The chase

Chapter Five

                                  MILLIE BROWN

I yank the covers back over my head, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure he can hear it. What do I do? What does he want? I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that somehow, when I open them, this will all be a nightmare.

But then I hear it—the soft, deliberate sound of footsteps on the carpet. He's inside my room. My breath catches in my throat, my chest tightening with panic. I wait, each second feeling like an eternity.

Carefully, I lower the covers just enough to peek out. He's still here, but now he's rifling through my things. My drawers creak open as he rummages through them, his large hands sorting through my clothes, my underwear.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my breathing steady. Why is he doing this? His face remains impassive, almost bored, as he touches my belongings. He picks up a T-shirt, then folds it back neatly. His movements are slow and meticulous, like he's searching for something but isn't in any rush to find it.

Minutes pass like hours. My eyes are glued to him, fear gripping me. I don't dare move, don't dare breathe too loudly. He continues his search, picking things up and setting them back down with a strange precision. My mind races with questions—why me? Why is he so calm?

Then, as if losing interest, he shuts the last drawer and turns away. He moves to the far corner of the room, leaning his back against the wall. And then... he just stops.

Completely still, like a statue. He's staring up at the ceiling, his face shadowed and unreadable. His chest rises and falls steadily, a stark contrast to my rapid breaths beneath the blanket.

What is he doing? My fingers tremble as I grip the edge of the covers, my mind whirling. I peek out a little further, watching him, trying to figure him out. His stillness is unsettling, like he's waiting for something. Or someone.

His eyes shift, and they lock onto mine.

A cold shock ripples through me. For the second time tonight, I'm caught in his gaze, unable to look away. His stare is intense, charged, like a live wire has been strung between us. The air thickens, growing heavy.

My skin feels hot, tingling with that electric feeling I felt earlier. It's like he's daring me to move, to react, and I can't tell if it's some kind of game or something more sinister.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it with a flick of his lighter, his eyes still on mine, the flame casting sharp shadows across his face.

Smoke curls around him as he takes a slow drag, exhaling like he has all the time in the world. There's a quiet confidence about him, an audacity that sends a chill through me.

My mind is spinning, caught between fear and a strange, simmering anger. How dare he come in here, invade my space, and act like he owns it? I want to rattle him, to shake that calm exterior, but I don't know how.

An idea flits into my head, risky and reckless. A stupid idea, really, but it's better than sitting here, cowering under the covers.

I push the covers off hoping to get a reaction, but he just chuckles and takes another slow drag of his cigarette. He was toying with me, this was fun to him. I sit up and rest my back on the headboard behind me, this way our eyes were somewhat leveled.

His eyes go over me and I can see his expression turn dark. Was he attracted to me? Why did the thought of it excite me? I don't know if it's the one glass I had earlier but I was feeling bold. I take my shirt off and watch him change his stance.

Finally, a reaction besides that sinister smirk. I wanted more of it............

Drunk off of the fact that he was reacting to me, I take off my bra next and throw them to the floor. The quiet breeze that blew in from my opened window hardened my nipples and I see his eyes going over them.

He takes another long inhale of his cigarette before walking to my desk and putting it out with my metal pencil case.

He settles down on my desk and looks at me smiling. Was he urging me to go on? I wanted to but wasn't this crazy?

"Take yours off too" I finally find the courage to speak. He doesn't respond to me so I think he's ignoring me.

Not long after he reaches down for his pants and opens the button, zips it down, and drags down his boxers low enough to bring his dick out. He strokes it a little and looks back up at me.

He doesn't have to speak, I know what he's asking me to do, I can hear it in my heart. When I told him to take his off too, I was actually referring to the garment covering his upper body.

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I start to move, my hands reach into my jeans, under my underwear, ready to stroke, when—

The door flips open with a bang.