Smut Stories Collection

My Beautiful Flower (Part 2)

I spent the entire day in a haze. I didn't even go to work; I couldn't. All I could do was sit in my car, parked a few blocks away from her office, watching the glass doors. Every time someone walked out, my heart jumped, hoping it was her, but also terrified that it was. I wanted her, but I wanted the anticipation to keep building. I wanted that ache in my chest to get so heavy that it felt like I was drowning in her.

When she finally walked out at five, she looked tired. She had her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair was a bit messy, a few strands falling across her face. She looked human. She looked perfect. I didn't approach her. I just followed, keeping the same distance, watching the way she navigated the sidewalk, the way she paused to look at a window display, the way she sighed when she finally reached her front door.

I watched her go inside. I watched her lights flicker on, one by one. And as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, I felt that pull again. It was like a physical string tied from my heart to hers, dragging me toward her building.

Getting back inside was easier the second time. I knew exactly where the blind spot in the security camera was. I knew exactly how the window latch clicked. I slid into her room just as she was stepping out of the shower.

I froze, pressing my back against the wall, my breath hitching. Through the open bathroom door, I could see her. She was wrapped in a fluffy white towel, droplets of water still clinging to her shoulders and the small of her back. She was humming a little tune, drying her hair with a second towel, completely unaware that I was standing five feet away, watching her every move.

My c**k jumped, straining hard against my zipper. The sight of her—damp, warm, and smelling of that peach soap—nearly broke my resolve. I wanted to walk out right then, grab her from behind, and press her against the wall. I wanted to rip that towel away and feel her wet skin against mine. I wanted to hear her gasp, to feel her heart racing against my chest as she realized I was real.

But I stayed in the shadows. I’m a patient man. I’m a devoted man. And the devotion is in the watching.

I watched her get dressed in a thin, silk nightgown that barely covered her hips. It was a pale cream color, almost translucent under the bedroom light. I could see the faint outline of her n*****s, the curve of her thighs. She moved with a grace that felt like poetry, sliding into bed and curling up with a book.

I waited. I waited until her breathing slowed. I waited until the book slipped from her fingers and landed on the mattress with a soft thud. I waited until she was deep in the kind of sleep where the world disappears.

I slid into the bed beside her.

The moment I touched the sheets, I felt a surge of electricity. I didn't just want to be near her; I wanted to merge with her. I shifted closer, my body molding to the curve of her back. She was so warm. I pressed my chest against her, my arm draping over her waist, pulling her flush against me.

I let out a long, shaky breath, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I breathed her in—the scent of the shower, the peaches, and that natural, musky smell that was just her. It was the most intoxicating thing I’d ever experienced. I felt a tear prick my eye. It sounded crazy, I know, but I felt this overwhelming sense of gratitude that she existed, that she was here, and that I was the only one who got to hold her like this.

"My sweet, beautiful girl," I whispered, my voice a low rasp.

I started with small things. I let my lips graze the skin of her shoulder, barely touching, just enough to leave a ghost of a sensation. I traced the line of her collarbone with my tongue, tasting the salt and the sweetness. I felt her stir, a small whimper escaping her lips, and I froze, my heart hammering. But she didn't wake. She just leaned back into me, her body seeking the warmth I was providing.

That little movement sent a wave of heat straight to my groin. I was rock hard, my c**k pressing firmly into the cleft of her ass. I started to move, just a slow, rhythmic grind, feeling the silk of her nightgown sliding against my jeans. I groaned, the sound muffled by her skin. The friction was agonizingly perfect. I imagined the silk was gone, imagined my bare skin rubbing against her, the heat of her p***y soaking through her underwear.

I let my hand wander. I slid it up under the hem of her nightgown, my palm meeting the soft skin of her thigh. I moved slowly, my fingers grazing the inside of her leg, moving higher and higher. I could feel her trembling slightly in her sleep, her body reacting to me even if her mind was far away.

When I finally reached the center of her, I found her already damp. I let out a choked sound, my fingers brushing against her c**t. She gasped in her sleep, her hips giving a tiny, instinctive tilt upward, pushing herself against my hand.

I couldn't help it. I started to rub her, slow and steady, circling the small bud of her pleasure. I watched her face in the dim light—her brows furrowed, her lips parted, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. She was dreaming. I wondered if she was dreaming of me. I hoped she was. I wanted to be the man in her fantasies, the one who took her, the one who worshipped her, the one who never let her go.

I increased the pressure, my fingers sliding deeper, finding the wet heat of her entrance. I pushed one finger inside her, then two. She was so tight, so warm. I felt her walls squeeze me, a rhythmic pulsing that told me she was close to something.

