BECOMING HIS OBSESSION
WARNING: This is a STALKER xSTALKER DARK ROMANCE. MUTUAL OBSESSION with DUAL POV.
SYNOPSIS
CARLOS:
Will she wake up if I wrap her hand around my length? My vision tunnels and I move closer to her spread legs, fisting my cock faster. My balls engorge & heart tighten
I throw my head back when the wave hit me & my cum spills onto her inner thigh. I watch it soak into the center of her cunt.
She stirs but doesn't wake. Instead a beautiful word slip from her full lips
"Carlos... " Did she just...
"Thinking of your prey, pretty doll?"
THALIA: "He won't do it"
That's what I thought, but as I watch the man I'm meant to kill, behead a woman without blinking,staring straight at me. I knew, I'm after a monster.
TRIGGER WARNINGS
BOTH:
Stalking
Surveillance
Wet dreams
Graphic violence
Weapons
Threats
Privacy|Home invasion
MMC
Somnophilia
Voyeurism
FMC
Murder
Poisoning
Gory murder board
Questionable morals.
Chapters
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Chapter 10
CARLOS POV:
I can picture her in those sexy innocent pajamas. Compared to her dark ambitions, rage, and that vicious mouth, she does look feminine and dresses softly for bed.
I unlock the door with my copied keys, having already disabled the alarm. Her house sits close to a mountain, perfect for training and just a boat ride from Marcus... That name is buried, and I need to get her away from him. Soon.
My gun rests in my pocket, loaded and ready to eliminate that supposed husband. More reason for her to fuel her vendetta against me. I check her living room first...... no evidence of male's presence. I walk up to her bedroom, twelve stair steps away from living room
"Anything new?" Damien texts. Always worried. How he manages to play chess with her when he's this terrified is surprising. But he possesses patience I lack entirely.
My breathing becomes erratic before escalating to an uneven fire. There's my personal fire.
Exactly as I'd pictured her. Front naked with a blue short that says: Little pet. Curved ass pushed out, clutching the teddy bear that conceals her knife and gun like lifelines.
My body electrifies at the reality of her breast bare against that teddy.
I've sometimes watched her sleep & have the map of her naked body mastered. I didn't intend to, my doll just prefers sleeping stark naked or with lingerie sometimes. Giving me blue balls whenever I visit
"Clear, but still searching," I text back before tiptoeing to the basement entrance by her closet where she have her Manic on display. Images of her pear like tits surfaces again, making me adjust my jeans until crimson lighting greets me.
Entering the basement fully, The sight stops me cold. Smile warms up my cheeks & my heart pounds hard. She's still obsessed.
More photographs of me than I last saw, plaster every surface. With me looking as handsome as I dressed for her.
Four years ago was when I noticed her stalking Me. By the third time I saw that little figure disguised as an old man, I decided to start dressing magnificiently, to give her a good shot. After all, she put in effort to not get caught.
Some images held in place with knives driven through my wrists, feet & face. Others with X's taped across my face.
But it's the centerpiece that makes my cock throb painfully against my jean.
A large framed image of me,with knife holes over my throat, pasted on a table, in the middle of the room like a shrine for her hatred.
Under it, candles burn down to stubs, wax pooled like dried blood. She's manic over my death & it makes me feel happy beyond imagination.
I step closer, trailing my finger at the edge of the frame, Welcoming the cold glass that bites my skin.
Every knife marks, wax pooling like dry blood, this room, they all look to me like a Romantic confession displayed in Tempest.
She has made me a king she worships with rage
My heart pounds, a thudding beat that craves to thank her. I imagine her standing here, gaze hotter than the lighting she put here, driving her knife into my throat. I adjust my cock as it strains at that image, swearing to ruin me, fury pulsing her blood, even at the mention of my name. My pulse is a raging mess & I suddenly feel hot.
She doesn't just crave my death, she exalts it, a raging oracle of vengeance, and I feel honored, my body alive with the thrill & dedication of her hatred.
The pulse of her throat under my palm yesterday resurfaces, making my stomach knot. She'd kill me before letting me claim her, pound into that fair cunt, but if that's price to show her my appreciation of this obsession with killing me, I'd die happy being slaughtered by her hands.
