1 Asher

I watch with anticipation as the stunning brunette in tall black heels, tight black knee-length pencil skirt, and white silk blouse marches up the sidewalk leading to her front door. She fumbles with her purse as she grabs for her keys, dropping them seconds later. With a look over her shoulder, she bends to pick them up.

My dick jumps in my expensive dark gray slacks when her plump ass shows no panty lines.

Fuck!

She's either not wearing any or she's wearing a thong. My fingers twitch with the need to find out which.

Standing, she looks over her shoulder again and a scowl appears on her face when she sees the dickhead that's following her. I can't help but chuckle at the desperate look on the guy's face.

She frantically tries to get the key into the lock before he reaches her, but she isn't fast enough. She spins around when he reaches her and bends himself at the waist, trying to catch his breath. Fucking asshole is so weak he can't even jog twenty feet. Again, my dick takes notice at the harsh look on her face as she watches the guy.

He stands and says something to her. I can't hear through the window of my Lexus, but whatever it is causes her to curl her lip up in disgust. She pokes him in the chest and screeches loud enough for me to hear. "You pig! Stay the hell away from me!"

A rumbling laugh escapes my lips as I witness the firecracker take down the idiot. She's so different than the woman I know. I can't really blame the guy for trying. After all, I'm just as fascinated with her as he is. Hell, I've been watching her myself now for a year. The first time I saw her I had just walked out of Colt's office. He's a good friend of mine, who also happens to be a client. Something caught my attention, and I looked over and nearly fell to my knees at the beauty sitting on the brown plush leather couch in the waiting area. After unsticking my jaw from the floor, I turned to him and asked who she was.

"Poppy Lexington," he supplied, looking down at a file in his hand. "She's here for an interview for the receptionist position."

Without thinking, I demanded, "Don't hire her." Even though my eyes were glued to Poppy, I still felt his questionable stare. "Refer her to my office. Make up some excuse if you have to, I don't care. Just get her to my office."

When he didn't answer after several seconds of silence, I turned to him and caught him watching me warily. I raised a brow in question. No words were spoken, because none were needed. He knew I was serious by the look on my face.

Since that day, I've lived, breathed, and slept Poppy. I know where she lives, obviously, and I also know where she works, who her family and friends are, her favorite foods, and how she takes her coffee. I know what she does on weekends and holidays, what size shoe she wears, what shampoo she uses, and the brand of her toothpaste. I know her mortgage and car payment, when they are due, what credit cards she has, and even the purchases she's made with them. I know the layout of her house, what's in her closet, that she likes expensive lingerie, and that she sleeps nude. The first time I witnessed the latter, I damn near lost control and gave myself up. I ended up jacking off into a pair of her silk panties.

Sick? Yes, absolutely. But it was either that or crawl into bed with her, which wasn't an option. I'm not up to getting thrown in jail for breaking and entering, or taking the chance of her finding me out. Fuck no. I need her too much. I need her to know and accept me first, without making a mess of things.

It wasn't until recently that I'd gotten myself into a position where I could approach her the way I want to; however, I'm not ready just yet. I'm having too much fun with my current game—  a game she knows nothing about, but still participates in. Hell, who am I kidding? This isn't a game, it's more of an uncontrollable obsession. I love watching her, knowing she's oblivious to it. It turns me on more than anything, or anyone, has before.

I think it may be time to change things a bit—make them more thrilling—before I lose my patience and snap, giving into what I want too soon. The timing needs to be perfect.

I have a key to her house and frequently visit her while she sleeps. When I can't be there in person, which has happened too much for my liking, I can always pull up the video feed I have on my phone and computer. Yes, I have cameras in her house as well.

The woman has completely taken over my mind and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it. Not that I want to. Poppy's mine, she just hasn't been made aware of it yet.

Some might say I'm sick and demented, that I should be locked away for my obsessive behavior. That may be true, but I'm not a kidnap, ****, or torture kind of stalker. I have no desire to hurt Poppy. I won't force her to do anything she doesn't want to do, but I've embraced my obsession and will use every damn thing I have in my power to prove to her that she belongs to me, and only me. She will know that I'm the only man for her and that I will love, cherish, and worship the very fucking ground she walks on.

