Stalk Her

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Triggers: This book contains CNC/dub-con and coercion.

This is a stalker romance. It's not going to be all hearts and flowers. Please be prepared for morally grey characters, invasion of privacy and stalker kinks galore. There are times where the ML will take advantage of the FL. I am only approving this behaviour in my book, not in real life.

This would not be anywhere near as sexy if it happened for real. It would be terrifying, dangerous and extremely serious. Please do not think that I am romanticising this kind of behaviour. If he slips a finger without asking, get the hell away from him.

For now, we live in the fictional smut bubble.

A couple of things:

♡ I don’t always mention contraception or STI’s, please assume the characters are being safe and not playing pregnancy roulette.

♡ I use British English.

♡ If you notice any grammar mistakes, it would be great if you could point them out.

♡ I write mature romances. The words ‘clit’ and ‘cock’ will make an appearance. If that’s not your thing, please leave without complaint.

♡ You can follow me on Instagram, naughtyxchristian.

Thank you and enjoy! L x

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The monster hiding under your bed would rather be in it.

Vivian's POV.

"It's official, you're a ten."

Most people would love to hear this. Not in the optician's though. This is not the ten I want to be.

"I'm a minus ten?" I wail and lean back from the stupid machine.

The doctor gives me a sympathetic smile. "Yep, I'm sorry. Your right is now minus ten, your left is catching up with nine point five."

"Motherfucker," I whisper under my breath.

Ten minutes later, I leave the clinic £180 pounds down and with a new pair of glasses on order. I lift my glasses up momentarily as I walk down the street and nearly trip over. It's a joke how bad my eyesight is without my glasses or lenses, I can't see shit.

Severe myopia can suck my balls.

It's a quiet afternoon in Hackney as I walk home. I pick up some groceries at Sainsbury's on my way back and listen to a new Podcast I've downloaded. I feel safe walking these streets alone, particularly because it's only early evening and it's still light out. For all the horror stories people tell me about London, I've never experienced anything myself.

A phone call interrupts my podcast and I accept the call. It's my solicitor letting me know that I have a confirmed closing date on my house. In exactly thirty-two days, I will be a home-owner.

It has been a long process getting here, but I am finally going to get my dream house. It's a property in Braywood, a village about two hours south of London. I've been on the train many times to visit, but I'm going to have to get my own car when I move there.

It'll be a shock to the system, moving out of the capital, but I really want to live somewhere less...London. It's expensive and busy and smelly and overpopulated. Don't get me wrong, I love this city, but I think I'll love it more when I don't live in it.

I've got my key in the lock of my apartment door when my mum calls. Groaning with irritation, I rearrange everything in my hands to pin my phone between my cheek and my shoulder.

"Hi, Mum."

"Hey cherub," she greets me with the same nickname she's used since I was a kid.

"How are you?" I ask as I finally push my door open and get inside.

"I'm good, I'm good," she replies easily. "How are things with you?"

"All good, just blind as a bat," I reply and drop my grocery bags on the counter in the kitchen.

"Oh, cherub, we all knew this day was coming."

"Yeah, we did," I sigh. "How's Wanhua?"

My mum lives in the Wanhua district in Taiwan, where she was born and raised. I'm half Taiwanese, half English, I've lived in England my whole life. When I turned eighteen and moved out, Mum returned to Taiwan to look after my grandparents. It's where her heart belongs. We see each other every few months when she either comes here or I go out to visit.

"Absolutely pouring it down," she replies exasperatedly. "It will not stop raining here."

"Well, it is rainy season Mum."

"Yes, I know," she says tiredly. "Anyway, I'm calling to remind you what it is this weekend."

My hand freezes as I reach for the milk. I swallow past the lump in my throat and take a deep breath.

"Yeah, Mum, I know. I remember."

How can you forget your brother's death?

"It will be three years on Sunday."

I close my eyes briefly and compose myself. My brother Chris was two years older than me, he was twenty-four when he died.

"It feels longer," I whisper.

My mum makes a noise of disbelief. "It feels like only yesterday to me."

