. You smile to yourself. 

The tv lights up about some escaped convicts in the area. You recognise the name, ‘Benjamin Poindexter.’ Sometime last year he had been on a killing spree. Resulting in his incarceration. You look up to the tv screen, a picture flashes up. He's grinning, ear to ear. Eyes half glazed over and shut. You find your heart beating quickly. Dex? Like Support group fbi dex from a year ago? Your eyes widen. But you dismiss any worry.

You take in your final look of the Diner, the regulars haven't changed, the paint still peeling. As your eyes gloss over. You spot the man you haven't seen for a year sitting in the back, his face covered by a newspaper. But his eyes stare back at you. You remember those eyes.  The paper creases in his grip, and your eyes twitch. Something in your head tells you to leave quickly. You feel the pieces start to click together. You look away, pretending to ignore the bad feeling. 

Coldness washes over you. 

The phone calls, the comforter wrapped over you after late nights. The guy at the Diner every Wednesday, the one you never paid any attention to until he came to the support group. And then he left the same time your stalker did. 

fuck

How could you be so stupid?

You swallow, ignoring that gut feeling that tells you to run as you pass booths and calmly walk out the door. You light your cigarette, wide eyed as you feel his gaze still on you. You don't turn to look at him. You pant in panic. But pretend like you haven't noticed anything.

You walk home with your head down, steady, unshaking. 

The sound of footsteps behind you doesn't stop as you approach your home. And when you turn to cross over the road he’s there standing still watching you. Your heart thumps against your chest. You blink back tears.

You don't cross and walk further, but then you have to cross to get to your building and he’s not there, which scares you even more. 

You duck inside your apartment. Avoiding turning on the lights, instead you rush to your bedside table. Pulling out the sharpened hunting knife, the blade flicks out with ease and the cool steel presses into your palm until you bleed, you hiss. You run to the bathroom, shedding off your clothes until you stand in your underwear. You start to run a bath. Locking the door behind you.

You’ve never been in a hurry to kill yourself before.

Heavy steps pound up the stairs, reaching your door. There's a rattling noise, you picture your door handle violently shaking. It becomes more intense every second that passes. And then it stops. You breathe slowly.

A minute passes .

Then the familiar noise of the window into your apartment painfully squeaks out . You hear him stalk into your home, footsteps marking where he is. You know it's deliberate.

He wants you to know he's here.

You don't stand a chance.

They litter the apartment, jolting you from where you stand, you grip the knife in your palm, stuffing your clothes in the gap under the door to prevent any entrance. 

The footsteps hover at the door as you hold your breath. Clean hand covering your mouth and pinching your nose. You fall to the floor slowly wrapping your arms around your legs. You reach over to the tap to turn it off, the metal screeches. Doors open, slam shut, and then the footsteps come back to the bathroom. The door rattles. 

You stand quickly, moving to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the pills, your hand grips the lid. It takes a few tries to get it open, smearing your blood all over the orange plastic. Almost jumping for joy when you finally do. 

The door stops rattling. 

So you know what's coming next. 

Solid thumping. 

The sound of wood splintering inside of the cheap plywood door.

You turn the tap on, emptying the pills into your hand, your mouth over the sink.

By the time the pills reach your mouth you’re flung to the floor by the heavy weight of your stalker, they scatter over the linoleum tiles. 

Eyes shut tightly as you wait for your head to hit the tiles, but it smashes into a leather palm instead, you grip the knife tightly in your palm as he brings your body closer to his, hushing at you softly. You're all hot and flushed. His masked covered face nuzzles into your neck as you cry. 

It's overwhelmingly claustrophobic, his smell, his touch.

 Him.

You grip around the knife to bring it up to him, but he pushes your fist into the wall so hard that the knife drops on impact.

You whine at the pain that spreads from your knuckles, and your hand meets his masked face in a solid punch. His eyes smile, he only holds you tighter. 

Closer.

“It was you” you let out a breathy sigh, “The gifts, that night with the pills” 

“I saved you” He shuffles with you to stand, you’re still gripped tightly in his hold as he brings you into your bedroom, feet dragging along the floor. Stumbling towards something solid.

