Page 26 of The Stalker
I arch into him.Begging without words for what only he can give me.I don’t care anymore if it’s Griffin or the thing inside him.Because I want both.
Because I just want to feel.
Chapter Seventeen
Taking What’s Mine
Griffin
The second the words leave her mouth—I want you.I just want to feel—something inside me snaps.
All the years of waiting, watching, starving myself for scraps ...they crash together in a tidal wave of need that tears through my chest and into my cock, hard and throbbing against her ass.
She’s mine.Not just in my head, not just in the shadows.But here and now.
Her body trembles under me, but she isn’t fighting anymore.Her hips arch back, seeking me, begging in ways her mouth still can’t.And I will give her anything and everything she wants and more.
I release one wrist, dragging my hand down, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.“You don’t even know what you’ve just given me,” I growl, grinding against her, forcing her to feel every inch of me through our clothes.
She gasps, her back bowing, and I take advantage.My hand slips beneath the torn sweater, skimming up her ribs until I find her breast again.I palm her roughly, rolling her nipple between my fingers until she whimpers into the dirt.
“God, you’re so perfect,” I hiss, my breath hot against her ear.“Every fucking inch of you.Even the scars.Especially the scars.”
She chokes on a sob that sounds too much like a moan, pressing her chest into my hand.My cock jerks at the sound, my vision blurring as Thomas’s voice snarls inside me.
“More.Take more.Tear her open.She’s ready.”
My hand slides down, over her stomach, lower, lower, until I’m at the waistband of her jean shorts.She stiffens, a broken gasp spilling out, but she doesn’t tell me to stop.She doesn’t push me away and that’s all the permission I need.
I shove my hand past the denim, my fingers sliding over heated sex.She’s soaked and bare.No underwear and no hair to bar my hand from what it seeks.
A guttural groan rips out of me, my forehead pressing into her shoulder as my fingers part her folds.“Fuck, Bianka,” I snarl.“You’re dripping for me.Don’t you dare tell me you don’t want this.”
She whimpers, shoving her face into the dirt, but her hips grind down against my palm, her thighs quivering.
“That’s it,” I growl, stroking her clit with my thumb, sliding two fingers through her slick and into her channel.“Give it to me.Let me feel how much you’ve been starving for me.”
