Page 6 of The Stalker
But it isn’t nothing.I can feel him, whoever the hell he is, pressing tighter into me, filling the empty spaces in my bones.Thomas.That name hums in my blood, like I’ve always known it.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I loom over her.She tries to back away, but the door stops her, her shoulder pressing against peeling paint.She smells like smoke and cinnamon, and it drives me insane.My cock is lead in my pants, begging to be free as I stare at the swell of her heaving breasts.
“Griffin...”she whispers, her voice trembling.
God, I want to taste that fear.To make it mix with pleasure until she doesn’t know the difference.
“I’ve watched you,” I admit before I can stop myself.The words tumble out, dark and ugly.“Every night since you came back.I couldn’t stay away.”
Her breath hitches.I see the flicker of fear in her eyes, but underneath ...underneath she’s trembling for a different reason.
“Youwhat?”
“I know your routines.The way you curl up on the couch with that blanket.The way you tilt your head when you read, hiding your scar like you think anyone gives a damn about it.I’ve seen you cry when you think no one’s watching.”
Her lips part.A tear gathers at the corner of her eye, and I want to lick it away, taste her pain.
“That’s stalking,” she says hoarsely.“That’s...”
“That’s love,” I cut in, my voice low and sharp.“Don’t twist it into something else.I’ve loved you since we were teenagers, Bianka.You know it.”
“Claim her.Stop pretending.”
The voice, Thomas, surges again, a tidal wave of hunger crashing through me.My hands shake with the urge to grab her, to pin her to the hard porch floor, to take her.But I hold back again.
Because there’s a part of me, what’s left of the real Griffin, that wants her to choose me.That wants her to admit she’s always wanted this too.
Her lips tremble.“You should go.”
I grin, and it feels feral.“I should.But I won’t.”
Her hand twitches on the doorknob like she’ll escape inside.I take another step, close enough now that the air between us crackles with heat as our chests touch with every breath.She tilts her head, just slightly, and the porch light reveals her scar.
She is so fucking beautiful.Her scars only amplify what I have always seen—strength beneath silk.
She flinches like she expects me to recoil but I don’t, and I never will.I reach out, tracing a finger down the ridges of ruined skin.She gasps, eyes darting to mine.
“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper, “not anymore.”
The moment stretches, taut and dangerous before she wrenches away, finally breaking for the door.Adrenaline slams through me, hot and electric.
Yes.
Run.
The voice inside me howls approval.“Now the game begins.”
The door slams in my face, rattling the frame.For a moment, I just stand there, laughing under my breath.My Bianka thinks she can lock me out.That’s cute.I twist the knob, and it gives.She didn’t lock it in her haste to escape me.
“Sweetheart,” I murmur as I step into the dark hallway, my boots thudding on her worn rug.“You really should be more careful.”
Her footsteps pound down the hall toward the back of the house.She’s fast, but not fast enough.I can hear her ragged breathing and the clatter of something knocked over in her panic.
Every sound makes my cock grow harder, pre-cum wetting the front of my jeans.
“Catch her.Show her she belongs to you.This is what she wants.”
I move silently, predator-smooth, letting her think she has distance, that she might actually get away.The living room smells like her—vanilla candles, smoke, something faintly floral.The blanket she always uses is tossed on the couch, still warm when I touch it.
