Page 32 of Jealous Stalker

I’m going to fucking pass out from what this girl is doing to me.

Sucking a breath, I tug a little firmer. She turns, her subconscious heeding the muscle memory of her condition. She comes when I pull, and fuck if that’s not anotherextremelyheady sensation to add to the mountain of things I love about Ella.

I know I’m going to do something unwise,insane, when she’s two feet away.

I reach out. Brush her wrists with my fingers. Then I catch her wrist in mine.

Touch my Ella for the time.

Our pinkies touched in sleep last week, sure, but this is the first conscious move on my part. And sweet heaven, her skin is silk. Her pulse steady, strong,unafraid.

She’s right there in front of me, staring at me butnot. In her bare feet, she barely comes up to the top of my chest. So her gaze rests on my throat. The skin there jumps, then unravels through my body like a concussion wave.

We’re caught in a thick bubble of craving and savage need. It doesn’t even matter that only one us is fully cognisant. Her body speaks volumes for her.

Her nipples are hard little points pushing against the thin material. And her tits, fuck. Perfection. My free hand spasms at my side, desperate to cup one globe, bare it to my mouth, suckle on that pretty little tip. Her lips are parted, poised for another of those cock-stroking little whimpers that drives me deranged?

Or because she’s dying for what you’re denying her.

A groan works up my throat. Beads of sweat gather between my shoulder blades, the temperature with the confines of my hoodie now near unbearable. One bead works down from temple, drops dead onto the point where my fingers touch to her skin. As if blessing it. Anointing our connection.

Do it.

Give her what she wants.

Whatyouwant.

“Ella.” Her name falls from mouth, probably in some unconscious act of self-ruin. But instead it emerges near incoherent, an animal grunt that could easily blend into the darkness enclosing us.

It’s not enough to wake her of course. And my hand circles her wrist. Firmer. Then a little tighter. Until her pulse throbs beneath my thumb. Still steady. Still strong.

My hand loosens and I stare at it, watch it move independently of my thought. Watch it drift up to her elbow, then higher, up her arm to her shoulder.

Another whimper. A tiny, restless shift of her hips. My fingers steal to the pulse at her throat, lingering, savouring her life force. Before I realise my destination. The back of her neck.

I cup it and breathe out, my thudding heart momentarily satisfied with cradling her there. Having her under my control.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” I rasp, again barely coherently. “Or are you a bad bad girl, setting me for a downfall I’ll happily embrace?”

She blinks. But her eyes remain at my throat.

I nudge her closer. She comes. I move my thumb beneath her chin angle her face up.

“Ella…my god. You’re the most beautiful thing on the face to this earth.”

I lean in, breathe in her exhale.

Then I’m lost.

I wrap my hand around her throat, and I kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her like I’ve been dying for her since the second she walked into my life.

I kiss her like every second without her mouth on mine has been wasted oxygen. My fingers bite gently into her jaw until her mouth opens. Ready. Waiting.

I lick her lower lip, her upper, then I slide my tongue in, gently at first. Then a little harder, flick against the tip of hers.

She whimpers again. I pull back to gauge her face.

My God, she’s still lost in sleep. Still mine to do with as I please.

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