Page 23 of Stalked

Something primitive inside Mason howled in triumph at the plea. He drove his tongue deeper, working Toby open with relentless attention. The taste was addictive—earthy, intimate, purelyToby. Better than Mason had imagined during those long nights alone. Better than anyone Toby had ever displayed himself for online.

Toby's restraint shattered completely. His cries grew wilder, filling the clearing, punctuated by gasps and half-formed words. The watching shadows shifted and stirred, drawn by the sounds of Toby's pleasure, but Mason barely registered them.

Mine, the wolf snarled possessively as Mason's tongue circled Toby's entrance before plunging back inside.Only I get to make him like this. Only I get to taste him.

Toby's legs trembled violently, his head thrown back, throat exposed in unconscious submission. Every muscle in his body pulled taut as Mason worked him relentlessly toward release. The boy was coming undone beneath him, all pretense of control dissolving with each skilled movement.Beautiful, Mason thought.So fucking beautiful.

Still maintaining the rhythm of his tongue, Mason slowly brought his hand up, letting his index finger trace the sensitive skin around Toby's entrance. He felt Toby tense immediately, the muscles in his thighs going rigid. Mason pressed gently, just the tip of his finger breaching the tight ring of muscle alongside his tongue. Toby's breath caught, his body rigid with uncertainty. So tight. So fucking tight.

"Breathe," Mason instructed, his voice low but commanding. "Let me in."

Slowly, Toby's body began to yield, muscles relaxing enough for Mason to work his finger deeper. When he curled it slightly, searching for that spot he knew would change everything, Toby's entire demeanor transformed.

"Fuck!" Toby gasped, his back arching sharply off the log. "Oh god—"

Mason smiled against his skin. The wolf inside him growled with satisfaction as Toby began to move against his hand, seeking more. This was what Mason had waited for—the moment when need overrode everything else. When Toby's body betrayed all his careful walls and simply took what it wanted.

Mason obliged, slowly introducing a second finger alongside the first, stretching him with careful attention. The tight heat around his fingers made Mason's cock throb with renewed need. Toby's moans grew more urgent as Mason established a rhythm, driving his fingers deeper with each thrust. The night air carried the sounds across the clearing, where shadowy figures lurked at the edges, drawn by the scent of their coupling.

Let them watch. Let them see who Toby belongs to.

Mason continued thrusting into Toby, fingers now moving in and out with practiced precision. He watched Toby's face, fascinated by his desperate struggle to maintain control. "You're trying so hard not to let me see what this does to you," Mason murmured, twisting his fingers just right. "It's cute."

Toby's jaw clenched, determined to prove Mason wrong. But his body was a traitor—his hole clenched greedily around Mason's fingers, his cock leaked steadily onto his stomach, his thighs trembled with each thrust. "I'm—fine," Toby managed, the lie obvious in his broken voice.

Mason laughed, low and dark. "Are you?"

He rolled his fingers directly against Toby's prostate, rocking them there with firm pressure. Toby's composure shattered instantly. "Fuck!" The word tore from Toby's throat, his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, running down his temples. His chest flushed pink, the color spreading down to his nipples. Each breath came as a ragged gasp, his lips parted and wet from where he'd been biting them.

"That's better," Mason approved. "Stop fighting it."

But Toby wouldn't surrender that easily. When he opened his eyes again, there was renewed determination there. He forced his breathing to steady, clamped his mouth shut, trying to regain his mask of indifference.

Mason simply curled his fingers again, thrusting deeper.

"Jesus—" Toby choked out, his fragile composure fracturing again. His stomach muscles clenched, his back arching off the log. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, over his collarbone.

"Still fine?" Mason asked, increasing his pace.

Toby couldn't answer now. Each thrust punched a sound from him—desperate, needy whimpers he couldn't contain. His face was flushed, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. His eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide.

"You should see yourself," Mason growled, drinking in the sight. "Trying to act like you don't need this, while your body begs for more."

Toby shook his head in weak denial, but his hips pushed down to meet Mason's thrusts, seeking deeper penetration. "St-stop talking," he gasped, one last attempt at defiance.

Mason twisted his fingers again, and the last of Toby's resistance crumbled. His mouth fell open on a silent moan, chest heaving, entire body trembling. Sweat glistened on his skin in the moonlight, making him look otherworldly.

"Gorgeous," Mason breathed, mesmerized by the sight of Toby coming undone. "Fucking gorgeous when you stop pretending."

"More," Toby pleaded, his hips working in counterpoint to Mason's movements. "Please, Mason—"

Mason's control slipped further at the sound of his name on those desperate lips. He added a third finger, relishing the way Toby's breath caught at the stretch, the momentary discomfort quickly giving way to renewed pleasure. The wolf inside him snarled with impatience.Take him. Now—

Mason wasn't the only one wrestling with impatience. Toby's hand moved between their bodies, reaching for his neglected cock, lying flushed and leaking against his stomach.

Mason caught his wrist before he could make contact. "No," he growled, his voice deeper than usual, roughened by desire. "You don't touch yourself until I say so."

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