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Jealous Russian Stalker
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I watch her from a distance…a close distance.
The moment I saw her name I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The first time I laid eyes on her I followed her. When she steps out for the day, I step in…to her personal space without leaving a trace.
I need to know everything about her. Her past. Why she’s here in Russia. Her plans for the future.
But whatever plans she may have had just got cancelled, because I’ve got a plan of my own…to make her mine no matter what or who tries to come between us.
I’m obsessed and I won’t stop until she’s mine…forever.
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My grip tightens on this morning’s Moscow Times, the paper crinkling so loudly a child looks up at me like I’m some sort of beast.
And that’s exactly what she’s turned me into.
She’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined.
It’s the first time I’ve ever physically laid eyes on her, and for the first time I understand what it means when someone says that when you see the one you’ll know.
I know all right. I know she will be mine.
She removes her sunglasses as she walks down the hallway at Sheremetyevo International Airport in Moscow, fresh off her flight.
Her piercing grey eyes stay focused straight ahead as she approaches the immigration area.
She’s right on time.
I’ve been waiting for this moment…planning every detail.
I hit the hotspot icon on my phone just before I drop the newspaper in the trash outside the restrooms and fall in step behind her.
The way her delicate, exposed shoulders move as she approaches the immigration line has me grinding my teeth. Every muscle in my body is tense, including the one in my groin, which I swear is harder than it’s ever been.
My eyes take in the curve of her back as her dark hair sways side to side with each step. Her white tank top reveals a mosaic of artwork covering her left arm. She’s tatted…completely sleeved.
And I’m completely infatuated.
“Other line, sir,” a airport employee says trying to point me to a different immigration station.
Not a chance.
I ignore him. At six five and two hundred and fifty pounds I easily blow right through the arm he holds out as if that would stop me from my target.
I wouldn’t care if his arm was made of steel or if he put a gun in my face. I’m not losing her. Not now. Not ever.
I fall in line right behind her, my need intensifying. I step closer, so close one single strand of her hair touches my arm causing my dick to jerk violently in my pants.
I lean forward, inhaling her scent as my nostrils flare, careful not to make a noise as I breathe in deep.
She smells so damn sweet I want to taste every single inch of her skin. I want to spend hours in bed getting to know her, inside and out, as I ravish her with my tongue and tell her all the ways that she’s the most beautiful creature that’s ever walked on the face of the earth.
She’s not like anyone I’ve ever seen. In some ways she looks very Russian, but the way she carries herself is very foreign. You can spot the foreigners a mile away in Moscow.
“Do you have a pen—” she says, turning quickly. I’m so close to her that her chest brushes against my arm and I practically explode in my pants.
“Let me check,” I say, removing my bag from over my shoulder as if I don’t know exactly where every single item is inside. I packed it so many times that I could do it blindfolded at this point. I wasn’t about to take any chances, and I brought everything I’d need to make this moment go as smoothly as it has so far.
I take the pen from the pen slot, careful not to reveal the other contents of my bag before handing it to her.
“Thanks,” she says.
Manners. I like that. I just wonder if she’s naughty as well as nice.
The line moves swiftly and just as it’s her turn to approach she quickly turns and hands me my pen back, thanking me again, but this time she flashes me a bit of a smile. It’s something between a smirk and a smile and damn does it look good on her, but then again what wouldn’t?
I know what would look best on her. Me. On top of her as I claim her and make her mine forever.
She approaches the counter and the immigration agent who’s been stoic for every other passenger suddenly straightens up in his chair and offers her a smile.
My eyes zoom in on his nametag like a hawk. I store the name for later, so I can make him pay for what he just did.
She may not have a ring on her finger yet, but that doesn’t mean any man can even think that he’s got a chance with what’s mine.
Suddenly the line slows as he stares at the screen and back at her again. My fingers dig into my palms and my stance widens. I’m ready to march right up there and punch that guy so hard my fist shatters the glass and then his face. There’s no such thing as protective glass when it comes to a man who tries to make moves on my woman.
Another agent motions me towards an open window.
“Sir. Sir!” she says.
I just shake my head, my eyes staying locked on the sight in front of me that has my blood pressure rising to the point I can feel my pulse on the side of my neck.