Page 9 of My Bratva Stalker

I should be horrified. I should feel ashamed. I should be turning, running and slamming the door behind me.

Instead, I bring my hands to my mouth, my eyes wide, my legs trembling with something I don’t want to name.

Why am I getting wet? Why am I standing here, watching himpump his thick cock in his hand, unable to tear my gaze away? Why do I feel hot all over? Why do I feel owned?

His eyes darken. His jaw clenches. His fist moves faster.

And my pulse skips, my body humming, aching, wanting.

I should be shocked. So why is my entire body burning with desire?

Viktor

She’s here. Finally. Under my roof. Sleeping just down the fucking hall. After all these months of watching, waiting, taking pieces of her life without her knowing. She’s finally here. But it’s not enough.

I shouldn’t be this fucking hard. Not from just knowing she’s in my home. Not from just imagining her curled up in my sheets, her smooth thighs pressed together, her top slipping down one soft shoulder. Not from just picturing how warm her body must be under the blankets, how her full tits must be rising and falling with each slow breath.

But I am. I fucking am.

My cock aches, pulsing thick and furious against my slacks.

The need is unbearable.

Months of jerking off alone in my office, in my car, in dark corners while stalking her, and watching grainy footage of her moving around her apartment.

But this is different. This is worse. Because now she’s right fucking here. Close enough to touch. Close enough to take.

I exhale sharply, shoving my slacks down, freeing my cock. Thethick, aching weight of it slaps hot against my stomach. I groan, wrapping my fist around the base, the slide already slick with precum.

Fuck. I need her. Need her scent, her softness, her body under mine. I need her moaning into my sheets, face buried in my pillow while I stretch her open, while I fuck her so deep she feels me for fucking days.

I stroke slowly at first. Long, deliberate pulls, tightening my grip, teasing myself, dragging out the torture. But it’s not enough. Not even fucking close.

I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing it. Marie under me. Her full lips parted, her breath shaky, her body trembling. I see it so clearly. Her soft, round tits bouncing as I fuck into her. Her fingers gripping my arms, her nails digging into my skin, her body adjusting, struggling, learning how to take me. The slick heat of her untouched cunt stretching around my cock for the first time.

Fuck. I stroke harder. My teeth clench.

I can almost hear her. Her soft little moans. Her whispered gasps as she realizes she’s too fucking full, too fucked-out to fight me.

Can almost smell her. That warm, faint sweetness that has been fucking haunting me since the first night I got close enough to breathe her in.

I groan deep in my chest, my muscles tensing, my cock swelling in my grip.

Fuck. So close. So fucking…

The door to my room opens. A sharp inhale. A gasp.

And everything stops.

She’s standing there. Barefoot. Soft. Beautiful. A fucking dream come true. Eyes wide.

And she’s watching me.

I don’t move. Don’t stop. I tighten my grip, dragging my fist slow over my length, watching her watch me.

She should run. She should slam the door and pretend this never happened.

But she doesn’t. She just stands there. Breathing too fast. Lips parted. Trembling. Thighs pressing together.

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