"You're not searching. You just went to see her," Damien texts & I willfully ignore
I stare at the shrine a moment longer, drinking in the beautiful madness of it. This isn't just revenge plotting: it's art. She's turned her obsession with my death into something of idol
Behind me, she have changed position of my Floors plan & schedules. She even added Damien's to it but a face stops me dead....
No she didn't.... I bend down in admiration, letting the laughter flow. Orio's face smeared in red: Palm oil
Her hostility & vendetta just makes my cock throb for more. To fuck more attitude & anger into her.
"Both. She lied. No husband," I finally respond.
Then head back to her room after taking images of the King I am.
Every step towards her sleeping form makes me hard, body pulsing with electricity. I'm wrapped with urge to wake her up, claim her & fuck my appreciation deep into her whole being.
My girl is a worshipper but liar, and discovering that thrills me more than it should. No trace of any husband: no men's clothing, no toiletries, no photographs. The fact that I've been fooled, properly manipulated, makes me chuckle in admiration
She played me. Actually bloody played me.
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9.7
"Say you're mateless, Laia. No matter what you feel during the Ceremony, don't say a word," he whispered squeezing my bicep so tight I thought he'd leave bruise marks.
I was stupid to hope.
Years of secretly dreaming that Alphason Cael would be my mate and choose me, even while Lysandra clung to his side.
All those fantasies shatter the night of the Moon Ceremony when I am forced to lie about fate tying us together. Mateless... that's what I am to the world now.
All I want is to get my little brother and leave this damned pack forever, until one reckless kiss from Cael binds me to a new kind of doom.
For my sin, Lysandra demands a price: steal the ancient Moon Relic from the Faceless Pack, or lose my brother's freedom. She feeds me lies about helping us disappear, about covering my university costs.
Cael just stands there as the masked warriors of the most dangerous pack escort me onto the ship that will take me straight to Alpha Damon, the notorious leader of the Faceless Pack.
How am I supposed to steal from a man whose very name is shrouded in mystery and menace? A masked Alpha who watches me with burning restraint. Every damn time we're near each other, his nostrils flare and all his muscles tense as if he's holding himself back. Sometimes he fails, sometimes I feel the ghost of his touch on the tips of my hair when he thinks I am not looking.
And sometimes... I wonder if I'll survive being near him, seeing the pain in the depths of his eyes. I need to get out and leave Alpha Damon as a distant memory.
7.4
"You can't escape me, Aurora. You are mine!"
The Alpha King's roar echoed through the palace walls.
But Aurora just tightened her grip on the blade hidden beneath her cloak.
She would never-never-give herself to the monster who murdered her father.
Even if the Moon Goddess cursed her to be his mate.
***
Aurora Regalia once had everything-a loving father, a prosperous pack, and a future that glittered with promise. Her father, the king, even chose her a mate: Logan Charming. Powerful. Charismatic. Cursed.
She thought he was her destiny.
Then she watched him tear her father's head from his shoulders.
One night. One betrayal. Her entire family, slaughtered. Her pack, reduced to ashes.
Aurora jumped off a cliff that night-not to die, but to survive. To become something her enemies would never see coming.
An assassin. A ghost. A blade wrapped in silk.
For years, she trained in the shadows, fueled by one single purpose: revenge. Blood for blood. She would make Logan Charming suffer the way she had suffered. She would carve his heart out and feel nothing.
But fate had a cruel sense of humor.
The Moon Goddess looked down at her shattered daughter and laughed.
Because the man who destroyed her life?
The monster who wore her father's blood on his hands?
He was her fated mate.
Now Aurora stands at a crossroads she never asked for. Every instinct screams for vengeance. Every fiber of her being recoils at the bond pulling her toward him.
But Logan? He doesn't care about her hatred. He doesn't care about her blade.
"You can run, little mate," he whispers, crimson eyes gleaming in the dark. "But I will always find you."
And when he does?
He won't just cage her body.
He'll claim her soul.
7.0
Five years. Four hundred million dollars. And the wedding dress was never mine.
