Page 64 of Stalk Me

Erik reaches into his wallet, pulling out a foil packet. “David’s not the only Boy Scout in the family.”

I laugh—a genuine, unplanned sound that feels like freedom. Then his fingers are between my legs, exploring my wetness, and laughter gives way to gasping pleasure. He works me with expert precision, his thumb circling my clit while his fingers curve inside me, finding spots that make stars explode behind my eyelids.

“Erik,” I moan, my hips bucking against his hand. “I need?—”

“I know,” he murmurs, rolling the condom on with his free hand. “I’ve got you.”

He positions himself at my entrance, pushing inside with agonizing slowness. The stretch is exquisite, my body welcoming him in a way that has nothing to do with practice or performance. This is pure instinct, pure connection.

When he’s fully seated inside me, we both still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s air. For a moment, neither of us moves, savoring the completion of being joined.

“Okay?” he whispers.

“Perfect,” I answer truthfully.

Then, he begins to move, and coherent thought dissolves into sensation. Each thrust builds a mounting pressure within me, a tightening coil of pleasure that has nothing to do with calculation or control.

I wrap my legs tighter around him, urging him deeper, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Erik’s rhythm grows more insistent, his breathing ragged against my neck.

“Luna,” he groans, “I can’t?—”

“Don’t hold back,” I urge, feeling my own release building. “I want to feel you lose control.”

His thrusts become more erratic, more powerful. One hand slips between us, thumb finding my clit again with unerring accuracy. The dual sensation pushes me over the edge, my release crashing through me in waves of pulsing pleasure. Erik follows moments later, his body tensing as he pours himself into me with a guttural moan.

For several heartbeats, the only sound is our ragged breathing, followed by the soft rustling of clothing as we both right ourselves.

Erik smooths my dress before raising my hand to his lips. “Are you okay?”

The question pierces through the haze of lust, striking something deep inside me. All these years, the only people to ask about my well-being were trying to manipulate me. But Erik—he has never looked at me with a hidden agenda, and there’s no subtext now, either.

Tears prick at my eyes as the enormity of this small gesture sweeps over me. “Better than okay.”

“I wanted our first time to be special,” he says, sounding almost apologetic. “Not… like this.”

I grasp his hand, pressing a kiss against his palm. “This is more than okay, Erik. This is real.”

He presses gentle kisses to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth—tender gestures that feel more intimate than what we’ve just shared.

“Yes, Luna,” he whispers against my hair. “That was real.”

I nod, tears pricking behind my eyelids. In a life built on performances and pretense, “real” is the greatest gift anyone could give me.

A knock at the door jolts us back to reality. “Erik?” David’s voice calls. “Luna? We need to continue.”

We scramble to straighten our clothing one last time, sharing secretive smiles as we help each other look presentable. Before opening the door, Erik pulls me close one more time.

“Whatever comes next,” he whispers, “we face it together. If that’s what you want.”

I think about Alex briefly—his kindness, his attempt to save me. Part of me will always care for him. But Erik has walked through fire with me, has seen my darkest truths, and stayed anyway.

“It’s what I want,” I confirm, the certainty settling in my bones.

As we return to the conference room, David’s knowing look skims over our disheveled appearance, but he makes no comment. Instead, he pushes a folder across the table.

“Your new identities,” he explains. “Temporary, until the trial concludes.”

I flip open the folder, staring at the unfamiliar name on the driver’s license inside. A fresh start. A blank page. Freedom.

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