You suddenly remember how unclothed you are in comparison to him, not that it matters. You're sure he has seen it all before.

“I don't need saving,” you grunt.

He places you on the bed and moves to your wardrobe. His shirt stretches across the steady muscle of his back; pulling out a tshirt, sweatpants, and thick socks. You don't dare to move. Stuck in place analysing him. He places the clothes to the side of you. And you watch him hook his gloved fingers under his mask, pulling the soft fabric from under his jaw. Freezing his grey speckled blonde hair.

 Eyes on yours. You look away. Hearing him shed his gloves next.

“It's late, you’ve had a big day” he kneels in front of you. Arm swinging out to turn your bedside light on. 

You don't fight it. 

You feel yourself begin to dissociate.

Glaring at him as he unraveles the socks and slides your feet into them. Then grabbing the sweat pants and moving them up your legs, you lift your hips and he ties them at the waist. You lift your arms and he pulls the shirt down over your chest. And your hands return to the edge of the bed. His own press into your waist, finger tracing the bare skin. 

Hard and calloused. You figure its from handling weaponry.

He’s still kneeling before you. “You can’t die, you won't."

It's an order.

You don't answer back, his head presses into your lap. You watch him blink as he stares into the wall. He feels heavy against your thighs. Your eyes begin to water. You bring your hand towards his cheek, still sore from the knife. Taking him into your palm. 

He presses himself against it. The blood spreads from your hand to his skin. Marking him with red. Hand hot with pain. He watches the tears fall from your cheeks. Blinking softly up at you. He reaches a hand out slowly, like he's trying to pet a stray cat. It's awkward and untrained. 

He doesn't make any more sudden moves. And when it finally reaches your soft skin, he brushes away the tear with his thumb. Bringing his hand to his lips where he sucks the salty moisture off his skin. 

You shudder. Eyes still concentrating on his lips as they part. His hand presses in the one that lays on his cheek, and he pulls your palm towards his mouth. Pressing wet kisses against clean skin, you watch his tongue peek out between his lips, as he starts to lap up the blood that pools over the wrinkles on your palm. Teeth dig into your skin. Like a rabid dog. 

You start to pant, heart thumping against your chest, muscles in your wrist tensing as your eyes lift towards his own. You realise that he hasn't stopped watching you. His eyes are an espresso foam kind of caramel under the warm orange light of your bedroom. 

You can’t find words to tell him to stop. His tongue glides against the wound slowly, spit mixing with your blood, your cut aches, burns and his tongue sends heat down your spine. You feel yourself shuffle in place. The skin is raw and raised, it stings sharply.

When the blood is cleaned from your hand, he pauses. Lips wet with spit and blood. His eyes catch on your own. And suddenly his mouth is on yours. His hands pressing your head closer towards him. You find yourself frozen. He licks and bites at your lips, spit dribbling down your chin, as he pushes it back towards your mouth with his tongue. You find your eyes fluttering shut. Lashes resting against your cheek. He pulls away. 

“Kiss me back” his thumb wipes at what you can only believe is blood, you're sure it’s smudged on your skin.

 “Please,” he whimpers. He throws his lips back on yours, and you find yourself moving this time, and as he sucks at your bottom lip, you suck in a harsh breath. He sees the opening and goes in for the kill, His teeth begin to clash at yours. He tastes like coffee and metal.

He kisses like he’s hungry. Not knowing when his next meal is. His hand runs through your hair and then grips hard at the base of your  skull. Pulling back tightly, neck exposed to his teeth,  He kisses down the column of your throat and then takes the skin between his pearly whites and sucks hard. Your hand comes up and presses at his shoulder. Trying to push him away. But he finds his way closer. Burying into your skin. It travels to his hair knotting into the thick tufts and you pull back, but he only moans in return, hips jolting at your movement.  He rises at the movement instead, pushing himself between your thighs, you find yourself laying back on the bed and he straddles over you. 

“Please” you mutter. Head shaking, Your eyebrows furrow. 

You watch his head tilt, smile cracking into the harsh panes of his face, it's too perfect, like he's practised this whole routine over and over in the mirror.

You can imagine him doing that now. 

Perfecting his lines. 

