Page 27 of The Stalker
Her cry echoes in the trees, raw and wild.She writhes under me, torn between pulling away and grinding harder, every broken sound driving me closer to the edge.I curl a finger inside her, then another, pumping slow at first, then harder, deeper.She shudders violently, her back arching, her breath tearing ragged from her lungs.
“Griffin!”My name bursts from her lips, high and desperate, the sound of surrender.
“Say it again,” I snarl, fucking her harshly with my hand.“Say my name while I make you come.”
Her cries dissolve into moans, into sobs, into something between pain and ecstasy.She jerks under me, her walls tightening around my fingers, her hips slamming back against my hand as though she can’t get enough.
“Griffin!”she screams, the sound shattering through the woods as she comes undone, clenching hard, and soaking my hand.
I groan into her neck, rutting against her ass while she convulses, my cock throbbing painfully in my jeans.“That’s it,” I snarl.“That’s mine.That’s fucking mine.”
“Now.Take her now.”
Thomas’s voice is a roar in my skull, demanding and hungry.My hips jerk, every muscle screaming to obey, to rip her little shorts down and bury myself inside her until she’s nothing but mine.
But I force myself to stop.Barely.Because I don’t just want to fuck her.I want to own her.Body.Mind.Soul.And that takes more than one orgasm.
So, I pull my hand free, slick and trembling, and shove my fingers into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself.She moans weakly, lips closing around me, tongue flicking without thought, and my cock nearly explodes in my pants.
“Good girl,” I growl, rutting one last time against her before pulling back just enough to keep from breaking completely.“You’re mine now, Bianka.You’ll never escape me again.”
Chapter Eighteen
I Am Prey
Bianka
I can’t breathe.
The world tilts, trees spinning above me, the dirt cold and wet against my cheek.My whole body is trembling, convulsing with the aftershocks of what he just did to me, of what I allowed, begged, him to do.My thighs ache from clenching, my pulse pounds in my ears, and my skin still hums where his fingers tore me apart.
I came.I came for him.For Griffin Hayes.
Pinned in the dirt like prey, crying his name into the night while he forced his fingers inside me.And God help me, part of me already aches for more.
But the shame crashes in fast, hard, suffocating.This isn’t real.It can’t be.I don’t want this.I don’t.
