He Sees You When You're Sleeping

by Alta Hensley

Not only has he been shoveling my walkway after every storm, but he also hung the Christmas lights outside my window. Granted, it was a single and simple strand of lights on my tall shrub, but I appreciated the effort.

He chuckles, cradling the mug between his gnarled hands. “Maybe Santa’s elves. Or you have yourself a helpful stalker.”

How many nights have I done this now? Lurking, watching, waiting. It’s become an addiction I can’t control.

me. I tell myself each time will be the last, that I’ll break free of this compulsion. But I can’t. For some reason, I can’t stop.

Over the past few years, I’ve been shoveling Chloe’s walkway after a snowstorm for three reasons.

The first is because snow means footsteps. Footsteps mean evidence. And the last thing I need is my boot prints leading a trail to right outside her window.

And like always, I promise myself that this will be the last time I come around to watch her from afar. But deep down inside, I know that’s a lie. Chloe Hallman is my drug.

But as I start walking to work, I can’t shake the image of Chloe’s smile, the sound of her laugh. I tell myself this is the last time, that I’ll stop coming to the café, stop following her. Okay . . . I’m a liar. I miss her already.

Obsession has a flavor. I can taste it on my lips.

Bad, bad girl! I want to burst through that window and explain the dangers, lecture her on fire safety, spank her naughty and perfect ass, and then beg her to let me fix it properly.

I finish installing the new detector and reach for my backpack once again. My hands shake. My mind screams no. I shouldn’t do it. I should stop. But I don’t. Instead, I pull out a nanny camera. It would fit so perfectly next to this alarm and Chloe would never be the wiser.

I reach up, ready to tear down the camera, to undo this terrible mistake. But as my fingers brush against it, the creeper stalker in me returns. And he’s so much stronger than the good angel on my shoulder telling me how fucked up this is.

I have a Dark Secrets account. But Chloe? My sweet angel Chloe?

I took the girl out for hot cocoa like she was a virginal eighteen-year-old. Jesus, she must think I’m a goddamn Boy Scout. Had I known .

“If only he knew what I really wanted. You all know exactly what I want, don’t you?”

The username makes my blood run cold: WinterWatcher. It can’t be. It’s a coincidence, right? But as I click on the profile, the bio reads: “I like to watch from afar. Always from afar.”

I want a man who can dominate me. Someone who can make me cry out as he spanks me, who can tie me up and make me beg for release.

I saw her videos. I can see what she’s favorited. I can see everything and all her hidden kinks. And fuck me . . . they are the same as mine. If Dark Secrets were a dating app, we’d be a match.

I know, I want to say. I want to admit that I was the one working the scene that night. That I was the firefighter who pulled her parents’ bodies from the wreckage. That I held her shaking hand as I got her into the ambulance. That I went to the hospital after my shift to check on her and have watched over her ever since.

“There’s something about you, Jack. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but . . . I feel like I can trust you. Is that crazy?” I swallow against the guilt and desire warring inside me. “No, not crazy at all. I feel the same way about you.”

“Wanna know a secret? I happen to like dark,” he says, his eyes connecting with mine. Jesus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden spark of electricity between us. “Dark, huh? Be careful what you wish for, Jack.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark. Or of you.” My thoughts return to my video on Dark Secrets and how close I came to revealing my true self. The intensity of the moment throws me off balance. I look away, focusing on the snow-covered sidewalk. “Maybe you should be,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

“Care to elaborate on that, Fireman Jack?” He steps closer, his eyes intense. “I’m not sure you’re ready for that side of me.” My heart races at his proximity. “And here I thought you were a walking Hallmark movie,” I tease, but my voice comes out breathier than I intended.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet. Just like I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about you.” “Careful,” I warn, but I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself. “You might not like what you find out.” “Try me,” he challenges, his voice low.

“Good night, Ms. Scrooge,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams of sugarplums and serial killers.” I laugh softly, trying to ignore the disappointment at the lack of a kiss. “Good night, Fireman Jack. Try not to save too many kittens before our date.”