I've also been keeping track of the dating site she uses. After three months, I'm actually surprised she's still active on it. After all, every date she's been on has turned out to be one disaster after another. Of course, that could be because I hacked into the site's system.

But I digress. That's neither here nor there.

I shift in my seat, trying to gain more room in my slacks for my growing cock as Poppy lets loose on the prick still planted in front of her. I still can't hear his words, but his actions show he's quietly trying to get her to see reason. I sneer at the desperate look on his face. If the fucker thinks she'll forget he's still married, then he's more stupid than I thought.

Fucking idiot.

I watch as the asshole slinks away with his head down and his shoulders slumped, looking like a defeated dog. The only reason I'm not following him home and rearranging his face is because he never touched my Poppy, except to place his hand on her back to guide her through the doors. I knew tonight was going to end the way it did. I made damn sure of it.

There's not a computer program I can't hack into, no firewall high enough I can't scale, and no software I can't disable. A few keystrokes here, a few broken passwords there, and I was in SoulMate.com's system—the dating site Poppy uses— within minutes.

After browsing her profile to discover her likes and dislikes in men, I did an extensive search, finding what I decided to be the 'perfect fit' and put them in contact with her. Dating guys you meet on the Internet can be very deceiving. Lies are easily told, embellishments are made, and omitting the truth is commonplace. The men Poppy thought were her perfect matches were actually scumbags in disguise: self-centered, pricks, and lowlifes, or married, as the case is tonight.

A few minutes later, I quietly get out of my car, walk to the side of her house, disengage the automatic spotlights at the corner of Poppy's house, and pick the lock on the tall privacy fence. She uses sheer curtains. On one hand, that pisses me off because some perverted asshole could easily peek in at her. Yes, I'm doing the exact same thing, but I'm not a pervert or an asshole. Well, a pervert, I'll grant you that, but I have no nefarious plans. Okay, wait. Maybe I am being wicked, but I'm certainly not a villain. I just like to peek in on my future wife from time to time.

On the other hand, I fucking soak up the fact that I can see Poppy in her natural habitat, without any outside influences, and it's not through a monitor.

I spy Poppy in her bedroom through her window. She looks agitated as she takes the pins from her hair and carelessly throws them on her dresser. Her thick, beautiful brown hair falls around her shoulders. I want to wrap my fists around it to hold her in place as I fuck her from behind. Or have it surround us in a curtain as she rides me from above. Have it tickle my abs and thighs as she takes me deep into her throat.

So many possibilities that will soon become a reality.

My body tightens in anticipation.

Poppy's hands move to the first button of her shirt and slips it through the hole. She moves to the next, and with each button released, it exposes more of her cleavage. When she makes it to the second to last button, she slips her feet from her heels. Finally, on the last button, I hold my breath and grip the windowsill tightly. I groan quietly when she turns her back to me and makes her way to the bathroom, slipping the silky material down her arms and throwing it in the hamper outside the door. Her tanned back faces me, and I can see the gray straps of her bra. When she finally turns back to me, I notice she's wearing one of my favorites. It's lace, and it plumps up her breasts nicely. It doesn't hurt that I can damn near see her nipples through it.

She reaches back and unclasps it, but before I can get a glimpse of her tempting breasts, she closes the door, blocking out my view. I drop my head and take a deep breath. I don't bother with pulling out my phone to watch the video feed. The bathroom is the only room I don't have a camera in. Even I have my limits. I don't want to take away all her privacy.

Watching Poppy always gets my blood pumping. I don't know what it is about the woman, but she drives me crazy, in body and mind. It's like my soul recognizes her as it's other half and it's fighting desperately to get to her. It's sounds corny as shit, but there's something about her that calls to me. It has from the second I laid eyes on her. I knew right away that I would have her. It's not often that I don't get what I want, and I don't plan to start now, especially with Poppy. I never intended to take this long to make my intentions known. It was only meant to last until I was in a place where I could pursue her. But when that finally happened, I was already ensnared. Watching her became my addiction. The thrill was overwhelming, and I had no intention of stopping. Poppy's mine anyway, so I don't see how it's a problem.