Page 29 of Stalked

His normally flat stomach had a visible swell—not large, but unmistakable. The slight distention moved with each pulse of Mason's release, physical evidence of just how thoroughly he'd been claimed.

"Oh my god," Toby breathed, reaching down to press a trembling hand against the slight curve. The pressure of his palm made Mason groan, heightening the sensation for both of them.

Mason's eyes, still glowing with preternatural light, fixed on where Toby's hand rested against his distended stomach. "Next time," he growled, voice rough with satisfaction, "I'll fill you up even more. Mark you so deeply you'll feel me for days."

Next time.

The words cut through Toby's pleasure-haze like a splash of cold water. Something vulnerable and wounded flickered across his face before he could stop it, an old defense mechanism kicking in despite the intimacy they'd just shared.

"You've already come," he said with forced lightness, summoning a wry smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You don't have to keep up the dirty talk."

Mason went still above him. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached down and took Toby's chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up until their eyes met.

"Look at me," Mason commanded softly.

Toby did, unable to hide the uncertainty that had crept in to replace the blissed-out surrender of moments before.

"I don't say things I don't mean." Mason's voice was quiet but intense, his gaze unwavering. "What happened between us wasn't just rutting in the woods. It wasn't a game." His thumb stroked along Toby's jawline with surprising gentleness. "I'm going to prove my intentions to you every day, every night, until you see yourself as I see you. Until you understand that I'm not going anywhere."

Toby's breath caught in his throat. The cynical part of him—the part that had been hurt before, that expected to be left behind—wanted to dismiss the words as post-orgasmic sentiment. But there was something in Mason's eyes, something ancient and certain, that made it impossible to disbelieve him.

"You don't even know me," Toby whispered, the last feeble protest of a heart afraid to hope.

Mason's hand tightened on Toby's jaw, not painfully but with enough pressure to command his full attention. The werewolf's eyes flashed briefly, a reminder of the predator beneath the man.

"I know enough," Mason growled, voice dropping to a timbre that vibrated through Toby's bones. "I know how your breath catches when I touch you. I know the sound you make when you surrender." His thumb traced Toby's lower lip. "I know you hide behind that clever mind because you're afraid of letting people see how deeply you feel."

Toby's eyes widened. No one had ever read him so accurately before.

"And you," Mason continued, leaning closer until their foreheads nearly touched, "know enough about me too. You've seen what I am. What I need." His eyes darkened. "You've felt the beast inside me, and instead of running, you opened yourself to it."

The truth of those words resonated in Toby's chest. He did know Mason—not the surface details of where he'd grown up or what books he liked, but something far more fundamental. He knew the possessive curl of Mason's fingers against his skin, the quiet intensity of his focus, the control that ran like steel beneath his wildness.

Toby was accustomed to analyzing every decision, weighing pros and cons, overthinking until opportunities passed him by. His academic mind always demanded more data, more certainty before acting.

But this—this wasn't a decision his analytical mind could make. This was blood and bone and instinct.

Toby's lips curled into a sly grin, his eyes regaining some of their earlier mischief despite their compromising position. "For someone who claims to know me so well," he said, voice deliberately light, "you seem awfully concerned with convincing me."

The teasing challenge hung in the air between them, Toby's meaning clear beneath the words. He wasn't pushing Mason away. This was acceptance wrapped in playfulness—a language Mason already seemed fluent in.

Mason's eyes narrowed, catching the shift immediately. A low, rumbling sound emerged from his chest, not quite a growl but something equally possessive. "Careful," he warned, though his lips twitched with the beginning of a smile. "I might take that as an invitation to prove myself again." His hand tightened where it still gripped Toby's chin. "And I'm not sure you could handle another demonstration just yet."

The threat—or was it a promise?—sent a shiver through Toby that had nothing to do with fear.

"Mmm, overconfidence," Toby replied, arching an eyebrow even as his pulse quickened. "Typical alpha behavior. All talk, I'm sure."

Mason's answering growl was anything but playful, his teeth suddenly very near Toby's throat. "Keep testing me," he murmured against the sensitive skin, "and we'll see just how much talk it is."

Before Toby could formulate a clever retort, Mason shifted their position, carefully rolling them to their sides without separating their still-joined bodies. The movement tugged at where they were connected, drawing a gasp from Toby as Mason's knot pressed against that oversensitive spot inside him.

Then Mason did something unexpected—he pulled Toby close, wrapping powerful arms around him and tucking Toby's head beneath his chin.

The simple act of being held rendered Toby momentarily speechless. Mason's body curled protectively around his, one hand splayed possessively across Toby's lower back, the other cradling the nape of his neck. Their legs tangled together, Mason's much larger frame encompassing him completely.

Toby had been kissed. Had been fucked. But this—this quiet, tender holding—was entirely new territory.

Heat radiated from Mason's body, chasing away the night's chill. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that Toby found his own breathing unconsciously matching. Against his ear, Mason's heartbeat thundered, gradually slowing to a powerful, steady cadence.

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