Page 15 of Stalked

Mason chuckled, the rumble vibrating against Toby's spine. "No. That was from your post last Sunday. The one where you begged for someone to hold you down and make you feel small."

He dragged his teeth lightly over the tendon where Toby's neck met his shoulder, not breaking skin, just testing. Promising. "Fuck," Toby gasped, the word half-swallowed as his body went rigid.

Mason inhaled the scent of Toby's arousal, sharp and sweet. He'd spent months imagining how the boy would smell when turned on, and the reality was better—richer, more complex. It made his wolf pace restlessly, eager to claim.

"I know you want your hair pulled," Mason continued, sliding his free hand up to thread through Toby's soft waves. He tightened his grip just enough to test the waters. "Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you who's in control."

Toby's hips jerked involuntarily, pushing back against Mason's naked erection. The friction drew a growl from deep in Mason's chest. "Stop talking," Toby hissed, blushing—but his body melted when Mason tugged his hair again, guiding his head back to expose the elegant column of his throat.

"You don't want me to stop," Mason said, lips brushing Toby's pulse point. "You want me to tell you exactly how thoroughly I've studied you. How I know which spots make you whimper."

To prove his point, Mason lowered his mouth to the junction of Toby's neck and shoulder and bit down—firm, possessive, exactly how Toby had once confessed he fantasized about.

Toby's reaction was immediate and visceral. A moan tore from his throat, his body arching, head falling back against Mason's shoulder.

"That's it," Mason growled against his skin. "Let me hear you."

"This doesn't mean anything," Toby gasped, even as his body betrayed him, seeking more contact. "Biology. Just biology."

Mason smiled against his throat, hand sliding down to Toby's hips, fingers digging into the sensitive hollows. "Is that what you told yourself when you posted that video? The one where you begged for a strong hand around your throat while you came?"

His fingers trailed upward, a deliberate path of heat along Toby's ribs, his sternum, climbing with torturous slowness toward his throat. Toby's breath shortened, his head tilting back instinctively, body arching to meet the touch. Mason's fingertips ghosted over Toby's collarbone, brushing the hollow of his throat where his pulse hammered wildly... then diverted, tracing his jawline instead.

Toby couldn't stop the disappointed groan that escaped him, his body unconsciously chasing the denied pressure. "You're a fucking stalker," he managed, but his voice was wrecked, his hips pressing back against Mason's hardness even as the words left his mouth.

"And you're hard in my arms," Mason countered, rolling his hips forward, letting Toby feel exactly what he did to him. "Twenty years your senior and you're trembling for me."

"Arrogant asshole," Toby breathed, but there was no heat in the insult—only heat in his body, pressing back against Mason's, seeking friction.

Mason looked down, eyes locking on the unmistakable bulge tenting Toby's jeans. Evidence. Proof.His.

His hand slid down, deliberate and possessive, popping the button with practiced ease. "All that attitude," Mason growled, yanking the zipper down with a sound that cut through the night. "And still so fucking ready for me."

Toby's sharp inhale was music as Mason hooked his fingers into the waistband, tugging downward.

"Time to see if reality lives up to your fantasies, ShyBoy."

Chapter seven

Toby

TobyfeltMason'shandslide down his stomach like he owned every inch of skin it touched. The button on his jeans popped open with a flick of Mason's fingers—a small sound that seemed to echo through the entire forest.

"All that attitude," Mason growled, yanking Toby's zipper down, "and still so fucking ready for me."

His voice vibrated against Toby's back, and Toby knew he should have been horrified. Or at least trying to run. Instead, he was frozen, caught between terror and a humiliating, overwhelming arousal that made his knees weak.

Mason Blackwood. Alpha of the Northern Woods Pack. Father of Caleb fucking Blackwood, who'd made Toby's time at college a living hell.

And he was tugging Toby's jeans down his hips like unwrapping a present he couldn't wait to play with.

This has to be a joke, Toby thought desperately.Some elaborate prank, some blackmail attempt. In a moment he'll be laughing about how the pathetic scholarship student thought he had a chance with a man like him...

But there was nothing joking about the way Mason's breath came in a hot, dark growl, or the way his cock ground against Toby's ass.

The cool night air hit Toby's exposed cock, and he bit his lip to keep from making a sound. It didn't help. The second Mason's large hand wrapped around him, Toby gasped like he was drowning.

"Sensitive," Mason murmured, sounding pleased. His thumb circled the head, gathering the wetness already there. "I wondered if you would be."

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