Page 10 of Primal

He was somewhere in this house, and the fact that I can’t find him drives me insane. But the knowledge that he keeps taking everything from me makes me so wet I can barely stand it.

Sighing, I haul the laundry basket onto the bed and start folding. I probably should have called the police last night, but then I would have to file a report, and then Grandma for sure would know what happened, and I’m just not going there.

Also, there’s the issue of me not wanting to do anything about it because I’ve finally—inadvertently—found someone to bring my darkest desires to life.

I can’t stop thinking about the way his hands felt on my body, how he claimed me with his mouth and teeth. No other man has ever been able to make me feel the things my masked stranger did, and I know it’s only because of my deviancy.

And, if I’m not mistaken, I’d say he was just as turned on at the thought of robbing me as I was of being robbed. There’s no way he was that hard just from me; he’d only seen me a few minutes before.

It’s all so confusing—and that’s the part that’s bothering me so much.

I could press charges if I wanted.

But I won’t because I want him to come back.

I squeeze my legs together and shake my head to rid myself of the thought of him, but it’s no help. I can’t stop thinking about him.

I haven’t even seen his damn face.

“Hell,” I mutter as I drop the laundry basket to the floor and jump into bed. Lying on my back, I pull down my shorts, spread my legs, and relax. I’m already so wet, but the thought of him breaking in here again is almost enough to make me come.

Almost.

I flinch when my fingers find my wet sex.

“Fuck,” I breathe. I rub my nipple through the thin fabric of my t-shirt, the sensation going straight to my clit.

As good as it feels, it’s not enough.

I want him.

CHAPTER 10

HIM

I stand in the shadowy hallway and watch my beautiful butterfly with rapt attention. Who knew something so simple as folding clothes could be such a turn on?

No, it’s not folding the clothes that’s getting me hard. It’s the thought of a life with her; afternoons spent doing weekend chores together and then having sex in every inch of our home.

I need her.

Kiara’s sweet moans fill the small space around us, and I’m so tempted to touch her, but I keep my distance.

Not yet. I don’t want her to see me yet.

My fist jerks my dick furiously at the sight of her pretty pussy glistening with arousal. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning.

Her hips buck as she plays with herself, switching the rhythm of her fingers.

“Oh, God,” she breathes, writhing against herself like her life depends on it, chasing that climax until it crashes into her like a wave. She cries out in pleasure, body stuttering.

I run the tip of my tongue along my bottom lip, imagining how sweet she tastes and wishing I could get my hands on her.

We come together, and it’s beautiful.

I let out a stifled groan—and silently curse myself when her head snaps up and our eyes lock. She screams again, this time in terror, and sits up in the bed. There are at least five seconds where she just stares at me before she comes down from her post-orgasm haze and reality kicks back in. She starts to get up, but I shoot over there and jump on her.

Settling between her legs, I press myself flush against the softness of her body. She feels so good, so right.

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