I found out on a Tuesday—a C-list actress draped in my custom Vera Wang, hanging off my fiancé's arm. Six months of French lace. Six meters of Italian silk. Every stitch a promise I had made to myself: someone finally chose me for me.
He locked the doors of that boutique. Froze my cards. Threatened my friends. Told the world I was just a delusional former assistant who didn't know her place.
The internet called me crazy, a liar, a desperate woman who couldn't take a hint. His name trended everywhere. My accounts got suspended before I could say a word.
What he never knew: his empire ran on my capital. His patents were mine. His executive assistant had been feeding me evidence for months—emails, recordings, a paper trail of fraud stretching back years.
I dialed the encrypted phone. A voice said, "I've waited five years."
"Then wait three more days," I said. "I'm going to tear his head off."
8.4
When Emma Walsh catches her boyfriend cheating just days before their holiday getaway, she's left heartbroken, homeless and jobless. Stranded in New York City with nothing but her luggage, she wanders into a bar where one reckless night with a brooding stranger changes everything. Liam O'Connor, an emotionally guarded man who is a brilliant lawyer and a single father, had promised his mother that he would return with his girlfriend. With Christmas fast approaching, he needs a fake girlfriend to survive the holidays back home. And Emma needs a fresh start with a little revenge. The deal is simple: fake smiles, pretend love with no real feelings. But when Emma meets his adorable daughter, bonds with his mother, who is warm-hearted, and starts to notice the cracks in Liam's cold exterior, the difference between real and fake starts to blur. Especially when his ex returns and secrets from the past threaten to uncover everything.
Can two broken hearts find something good under the mistletoe?
8.7
To the world, I was Delia Fitzgerald, the spoiled, vacuous daughter of the South's wealthiest family. But behind the practiced pout and expensive stilettos, I was a sleeper agent, a shadow trained for war.
The mask cracked the night my fiancé, Ansel Gibson, dumped me in the rain. He didn't just break the engagement; he recoiled in physical disgust, claiming that the very sight of me made him physically ill.
When I returned home, I expected my father to be furious about the failed business merger. Instead, I found him paralyzed by a primal terror I had never seen. It wasn't about the money; it was about a "blood debt" and a mysterious parchment that held our family's lives in the balance.
"You will go to the Gibsons and beg for forgiveness," my father rasped, his hands shaking uncontrollably. "If this contract is broken, there will be blood."
My own brothers, men who usually ruled the city, could only watch in grim silence. I realized then that I wasn't a daughter to them-I was currency, a lamb being led to the slaughter to pay for a secret I didn't even know existed.
I didn't understand why the Gibsons were so obsessed with me, or why Killian Gibson-the family's true monster-was suddenly tracking my every move with a predatory smile. He traced the callouses on my hands, marks from thousands of rounds of gunfire that no debutante should have, and whispered that he wanted me where he could see me.
If they wanted a pawn, they picked the wrong girl. I decided to stop running and walked straight into the lion's den, accepting a job as Killian's "Chief Special Assistant."
I was going to find that parchment and tear their world apart from the inside. The game had officially begun, and this time, the "Baby Girl" was the one holding the knife.
7.9
Content Warning :
This story is not safe.
It's addictive, explicit, and threaded with triggers that bite.
It drags you through obsession, trauma, and the kind of desire that hurts as much as it heals.
If you can't handle morally grey men, broken women, or the thin line between love and ruin, stop here.
If you can... keep reading.
I thought monsters only lived in the dark, until I was framed for a murder I didn't commit and dragged into a world that felt darker than any nightmare.
Where he was.
Where he's always been.
Watching me.
He doesn't love. He claims what's his and destroys anyone who touches it.
I tried to run from the shadow that haunts me, but somehow, every time, I end up running straight back to him.
He's danger wrapped in devotion.
My curse. My obsession. My undoing.
I should fear him. And I do.
But fear doesn't stop the pulse between my thighs.
Or the way my heart betrays me when he whispers my name like a threat and a prayer.
They call it madness.
I call it survival.
Because in his darkness, I stopped being hunted.
I became the desire.
He's the shadow I was meant to run from, but the one who left his hunger burning deep inside me.