Stalking in the New Year

The moment I first saw her on that stage, I was done. Every move, every twist of her body is pure seduction. She’s nothing like the other dancers—no fake smiles, no practiced routine. She moves like she’s meant to be worshipped.


A ballerina. A goddess. Poetry in motion.


Her long red hair flows like fire, and those green eyes—hell, they burn right through me.


I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I need her. My body craves her. If I don’t have her, I’ll lose my mind.

She’s my obsession, my fantasy, my everything. And tonight, on New Year’s Eve?


She’s mine.