Page 13 of Stalked

The realization hit him all at once, cold and sharp, cutting through the fog of fear and arousal. His body moved before his mind could catch up. In a burst of courage, Toby twisted in the werewolf’s grip, breaking free just enough to face him.

His eyes widened. His stomach dropped.

Piercing green eyes. A strong, chiseled jaw.

Power. Control. Recognition.

"You?" The whisper barely made it past his lips.

Mason smiled down at him, slow and knowing, his expression dark with hunger, soft with something else. "Me."

Chapter six

Mason

ThemomentMasonpulledToby against him, the boy went rigid. A sharp inhale, a choked sound—pure, startled panic. Mason could feel Toby's heartbeat hammering against his own chest, wild and frantic.

Toby tilted his head back, eyes wide as they locked onto Mason’s face. Recognition dawned, something flashing through those soft brown depths.

"You," Toby breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Mason’s lips curled. "Me."

The shock in Toby’s face sent a deep, electric thrill through him. He’d dreamed of this moment—aching, desperate nights spent staring at Toby’s secret account, knowing the boy had no idea how closely he was being watched. He’d imagined this exact moment a thousand times over the past few weeks, but none of those fantasies compared to the raw, trembling reality in his arms now.

“You’re shaking,” Mason murmured, tightening his grip. “Is it fear? Or something else?”

Toby flinched at the teasing lilt in his voice, but there—just beneath the terror—was something Mason recognized. A flicker of heat. A breath caught in the throat. A body that, despite itself, wasn’t pulling away.

Toby’s fingers twitched, his body leaning back as if to escape—but not pushing away. Not really. Mason felt the hesitation, the way Toby’s muscles went taut, like a rabbit caught in the jaws of something bigger, stronger. “This isn’t—” He started, but his voice wavered. His lips were parted, breath shallow. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Mason interrupted, tightening his grip just enough to make sure Toby felt it. Mason inhaled deeply, taking in the scent that had haunted him—vanilla, adrenaline, and beneath it all, unmistakable arousal.

Brave little liar.

“And you want me to.”

Toby's spine stiffened like a rod. "You don't know the first thing about what I want."

But I do.Mason had memorized every video. Every gasp. Every flush that spread across that pale chest when pleasure overwhelmed him. "Then stop pressing that perfect ass against me."

Toby exhaled sharply, his body still tense, but the raw panic in his eyes was fading. Not gone—but shifting. Something flickered behind that guarded gaze, something Mason had felt before he’d even seen it.

Then, to Mason’s utter delight, Toby narrowed his eyes.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, voice tight. “You kidnap me, hold me like some lovesick caveman, sniff me like I’m a scented candle—and now what? I’m supposed to swoon?”

Mason chuckled, low and dark, pressing his fingers just a little deeper into Toby’s hips. He could feel the way the boy’s pulse leapt beneath his touch, how his breath hitched even as he tried to hold himself together.

“You say that like you haven’t spent months begging for it,” Mason murmured.

Toby went still. His body tensed against him, muscles locking up like a wire pulled too tight. "What do you mean?"

Mason leaned in, letting his breath brush over the shell of Toby’s ear. “You think I didn’t recognize you, ShyBoy?”

Toby flinched, his breath escaping in a shaky exhale.

Mason felt it like a jolt straight to his cock. He'd spent weeks, months, jerking himself raw to those faceless photos, to those videos—just flashes of pale skin, teasing glimpses of a body desperate to be claimed. The little confessions Toby spilled into the void, the careful way he framed his shots, never showing too much, never revealing his identity. Except Mason had found him anyway.

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