My hand unconsciously drifts to my neck, fantasizing about the feeling of being choked, controlled. God, I crave that in someone . . . someone like Jack. The thrill, the danger, the exquisite balance of pain and pleasure.

“And the fireman? Is that how you met him?” I shake my head. “No. In fact, I think that’s one of my hang-ups about the fireman. I’ve been with vanilla men all my life. I’m ready for a change.”

So, WinterWatcher, what’s the story behind your username? I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Ah, that’s a tale for another time. But I will say it involves a snowstorm, standing outside a pretty girl’s window, and well . . . watching.

Make yourself come, pretty girl. Come for me.

You’re welcome. You were perfect. Such a good, good girl.

I imagine meeting you in person, she types. I picture you in a mask. A mask that is almost pagan in style. It will have horns or something demonic in nature. I imagine it covering most of your face. But not your lips.

Please, she types. Please fuck me. I need you inside me. I need to feel your cock stretching me open. Please, I’m yours. Take me. She continues to type. But you won’t. Not yet. You’re waiting for . . . them. They haven’t arrived yet. Who are they? I prompt. The others, she finally types. The ones who watch. You want to be watched as I fuck you. Yes. More than anything. How many others? I type. A roomful, she responds quickly. I want everyone to see my pussy as you spread me.

He reaches up, gently tracing the edge of my jaw with his thumb. “Is it time for me to unwrap you?” His voice is extremely deep . . . too deep, as if he’s doing it to disguise his voice. But I don’t care. He came! It’s him!

I glance back at the window and give a smirk to the viewers. Yeah, that’s right. He’s mine for the night.

“They can see your bare pussy,” I growl. “And now they’re going to see me lick every inch of it.”

Chloe’s back arches off the bed as she cries out, “Jack!” even though she doesn’t realize it’s me. Wait . . . did she just call out my name? I freeze, and she sits up, eyes wide.

“I’m going to make you swallow every last inch of me,” I say, my voice low and full of promise. “And they’re all going to watch you do it like the good girl you are.”

Jesus, she was just with another man. Wait . . . no. She was with me. But she didn’t know it was me. And then she leaves one man to come to me. This twisted mess is getting more tangled by the second. I collapse onto my couch, head in my hands. What am I doing? What is she doing? This double life, this obsession—it’s consuming me. Am I jealous? Jealous of myself?

But at the time, it seemed intrusive. It seemed inappropriate. It seemed wrong. So what did I do? I became a goddamn stalker instead. Because that’s not intrusive, inappropriate, or wrong at all, right?

And when I found myself standing at Jack’s apartment building last night, had he been home . . . I would have fucked him. I needed to fuck him.

Find me a fireman. I want to be a badge bunny or a hose hoe. Sign me up!”

“If either of them can’t handle you taking the time you need to figure things out, then maybe they’re not the right fit for you anyway.”

But then she laughs, a sound that I will never tire of hearing. “Well, well,” she purrs, addressing her audience. “Looks like my mystery man has decided to join us after all. And he’s feeling a bit . . . possessive.”

No, I don’t like sharing, I type back. Not unless I’m there to make it clear who you belong to.

And then something wild and insane comes into me. It’s time. It’s time to reveal who I truly am. Before I lose my courage, I reach for her blindfold.

But then, something unexpected happens. A slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes lighting up with a mixture of surprise and . . . is that delight? “It’s you,” she whispers, her voice filled with wonder. “I should have known.”

“Being a masked man was a fantasy of yours,” he reminds me. “My goal—” he lifts the red blindfold and dangles it in front of me “—is to grant you every single fantasy you have.”

“Hello, everyone,” Jack’s deep voice rumbles. “Tell us something about yourself,” I say with a gasp as his hand caresses my belly. “I like to watch,” is all he says.

“Oh, they’re definitely ready,” I moan, turning my head to look at Jack. “The question is, are you? Time to be watched rather than watch.”

“BlackAsChlo has been very, very naughty,” Jack says to the viewers. “I’ve promised this naughty girl a punishment, and I’m a man of my word.”