Page 15 of Stalk Me

“If you’re here to lecture me about morality, save it,” I say, keeping my voice carefully neutral. But my fingers betray me, drumming an anxious rhythm against the spine of the book. How fitting. “I’m not in the mood.”

“No lecture.” He leans back, studying me with that unnervingly direct gaze. There’s something almost clinical in his observation, like he’s dissecting my every movement. “Just wondering, now that you’re fully sober and over it, if it was worth it.”

The question hits harder than it should, probably because I’ve been asking myself the same thing all morning. The satisfaction of revenge has already faded, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste I can’t seem to wash away. My fists clench under the table. “Are you just trying to convince me of something else? Maybe to come to your room and suck your big cock?”

His expression shifts almost imperceptibly—disappointment maybe, or something deeper. “No.” He smiles politely, though there’s a hint of venom lurking beneath the surface. “I already told you I’m not interested in that.”

The rejection stings more than it should. I’m used to being wanted, even if it’s just for my body. Being seen—really seen—is far more terrifying. I tilt my head and raise my brow. “Don’t tell me you’re gay.”

Erik reaches for my hand and sets it on his crotch. His cock twitches under my touch.

He chuckles softly. “Does that feel like I’m gay?” His pants are tight, his eyes trained on my face, and my thoughts are too scattered to pick them up again. It’s all a game with him, and so far, I’m at a loss to counter his strategy. Something about the way he looks at me, the way he speaks to me… everything feels like a tease, and that scares me. The feeling builds, heavy in my chest, and I know, every instinct tells me that I must strike back.

I stare at him, memorizing the flecks of golden light in his eyes, the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. I’m not sure what I’m searching for or what I’ll do when I find it. But I have a good sense that I will find him, and even if he’s not searching for me, I have a hunch he will find me, too.

“Fine,” I say and yank my hand back. “You’re not gay.”

“Damn right, I’m not,” he replies, no sense of triumph in his words, no hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“What do you want then?” I demand, letting my frustration slip through my usually careful control. “Why are you here?”

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe I just want to be friends.”

I study his face, searching for any trace of deception, but find none. Could he really be that naïve? Or is he trying to manipulate me, too? Either way, I’m not sure I should trust him.

“How about we go to your room instead and get down to business?” I suggest. His gray eyes seem to reflect the shadows of his secrets, and the intimacy of the moment sends goose bumps down my arms. “Bet you haven’t been dicked down in a while.”

His expression doesn’t change, but his muscles tense, and I know I’m onto something. Maybe this is the key to understanding him, unlocking the real reason he was sent here.

He clears his throat, breaking the tension between us. “You must really think I’m stupid,” he says. His voice has dropped an octave lower, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I retort, my tone teasing. “Now, are you going to show me how rough and hard you can fuck me?” I lean in closer, letting my breath ghost across his neck. I can smell his cologne—something expensive and dark, like aged whiskey and leather-bound books.

“I can be gentle,” he whispers against my ear. The promise in those words makes my thighs clench. There’s something more dangerous about gentleness than violence—it threatens to undo all my carefully constructed walls.

I reach out and cup the front of his jeans again. His cock is rock hard, straining against the material. He lets out a long sigh and moves my hand away, gripping his own erection. “Don’t,” he warns, and there’s something about his intensity that makes me want to submit.

And I hate it. Hate how he has this control over me.

“Okay, you aren’t gay. You aren’t interested in me. Then please, leave.” My tone comes out harsher than I expected, but that doesn’t stop Erik. With a soft chuckle, he leans back in his chair.

“I’m not interested in one-night stands,” he says, and that spark in his eye catches fire. “So, if you’re looking for a toy to play with, I’m not that.”

“That’s not what this is.” I bite out the words, willing my voice not to shake. What is he doing to me?

“Then what’s it about?” He cocks his head to one side, studying me. Those gray eyes see too much, and I can’t hide the truth from him.

“Fun,” I say, trying to stay calm, trying not to let my rage and loneliness seep into my words. “Distraction.”

He’s too close, his scent like warm cinnamon and a cold breeze. My breath catches in my throat, and something swells inside me, longing mixed with danger. How could he make me feel this way?

“You want fun?” He leans closer, his breath hot against my neck. “You want distraction?”

“Yes.” I bite my lips, hating how weak I sound.

“Have you seen the island yet?” he asks, the question so abrupt that it takes me a moment to comprehend.

“The island?” I repeat.

---