Page 77 of Sinful Lord

So why am I getting the sudden urge to do just that.

Something inside of me wants to tease Tytus. Taunt him. Right now, he’s the creep on the other end of the camera.

But he’s shown me that he’ll listen when I tell him no.

So, I’ll put on a show. Then when he comes racing back, all hot and horny, with that giant bulge throbbing beneath his pants, I’ll look him in those eyes and tell him exactly what he doesn’t want to hear.

No.

It’s the one bit of control I have left in my life. Even my privacy is a mirage.

He’s been watching me.

“Watch this, you bastard.”

I almost want to strip out of my little nightgown and voluntarily give him the view he's already taken from me by force.

But I stop before that thought can go any further. Instead, I wrap both hands around the rusty poll and dip my back.

Then, I freeze.

Suddenly, the feeling that I’m being watched explodes in a spine-chilling gust. It’s so strong that I can’t even move.

I just hang there, my hair falling back like open drapes as I feel an overwhelming fear run through me.

That’s when I see it.

Outside, the sun has nearly set. But there’s just enough light left to outline the figure watching me from the roof across the street.

I only see it out of the corner of my eye, just barely through the open slit in my curtains. But it’s enough to floor me.

My arms go limp and I fall.

“What the hell…” I mumble, biting back a shock of pain.

Slowly, I push myself off my side, but it’s harder than it has any right to be.

It feels like I’m being weigh down by a blanket dread.

Lifting my head, I look back towards the window, but from this angle, I can only see the sky.

“Please, no,” I croak.

I want to run and hide bury my head in the sand and hope for the best. But I know I can’t do that.

With a great deal of effort, I start to crawl over to the window pane. Dread drags me along like a stubborn anchor.

Bile sits heavy in my throat as I place my hands on the window pane and pull myself up just enough to peek over the edge.

“No…”

The gasp that escapes my throat is sharp and painful. I swear I can feel the cold water of the Spree river rush over me as I stare at the very same figure that watched me float away from the bridge on that horrific night.

He stares back at me, unflinching.

My heart vanishes. My chest becomes an open hole.

It’s too dark outside to make out any features, but that monstrous outline is unforgettable.