Page 13 of My Masked Stalker
The heat rises and rises, engulfing me, driving me wild. My mouth opens in a soundless scream as my vision flashes white, my core exploding with pleasure. God!
When I open my eyes, I’m in my room, in my bed. There’s a sticky warmth on my thighs, the musk of sex perfumes the air, and ragged breathing sounds from nearby. And there’s a man kneeling between my spread legs, his hard, wet dick in his beautiful, strong hands. What the…
My gasp brings his eyes to mine. In the scarce light coming through my bedroom window, I see they’re a light color and so fucking intense it sends shivers down my spine.
“Killian?” I ask breathlessly. It’s then I realize my muscles are relaxed but twitching, and the wetness I felt in my dream… God, that wasn’t a figment of my imagination. My pussy is covered in my stalker’s cum.
He moans like hearing his name from my lips is better than the orgasm he clearly just had, and pulls his mask up over the lower part of his face, hiding himself from me behind a skull’s mouth.
“Emily,” he growls, my name menacing coming from his lips, then reaches for something on the bed. What he brings up freezes my blood. A sharp blade glints in the dark, refracting what little light reaches it.
I’m still staring at it with my mouth open when he slowly lowers it between my legs, blade first. I want to flinch back, but his gaze never leaves mine, those pale eyes pinning me down more effectively than the weight of his body.
“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he rasps. “You’ll ruin my work.”
The kiss of cold steel makes my breath stutter. He drags the blade slowly down my mound, not breaking skin yet, just letting me feel the weight of the threat. My pulse hammers against it, reckless, and his grin widens.
Then the sting comes. A shallow cut, no deeper than a scratch. I gasp, but he shushes me, almost tenderly. “Good girl. Bleed for me.”
His hand is steady as I tremble. The shallow carving burns, sharp and electric, as he etches the simplest mark into my flesh: a K. His initial. His claim. My cry tangles with a whimper, half fear, half something shamefully hotter.
When he presses his thumb against the cut, the sting of the salt from his skin makes my back arch and my pussy gush with fresh wetness.
I don’t think I should be feeling like this. It’s not sane.
Killian growls low in his chest, smearing the drops of blood over my pussy. “Perfect. My mark on my property.”
Before I can catch my breath, the steel shifts. He flips the knife in his hand, pressing the smooth handle to my slick entrance. The tip teases, pushing in just enough to stretch me. My head falls back with a broken sound.
“You came once for me in your sleep,” Killian growls, twisting the hilt slowly inside me. “Now you’re going to come awake, wide-eyed, looking at me.”
The handle glides deeper, slick with my arousal, stretching me until I can feel every unyielding ridge of it inside me. My cry is raw, desperate, as his eyes bore into mine, not letting me go.
He twists the hilt again, slow and merciless, angling it so it grinds right against that spot that makes me see stars.
“Look at me, Emily,” he orders, voice like gravel, one big hand clamping my hip to hold me still. “Don’t close those pretty eyes. I want you to watch me while you come on my knife.”
Tears blur my vision, but I can’t look away. The pain of the fresh cut, the burn of being stretched, the unbearable pleasure spiraling higher with every twist—it all collides until I’m shuddering apart beneath him.
My scream rips through the dark, my body convulsing around the hilt, my climax spilling wet and messy over his hand.
Killian growls, watching me break, his eyes narrowing into a predator’s gaze. He pulls the handle free slowly, dragging every last aftershock out of me, but his eyes still hold me captive.
“Mine,” he whispers, dark and reverent. “Every cut. Every drop. Every orgasm. All mine.”
My whole body trembles, nerves firing off like sparks, the cut on my mound burning in time with the pulse between my thighs. I should scream, should fight—but my voice is caught somewhere in my chest, and my limbs feel too heavy to obey. The Ambien is dragging me down again, thick and irresistible, and I can’t stop it.
The bed shifts under his weight. Killian... He crawls over me like a storm cloud blotting out the light, his presence so consuming I can’t tell where my body ends and his begins. The scent of him—smoke, steel, something darker—fills my lungs until I’m dizzy from more than just the sleeping pills I took when my mind wouldn’t shut down.
I force my eyes open, desperate to hold onto consciousness, but they flutter anyway. He’s above me, close enough that I feel the heat rolling off him, the solid weight of his chest pressing down on mine. His breath ghosts against my ear, hot and unrelenting, as if he’s breathing me in just as greedily.
My name rumbles from his throat, low and raw. “Emily.”
God help me, the sound makes me shiver.
He nuzzles into my hair, and his whisper sinks straight into my bones, dark and final. “Sleep, sweetheart. Every time you close your eyes, I’ll be here. Watching. Waiting. Owning you.”
The world tilts. The last shred of my awareness slips through my fingers, my body surrendering even as my mind claws to hold on. The last thing I register is his weight caging me in, his scent enveloping me, the terrifying certainty that I’ll never escape him—even in my dreams.
