Romance for Stalkers

It's always worst at night, when distractions dictate his movements and time limps weakly toward the dawn. That's when craving sinks in its teeth, marrow deep, and he finds himself trapped in the maw of temptation.

Nearly every night he gives in.

He tells himself this has got to stop, but somehow he can't resist the compulsion to stand over Cuddy's bed, reveling in that frisson of wrongdoing as his eyes trace the gentle glide of her breasts. Watching her sleep.

House never touches. He knows some limits are better left untested.

His hands remain clinched at his sides, instead. Or, at most, pilfering her lingerie drawer for the spun sugar triangle of a candy pink thong.

Later, alone in his apartment with his trophy, he does what little he can to abate his hunger, still yearning for her taste... so sweet.

Lisa Cuddy. His forbidden treat.