Page 7 of Stalked

Mason’s gaze trailed down, landing on the curve of his hips, just barely visible beneath the edge of a sheet.

Holy shit.

Mason’s throat went dry as he scrolled, his fingers tense against the mouse. He knew he should stop. He should close the damn browser and forget this ever happened.

But he didn’t.

The next image loaded, and his pulse slammed.

Toby—no, ShyBoy—on his back, head tipped back against the dark headboard of a bed that wasn’t Mason’s. His lips were parted, his throat bare in offering, his flushed chest rising and falling like he’d been caught mid-breath. The rest of his face wasn't in frame, but somehow, it still felt like he was watching the viewer.

Waiting for them.

Mason’s fingers curled into his palm. Fuck.

He scrolled again, unable to stop himself.

A video thumbnail. Just a few seconds long. Toby—sprawled on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, his lower lip caught between his teeth. The softest shift of his hips against the mattress, like he needed friction. The faintest, teasing roll of his body.

Mason clicked before he could think better of it.

The thumbnail flickered, then came to life.

Toby moved slowly—almost lazily—as he slid a hand down his stomach, past the waistband of low-slung briefs. The way his hips arched, the way his fingers flexed as he tugged those briefs down—

Mason slammed the laptop shut, his breathing hard and uneven. His jaw clenched, muscles taut like a live wire about to snap. He pressed his palms against the desk, fighting for control, forcing his body to calm.

This was wrong.

This was his son’s classmate. A human. Half his age. Off-limits in every conceivable way.

And yet—Mason had never been so hard in his life.

His instincts howled in approval. His wolf, never one for restraint, liked what it had seen. The way Toby moved, the quiet confidence in every line of his body—Mason's first impressions had been right.

Mason closed his mouth, realizing only then it had fallen open. Heat flooded his face, and he dragged his hand through his hair in a futile attempt to shake the mix of shock and arousal curling through him.

"Jesus," he growled under his breath, though he wasn’t sure whether it was awe, frustration, or desire spilling into the words.

These weren’t just photos. They were an invitation to see Toby in a way that no one else seemed to know was even possible.

My life sucks. Sometimes I wish someone would just take control and show me what it feels like to be desired,one caption read.

Mason scrolled, his pulse a slow, steady throb in his throat. The next caption sent heat licking up his spine.

“I hate pretending I don’t want anything. I want someone stronger than me, someone who could just—push me down and take their time. Make me beg. Make me feelwanted.”

Mason could almost hear the frustration in Toby’s voice, raw and restless beneath the words:

“I don’t think people understand what it’s like to be the one who always has to be in control. The one who always has to be on guard. I don’t just want someone to fuck me. I want someone to… make me stop thinking. Make me let go.”

Mason’s stomach tightened. He dragged a hand down his face, willing his body to cool, but his blood was running hot now, an electric current humming beneath his skin.

“I think about it all the time. Someone bigger than me. Stronger than me. Holding me still. Making me take it. I want to fight him, just so he’ll push me down harder. Just so he’ll show me I don’t have to fight at all.”

Mason leaned back suddenly, exhaling hard, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum.

He needed to stop.

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