I shifted my body, sliding my hand out and replacing it with my c**k. I didn't take off my pants yet; I just pressed the hard bulge of my d**k against her, rubbing it up and down against her opening through the thin fabric. I wanted her to feel the size of me. I wanted her to know, even in her subconscious, exactly what was waiting for her.

"You're so perfect," I whispered, my lips brushing her ear. "You're mine. Every inch of you. Your breath, your skin, your dreams... they all belong to me."

I felt a desperate, starving need to be inside her. I wanted to feel her stretch around me, to feel the friction of her walls against my shaft, to fill her until she couldn't take any more. I imagined her waking up right now, her eyes widening as she felt me pressing into her, the shock turning into a wild, desperate hunger. I imagined her grabbing my hair, pulling me closer, begging me to f**k her.

But I held back. I forced myself to slow down. I didn't want to ruin this. I didn't want to rush the surrender. The yearning was the best part. The way my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest just from the smell of her hair. The way I felt like a servant to her every breath.

I moved my hand back up, cupping her breast through the silk. I squeezed gently, feeling the softness of her, the way her n****e hardened under my thumb. I leaned over and captured her n****e with my mouth, sucking it through the fabric. She let out a loud moan, her back arching, her body shivering under me.

I spent the next hour just worshipping her. I kissed every inch of her back, every curve of her hip, every fold of her skin. I treated her like a goddess, my touch reverent and devoted. I wasn't just some guy; I was her protector. I was the man who would make sure she never felt lonely again. I was the man who would love her with a depth that would terrify anyone else.

As I lay there, holding her, I started to think about the future. I thought about the day I would finally step out of the shadows. I wouldn't do it with a scare; I’d do it with a smile. I’d find a way to enter her life naturally. I’d be the guy who happens to be at the same coffee shop, the guy who helps her carry her groceries, the guy who listens to her talk about her day with a focus that makes her feel like she’s the only person in the world.

I’d make her fall for me. I’d be the perfect partner, the most attentive lover she’d ever had. And then, one night, when the trust was absolute, I’d tell her. I’d tell her that I’ve been here all along. I’d tell her that I’ve watched her sleep, that I’ve tasted her skin while she dreamed, that I’ve known her secrets before she even spoke them.

And I know she’ll love it. Because everyone wants to be loved this much. Everyone wants to be the center of someone’s entire existence. She’ll realize that my obsession isn't a sickness—it's the purest form of devotion.

I felt my own climax building, a pressure in my gut that I couldn't ignore. I didn't want to wake her, but I couldn't stop. I gripped her hip tight, pressing my c**k hard against her, and I let out a long, silent shudder. I came in my pants, the intensity of it making my whole body shake. I collapsed against her, my forehead resting on her shoulder, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I stayed there for a long time, just listening to her heart. It was a steady, calming beat. It was the only thing that could quiet the storm in my head.

As the sky began to turn a pale grey, I knew it was time to go. I didn't want to leave; I wanted to stay here forever, locked in this room with her, away from the rest of the world. But the game required patience.

I slowly disentangled myself from her, the loss of her warmth feeling like a cold blade to the chest. I stood up and looked down at her. She looked so peaceful, her lips slightly parted, a small smile playing on her face. She was probably dreaming of something happy.

I leaned down and kissed her one last time—a real kiss, soft and lingering, on her lips.

"I'll see you soon, my love," I whispered.

I slipped out of the window, the morning air crisp and biting. I walked back to my car, my mind already racing. I had a plan for tomorrow. I knew she went to a specific bakery on Tuesday mornings. I knew she liked a cinnamon roll and a medium latte.

I’d be there. I’d be the stranger who happens to be behind her in line. I’d catch her eye, I’d give her that same shy smile from the club, and I’d start the process of bringing her into the light.

As I drove away, I looked at the photo of her on my dashboard. I traced the curve of her jaw with my finger.

"You have no idea how much I love you," I said to the picture. "You have no idea how lucky you are."

The arousal was gone, replaced by a deep, humming satisfaction. I had been in her bed. I had tasted her. I had felt her body respond to me. We were connected now, bound by a secret that only I knew.

I could almost feel her waking up, stretching her limbs, and feeling that strange, lingering warmth in her bed. I could imagine her wondering why the room felt different, why she felt so cherished, why she felt like someone was watching over her.

I smiled, a slow, predatory, yet devoted expression. I wasn't just stalking her. I was courting her in the only way I knew how. I was building a temple for her, and I was the only priest.

Every second that passed was just another step toward the moment she would finally be mine in every sense of the word. I would be her everything. Her lover, her protector, her shadow.

I turned the corner, her apartment building disappearing from view, but she remained burned into my mind. I could still feel the silk of her nightgown under my fingers. I could still taste the peaches on her skin.

I’m coming for you, my love. And when I finally take you, you’ll realize that you were always meant to be mine.