Page 8 of Carnival Stalker

As soon as the door closes behind us, caging us in this small space together, I spin to face him, needing answers.

“Who are you?” I demand, trying to pour as much bravado into my voice as possible. “Why were you following me and Chloe at the carnival? And why did you scare that guy off?”

The masked figure doesn’t respond. He stares at me through the haunting skull mask, his icy eyes roaming hungrily over my body.

“Now’s not the time for questions.” His deep, gravelly voice sends a shiver down my spine.

Then he’s on me, lifting me onto a nearby workbench. I gasp, my hands gripping the edge as he parts my legs, forcing them open when I try to close them.

“I’m going to prove why you’re mine,” he growls. “Prove why you need to stay the fuck away from all other men.”

He pulls the mask up enough to free his mouth, and his lips ghost against my lace-covered pussy, sending a shockwave through me.

Then he pushes the fabric aside and devours me. His tongue swirls and flicks against my clit in a waythat makes my head spin. My back arches off the table as a moan escapes my lips, loud and wanting.

He growls in response, the vibrations shooting straight to my core. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me open as he feasts on me until I’m a panting mess.

I can’t think, can’t breathe. I’ve never been eaten out like this, as if the guy is starving and I’m his last fucking meal. It’s like he’s staking his claim on my body, branding me as his own with every lick and nip.

My mind is blank, and my body is on fire. I’m putty in his hands, helpless to do anything but feel. His tongue plunges inside me, and his fingers tighten on my thighs as he devours me with an intensity that matches the obsession in his eyes. I’m lost, drowning in a sea of pleasure, my body betraying any resistance I might’ve felt.

I belong to him in this moment, body and soul.

A scream tears from me as I climax, my walls clenching around nothing as he circles my clit with the tip of his tongue. He groans his satisfaction, lapping up every drop of my release.

Slowly, I come back to earth. I’m buzzing with the aftershocks, slumped on the table, boneless and utterly spent.

But he’s not done yet.

With a rough grip, he lifts me off the table and pushes my back against it, wrapping his fingers around my throat.

“Tell me, Tilly.” His voice is a low, menacing growl. “Say it. Tell me who you belong to.”

Fuck. How does this stranger know my name? That’s a serious redflag in itself.

“What? No—I don’t even know your name!” I choke out, his fingers tightening around my throat.

“You don’t need to know that yet,” he says. “But I need to hear you say it. Admit that you’re mine and belong to me and only me.”

There’s a threat beneath his words, and the thrill of it sends a pulse between my legs. I’m breathing heavily now, my body aching for more.

My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “I belong to you.”

At my surrender, his lips crash into mine. His tongue pushes into my mouth, allowing me to taste myself. All while his hands move to grip my hips, pulling me closer.

I melt into him, my hands roaming over his shoulders and back. This intense, masked stranger has me under his spell, my body singing with need.

But as quickly as the kiss begins, he moves away and pulls the mask into place, hiding his mouth again.

“Wait—” I reach for him.

“Not yet, baby,” he says. “But soon. I promise.”

Then, before I can protest, he turns and strides away, leaving me alone, shocked, and aching for more.

7

PHOENIX

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