Page 111 of X Marks the Stalker
The flat of the blade cracks against my clit. White-hot sensation explodes through me, pleasure and pain fusing into something I can’t recognize.
“Fuck!” I jerk, my body betraying me.
The movement shifts the knife. I feel a sharp sting.
Xander’s eyes flash with something primal. “I told you not to move.”
“I couldn’t help it,” I gasp, my voice barely recognizable. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” His fingers trace where the knife nearly cut me. “You need to understand consequences.”
I nod, skin burning everywhere he touches. The near-miss has my nerves raw, hypersensitive, my arousal somehow heightened by the brush with actual pain.
“That knife could have sliced you open,” he says, voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my insides clench. “You need to learn control.”
Chapter 26
Oakley
Ireach for him, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. “Take what you need, Xander.”
His pupils expand like black holes, swallowing the gray-green of his eyes. “What I want isn’t gentle.”
“Good thing I’m not fragile.” I pull him closer, the heat of his body radiating against mine. “I’m tired of being careful.”
He replaces the knife with his fingers, pushing them inside me with enough force to make me gasp. His thumb finds my clit, pressing hard enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain.
“Is this what you need?” he asks, voice strained. “To get roughed up?”
I arch into his touch, clenching around his fingers. “Yes— God— Harder.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes. Hewithdraws his fingers and his hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back as he kicks my legs apart.
“Like this?” His voice drops to something dangerous and raw.
“Yes,” I breathe, my cheek pressed against the cool wood.
He enters me with a single brutal thrust that knocks the air from my lungs. No gentle build-up, no careful adjustment—just Xander claiming me with enough force to make the table creak beneath us. His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my head further back as his other hand grips my hip, holding me in place for each punishing thrust.
“This is what you wanted?” he growls, leaning over me, his chest against my back. “To be treated like you can take it?”
“Don’t. Stop,” I gasp, each word punched out of me by his movements.
His hand finds my throat, applying gentle pressure that restricts my breath just enough to make the edges of my vision sparkle. The danger sharpens everything—his cock stretching me, his fingers pressed against my pulse.
“You like the monster,” he says, words rough and jagged. “The part of me that wants to own every piece of you.”
“Yes,” I admit, the word barely audible as his grip tightens.
I cry out his name as my body clamps down around him. He groans in response, his rhythm faltering as my orgasm drags him toward his own.
“Oakley,” he breathes, and something in how he says my name breaks me open all over again.
He thrusts once more, burying himself to the hilt as he comes inside me. His body shudders against mine, hisforehead dropping to rest on my shoulder. For a moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing filling the cabin’s basement.
He lifts me from the table, carrying me upstairs. My body feels liquefied, muscles turned to warm honey. He sets me on the cabin couch before disappearing into the bathroom. Water runs, and he returns with a damp cloth.
“Let me,” he says, cleaning between my legs with unexpected tenderness.
