Page 43 of Silent Stalker

Iwatch Clara's body tremble in the aftermath of her release, still suspended in the air by the rope on the meat hook. I'm usually the one in control—calculated, psychotic—but with Clara, I'm different. My dick is still solid as a rock, hungry for more. I step closer, pressing my body against hers.

"You drive me fucking wild," I confess, my voice a mixture of surprise and admiration.

Her breasts heave as she catches her breath, glistening with a sheen of sweat. "I want you to take me again. Please, Silas."

The desperation in her voice fuels my desire. I take her weight and unhook her from the meat hook, carefully lowering her to the ground, still bound and perfect. Her legs are shaky, so I support her weight, pressing her against the wall.

"You have no idea what you do to me," I murmur, my lips brushing against her ear.

I press harder against Clara's bound form, my control slipping as the darkness inside me rises. The sight of her submission awakens something primal—something I usually keep carefully locked away. My hands shake as I grip her throat, not from weakness but from the overwhelming urge to squeeze.

"Look what you've done," I snarl, my cock throbbing against her thigh. "You've awakened the beast. The thing inside me that wants to consume you whole."

My thoughts spiral into chaos. I am her salvation. Her damnation. Her everything. The power courses through my veins like lightning, making my skin crackle with electricity. I could end her right here—watch the light fade from those beautiful eyes—but no. No, she's different. Special. Mine.

"Tell me who owns you," I demand, tightening my grip just enough to make her gasp. "Who is your god now?"

"You," I gasp, the word torn from my throat as pleasure and fear mingle inside me. "You own me... you're my god." The admission both terrifies and liberates me, acknowledging the dark truth I've been fighting.

The rope marks on her skin are exquisite, my artwork. My signature. Each bruise is a testament to my dominion over her flesh. I trace them with my fingertips, savoring the way she shivers.

"I could keep you here forever," I whisper, and for the first time, I let her see the madness in my eyes. "Lock you away where no one else can touch you. Where you'd exist only for me."

The thought sends a rush of pleasure so intense it nearly blinds me. My self-control fractures further as images flood my mind—Clara chained, Clara bleeding, Clara begging. The possibilities are endless, and I am the master of her fate.

"You've unlocked something dangerous," I growl, my voice unrecognizable. "Something that can't be caged again."

"Are we still in scene?" Her voice is small, and her chest heaves as she looks up at me with those captivating eyes.

I pause, barely noticing the ropes that bind her or the red marks my hands have left on her porcelain skin. She's referring to our kinky game—consensual non-consent—where I pretend to be an attacker and her, my helpless victim. But the questionrattles me because I'm not sure I can control myself anymore. I'm drowning in my obsession with her.

"Yes," I lie. "We're still in scene."

The truth is, I'm struggling. The intensity of my desire threatens to unravel the carefully constructed facade I present to the world. I'm consumed by her—by this overwhelming compulsion to own her completely—body, mind, and the delicious darkness she keeps buried beneath her professional facade. I want to watch her crumble and rebuild her in my image. Each time I claim her, my grip on reality splinters a little more."

I step back, willing myself to calm down. I can't let her see the monster that lurks beneath the surface. Not yet. But she senses my conflict, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. My silence only makes her more curious, her body tensing as she leans forward, straining against the ropes that hold her captive.

"Silas, what's wrong?" Her voice is stronger now, more demanding. She's a force to be reckoned with, even in her vulnerable state.

I shake my head, buying myself time as I battle the urge to give in to my baser instincts. "Nothing. I just?—"

"Don't lie to me," she interrupts, her eyes flashing with fear and desire. "I can see it in your eyes. Something has changed."

Her words are a gut punch, and I struggle to maintain composure. She sees too much, and it terrifies me. I want to possess her, but at that moment, I feel possessed by her—by the hold she has on me. My plans begin to unravel as I contemplate throwing caution to the wind and embracing the madness that pulls at me.

"You affect me," I admit, my voice hoarse. "More than anyone ever has."

As I speak, I move closer, unable to resist. Her scent surrounds me, and my grip on reality weakens. I know I shouldstop, but instead, I reach out and gently graze her cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving hers.

"I want to consume you," I confess, my voice a rasp. "To devour you and make you mine."

The desire in her eyes mirrors my own, and for a moment, we stand there, caught in a vortex of want and need.

"Then devour me." Clara's breathy voice sends a shiver down my spine. I can see the desire burning in her eyes; her struggle to maintain the facade of our game is eroding. "I can't pretend to resist you anymore. I'm too needy for you. I just want you to fuck me."

Her words are like a drug, pushing me further into my obsession. I step closer, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "You're fucking greedy, and I love it. You just came three times on my cock, and now you're begging for more."

Clara's gaze drops to my lips and bites her bottom lip, a subtle invitation. "Is that so wrong? To want more of you?"

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