Mum took Chris' death much harder than I did. I was never close to my brother, especially after our dad died when we were ten and twelve. Chris pulled away from everyone and shut me out. He joined the Royal Navy at eighteen and after that, I only saw him once a year at Christmas. He stayed away the rest of the time, I feel awful because we barely had a relationship by the time he was killed.

"I'll call you on Sunday, okay?" I tell Mum.

"Yes, okay. Call in the morning."

"I know Mum, the time difference," I answer. "I'll speak to you then, bye."

I hang up and stare at the groceries for the longest time before putting them away. The loss of my brother hangs over my head for the rest of the day, so I pull up pictures of my new house to cheer myself up a bit.

Logan’s POV.

"I'm sorry about the mess, I didn't have time to clean up before you came over," my sister, Margie, apologises.

"Are you really still apologising about a lived-in house? It's a few toys, Marg, chill," I reply and deftly step over a fire engine on the floor.

"Still," she says quickly and snatches up the truck. "I wish I had more time."

"I think every parent wishes they had more time," I reply dryly.

Her husband, Tristan, helps out a lot but he's still at work at the moment. I follow Marge through to the kitchen. I can see Jack, her six year old son, doing something on the laptop in the dining room.

"What's going on there?" I ask her as she begins filling the kettle.

"He's having a singing lesson, it's ‘try something new week’ at school.”

I snort and shake my head. “Sounds like another way to spend parents’ money.”

"Exactly," she agrees. "He loved ballet lessons for all of two days, now we're onto singing."

In the other room, I hear Jack singing the line of a song. I slowly approach the open door and peek at my adorable nephew singing a popular Disney song.

"Amazing!" I hear the voice of the bubbly teacher fill the room. "Remember, we need to warm up otherwise we'll sound like this."

She makes her voice garble and wobble, which makes Jack laugh. She joins in, giggling adorably. She has a sweet yet slightly raspy voice that is surprisingly sexy.

“Now, try going up at the end, like this.”

She proceeds to sing the line herself, halting my steps. I'm frozen in place, listening to her beautiful siren-like voice. I manage to make my feet take a step closer and I catch sight of the screen in the mirror's reflection. The music teacher is looking down at a piece of sheet music in her hands, she can't see me looking at her. Jack is busy looking at his own matching song sheet.

She has pitch black, dead straight hair that falls down around her face and reaches past her shoulders. I can't see much other than her eyes are very large, brown and almond-shaped. Her lips are perfectly shaped like a Cupid's bow and unbelievably full. Her cheekbones are high and prominent, her jaw slopes in to a soft chin, shaping her face like a heart. She has tanned skin, slightly yellow in tone that hints at her Asian background.

I'm in love.

I step back before she can look up and spot me watching her. She keeps singing and I listen to her angelic voice. I find myself resenting my perfect nephew because his voice keeps interrupting hers. She's a siren and I'm lost in her song.

"This is her," Marge says, appearing next to me and making me jump. She hands me a leaflet. "She's really good, Jack loves her."

I walk back into the kitchen, staring down at the pamphlet advertising singing lessons from Vivian Halton. Even if I didn't recognise her from her name, I'd know her face anywhere. I stare at the picture of her on the front of the paper. Her smile could light up the dullest room.

The last time I saw this beautiful face, it was streaked with tears and at her brother's funeral. I thought she was stunning then but it was not the time or the place to approach her. After everything that she and her family had gone through, and my involvement in it all, I decided to leave her alone.

Now though, it seems as if fate has brought her back into my life. It would be rude of me to ignore it.

"She's very attractive," I comment casually.

Marge smirks at me and plucks the pamphlet from my hands.

"Is she? I hadn't noticed. I noticed that my son loves singing now, though."

"Does she give adults lessons?" I ask and Marge laughs.

"You're about as subtle as a fog horn, Logan," she teases.

I take the cup of tea she hands me with a murmured 'thank you'. I glance back over my shoulder to see Jack grinning at the laptop screen.

Oh yes, I think Vivian has been brought back into my life for a reason. This time, I'm not staying away.

The POV's will jump back and forth between the FL and ML quite a lot, hopefully this will give you a good insight into both of the characters though, it shouldn't be too jarring.