 “Dont act like you don't like this” he purrs, hands running up your cotton shirt as they nestle over your heart, he feels the way it thumps over his hand, hot skin pressed against your own. 

He could kill you so easily, you’ve seen the news, but for those months spent watching you, he hadn't. 

But don't you want to die?

“I’ve seen what you watch,” he moves to pull your shirt over your head, and you find yourself complying. Arms lifting back up. Only moments before he had dressed you up like a doll. “Really dirty stuff, huh” he mocks.

“I know what you read” his eyes run down your soft bare skin, calloused fingers tracing over the small bruises he had marked onto you. His touch feels like small pricks.

You almost whimper. Catching yourself before he hears it. 

Too late.

That shit eating grin lights up his face again. And his hand travels to your neck, where the weight of his palm rests against your throat. Heavy. “Stalkers, serial killers, Vigilantes. Well sweetheart. You sure have a type. I think I'm checking off all your boxes” he's teasing you.

Your breath hitches. Eyes twitching. Lips pursed. Your eyes meet his. And then look away immediately, you force yourself to focus on something else. The wall. The floor, his perfect fucking face.

Shit. Your skin jumps.

“You can't hide from me.” He moves your face, positioning you just how he wants. Lips pursed.

“I just don't get it” you sigh, his fingers flex around your throat as you catch yourself leaning into them. “Why me?”

“Because I noticed you,” he hums, “it's as simple as that.”

You feel his thumb brush against your pulse and he holds it there, just for a few seconds, he feels it bounce.

Thump, thump.

“That day, when I asked you out for a coffee, you hesitated.”, you pause, “ I don't understand” your voice strains. “We could have ~no. What im saying is. You had an opportunity and you didn't take it.”

His hand traces your hip, and then searches deeper. Slipping under soft fabric. Burrowing under your panties. You find yourself gripping his wrist, but his eyes tell you otherwise. And you feel yourself give in. You loosen your hold on him. And his fingers dance their ways across your skin. 

“You don't know what it was like for me, watching a pretty thing like you for months and suddenly we're talking, you're spilling your guts to me like an old friend. How would I respond to that?”

You gasp, as he finds your clit straight away. Your back arches in response.

“Everyday I spent in that prison I wanted to be at that diner with you, watching you drink that coffee, wiping whipped cream off your lips. I just had to fuck things up. But it's okay. I'm here now” he swipes the pad of his finger over you. Watching you hide your whines. “Im here to save you, to balance the scales.”

“mm~” you moan. The sound falls from your lips before you can catch yourself. He smirks. His mouth pressed on yours, his fingers working over your pearl. Slick covering them. One hand lifting you up into an arch by your throat. He kisses softer this time, now he's satiated, slow and precise movements as his lips settle on yours, it's here where you start to fall apart. Your eyes gloss over as he works tight circles. Eyebrows start to touch, you're struggling to kiss back, you feel his nose nudge yours.

And when he notices you starting to give in. how your body starts to relax. He stops, leaning back. Picking apart the small little bow and shedding your joggers quickly. You shiver at the air against your skin.

He sheds his tight black top first. Tanned and scarred. Loosening his holster that sits around his hips. Your cheeks heat at the view, it's like something out of one of your romance books, three weeks ago you would've rolled your eyes. But you find yourself hooked on the feeling he's giving you.

His gear thumps against the wooden floor. And then he straddles, the hard fabric of his cargos brush into your thighs, you feel the stitching rub as he settles over you. You watch his chest rise, his heavy muscle leans against you, you're trapped. Caged between him and your bed. You push yourself up on your elbows. 

“Do you want this?” He cocks his head to the side. The sides of his mouth flutter.

You find yourself nodding in agreement. 

“I want you to say the words” he orders

“Shit Yes, I want this” you agree.

You give in so easily.

“Dex”  he nods at you, you cheeks heat.

“I want this Dex, Please” 

He hums in pleasure at your agreement, eyes rolling back as he smirks. His thick fingers press against the metal, soft leather slapping against his trousers as he works the belt out. Eyes trained on you. Face stern and unchanging.

