Page 109 of X Marks the Stalker
“No, you don’t.” I press the flat of the blade against his chest. “You like that I know exactly what you are, and I’m still here.”
Something darkens in his eyes. “And what am I?”
“A killer with blood-stained hands,” I say, my voice low and certain. “A predator who watches from shadows. A man who’s crossed every line I was taught to fear.” My fingers trail down his chest, possessive. “And I want every dark, twisted part of you. Mine.”
His eyes burn into mine, something primitive and wanting behind them. With my fingers still wrapped around the knife, I press forward until our chests meet.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
“Mine,” I repeat, feeling the words vibrate through me with unexpected heat.
The training knife clatters to the floor as Xander’s mouth crashes into mine. His hands grip my waist, lifting me onto the table. Weapons scatter like bowling pins as he pushes me back, climbing over me with single-minded focus.
“Is this what you want?” he asks against my neck, teeth grazing skin. “The monster?”
I grab his face between my hands. “I want all of you. Especially the parts you hide from everyone else.”
He reaches for the knife I dropped. Lightning strikes my spine as he places the blade against my collarbone.
“How much of my darkness do you want, Oakley?” The cold metal slides down between my breasts.
My lungs forget how to work. “All of it.”
The knife traces my ribs through my t-shirt, his eyes watching my reaction. He slices through the fabric, splitting it open without scratching my skin.
“These are skills I’ve never used quite like this,” he says, restraint straining his voice.
“First time for everything,” I gasp as cool metal traces my stomach.
He uses the knife to push aside the torn fabric, exposing my black bra. “Say stop.”
“Not going to.”
He slices through the center of my bra, the elastic snapping apart. “The thrill of control,” he says, “and the thrill of surrender.”
I reach for him, pulling his shirt over his head. “I surrender nothing.”
“Good,” he says with a crooked smile. “I’d be disappointed if you did.”
He sets the knife aside to strip off his remaining clothes. His eyes never leave mine, a playful challenge in them that makes my pulse quicken.
“Like what you see?” he asks, catching me staring.
“It’s adequate,” I say with mock indifference, though we both know I’m lying.
He laughs, the sound warming me from the inside. “Just adequate? That’s not what you said last night.”
“I was being polite,” I counter, trying not to smile.
“Really?” He kneels between my legs. “Let’s see about that.”
When his hands return to my body, they’re gentle, a stark contrast to the dangerous game we’re playing.
“Xander,” I whisper as he takes his time, “you’re teasing me.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees, tracing circles on my inner thigh. “Problem?”
“Yes. You’re talking too much.”
