Page 63 of Stalk Me

Now, in this sterile government hallway, those barriers feel paper-thin.

“Erik,” I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for.

He understands anyway. Slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away, he leans forward until our foreheads touch. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “Whatever you need.”

Need. Such a simple word for the hunger that claws through me. I’ve spent my life being needed by others—for their schemes, their pleasure, their power plays. But my own needs have been irrelevant, ignored, suppressed.

What do I need?

The answer comes with startling clarity: this. Him. Truth.

I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss is gentle at first, tentative—so different from the calculated seductions I’ve performed throughout my life. This isn’t about power or control or manipulation. It’s about connection, about feeling something real.

Erik responds with equal gentleness, letting me set the pace. His hands move to my waist, steadying but not confining. I deepen the kiss, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as heat blooms between us.

A soft groan escapes him as I press my body against his, needing to feel the solid reality of him. The sound ignites something primal within me—not the practiced seduction I’ve wielded like a weapon, but something authentic and hungry.

I back him against the wall, our kiss growing more desperate. His hands slide down to my hips, gripping tightly as if anchoring himself. The friction between our bodies sends electric currents racing across my skin.

“Luna,” he breathes against my mouth, his voice rough with desire. “We should?—”

“Don’t say stop,” I whisper, nipping at his lower lip. “Please don’t say stop.”

His eyes darken. “I was going to say we should find somewhere more private.”

Heat pools low in my belly. “Your brother?—”

“Can wait,” Erik finishes, his gaze never leaving mine. “This is about what you want. What you need.”

The words wash over me like a benediction. What I want. What I need.

“You,” I say simply. “I want you.”

He takes my hand, leading me down the hallway to a small conference room. The door has barely closed behind us when his mouth finds mine again, this time with none of the earlier restraint. His kiss is consuming, demanding in a way that makes me arch against him, seeking more.

I push his suit jacket off his shoulders, my fingers working at his tie, needing to feel skin against skin. Erik’s hands aren’t idle either, skimming up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs, always checking, always making sure.

“More than okay,” I breathe, guiding his hand to my breast. “I want to feel everything. With you. For real.”

Understanding flashes in his eyes. So many encounters in my life have been performances, manipulations, and acts of survival. This is different—this is choice, desire, connection. And for once, he’s not rejecting me.

Erik backs me against the conference table, lifting me onto its surface. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, fingertips tracing patterns on sensitive skin. I tremble under his touch, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing hot kisses along my neck. “So goddamn beautiful.”

I yank his shirt free from his pants, desperate to feel his skin against mine. His chest is firm beneath my exploring hands, muscles tensing as I drag my nails lightly down his torso.

“Erik,” I gasp as his fingers reach the edge of my underwear. “Please.”

He pulls back slightly, eyes searching mine. “Are you sure? We don’t have to?—”

I silence him with a desperate kiss. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

The words seem to break his control. His fingers hook around my panties, pulling them down my legs with tantalizing slowness. I work at his belt, my movements clumsy with need. When I finally free him, my hand wraps around his length, drawing a deep groan from his throat.

“Condom?” I manage to ask, surprisingly practical despite the haze of desire.

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