He takes your hand in his, guiding it to his bulge, he holds it there you feel him throb under you. “this is what you do to me.” His tongue peeks out his lips. And you suck in a breath, his hand leaving yours. You feel your confidence grow. Hand running over the outline of his cock, it trails up to the button of his cargos, and you yank the fabric until it gives, pulling the zip with it. He stands back, shedding his cargos and boxers. You find yourself doing the same. 

Unclasping your bra, and ridding yourself of your panties. His mouth is on yours.

Body pressing against you before you can even find time to look back at him. He's radiating heat, body chasing body, while you push yourself up the bed. Your legs part, as he nestles himself between them, eyes flicking down to run the head of his cock against your wetness. 

When he looks back, your head is turned from him.

“come on eyes on me” he taps your cheek lightly with the back of his palm. Eyes finding him. “That's it, don't be shy” he sings as he feeds thick glorious inches into you. You stretch around him, he watches your face carefully. 

Trained on every little twitch. Every blink. He studies. Slack jaw, baring his bottom teeth as he automatically finds that little spot inside of you that makes you arch your back. He cages you into the bed, arms either side of your head, you feel his hot breath against sweaty skin. The soft sheets stick to your back.

Confined into every inch of you, he makes you take it painfully slow. You hate every minute of it, it feels like a heart beat. He pushes slowly and pulls away just as leisurely. One hand running up and down the curves of your hip. Your jaw falls , and he mocks you. Mimicking it himself.

He takes enjoyment in this torture. You see that spread against his features as he lets out a soft inaudible grunt.

Face screwed up. He's taking in every second, savouring the moment.

His breath fans across your skin in the form of a throaty moan. Part of your chest whines, somewhere deep in your heart you feel a little pain, stomach full of impending doom. “I don't want to let you go,” he grunts, he sounds choked up about something. And his brown eyes reflect that pain. “You’re mine”

He's going to be the death of you. 

You clench down on him when you realise this. His fingers grip tight into your skin, causing you to yelp at the pain that spreads through you 

He mewls in reaction "Oh you liked that? Huh?” his eyes glaze over. Half lidded, under the soft warmth of your lamp. “ That you're mine, that you could do whatever you wanted to me and i would learn to take it”

A single tear rolls down into your hair. 

Once it starts, you can't find yourself stopping, face wet with tears, you push your head into his shoulder. “Dont hide from me.” he whimpers against your neck, hand pulling you back from him. You watch his hazy eyes, and his lips brush against your cheeks, slowly. And then he's lapping up your tears, moaning into your skin. “Dont cry” he hushes at you softly “please, dont cry”, his skin emits warmth, and he tucks himself into you. Still pressed so deeply. His body is oppressive. But the weight of him seems to comfort you. And you stop yourself from hiccuping. Against his lips. You taste the salt of your tears on his tongue. 

“You can’t kill yourself” He whispers into your skin, you feel the words vibrate up into your chest, “I’m going to make you better”, he starts to fuck you properly now, Harder. Deeper.

“Whatever you want you can~ah,” he keens, lips parting into a delicious display of pleasure. “have it. I'll get it for you, make it for you”

He pounds. And you feel the heavy heat spread against your back, in a state of delirious panic. “I want” you let out a sad chuckle, his lashes tickling your skin. “Shit, I. Can I come?”

Head cocking, his chest presses harder against yours, your legs tremble. “fuck , you ask so nicely” he pants. Your nails scratch against his back. “ you can have anything , if you ask like that”

His fingers find your clit. Your back arches. Pushing your chest into him.

“Dex~” You sing.

Skin against skin, Sheets ruffling. 

It washes over you slowly, wrapped up in pleasure. Eyes rolling back. Lips parted in ecstasy.  You feel his gaze against you, he stutters. Fingers pressing into any bit of skin they can find. He presses his head into your neck. Biting hard as he comes. You're too spent to react. 

He leaves the bed after a few minutes of you huffing on your back, eyes shut. He watches from the door as you begin to tuck into yourself, like you do at the diner. Arm hanging off the bed.

You find yourself drifting off to sleep, you're not quite sure if he had left. Until you feel him tucking himself behind you, pressing his hand into your now bandaged one. 

A soft kiss against your temple. You find yourself melting into his touch. And for the first time in a long time, your lips stretch into a genuine smile.