Page 63 of Silent Stalker

My fingers find her clit, rubbing it in firm circles as I move inside her. My thumb brushes over the small bundle of nerves, back and forth, back and forth, until she's squirming between me and the tree trunk.

"That's it; let go," I command, my voice a low growl. "I want to feel you climax around me."

Her walls clamp down on me, a vice of pleasure. With each frantic beat of her pulse, she contracts around my cock, milking me. I grab her hip to hold her steady as I thrust into her with purpose.

Her juices drip down my balls, a testament to her body's response to mine. I savor her warmth and wetness, knowing it's all for me.

My hands tighten on her hips, leaving marks as I thrust deep, my own climax overtaking me.

"You're mine," I growl in her ear as I bury myself deep. "My perfect goddess, accepting me so willingly."

I unload into her, pumping her full of my hot cum. It's a delicious, filthy feeling, knowing I'm marking her from the inside out. This strong and intelligent woman has just been reduced to a quivering mass of need by me.

"Oh, Silas," she breathes, her voice thick. "That was?—"

She doesn't finish her sentence as I thrust into her again, unable to resist the feel of her tight heat. She's like a drug, her soft body yielding to mine. My hands caress her hips, my thumbs stroking her skin.

"Shhh," I whisper. "No words. Just feel."

I withdraw, then gently turn her around, pressing her against my chest. She feels so right in my arms; it's almost intoxicating.

Moonlight filters through the trees, casting an ethereal glow on her face. I stroke her hair, pushing it back from her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from my kisses. Gently, I press my lips to hers. This tender kiss contrasts with the fierce passion that just consumed us.

Our tongues tangle gently, a slow, sweet dance of intimacy. I hold her close, my hands roaming softly over her body. The rush of power I usually crave is replaced by a feeling of possession, of wanting to brand her as mine in a completely different way.

"Clara," I murmur against her lips. My thumb brushes her lower lip, swollen and red from my kisses and bites. "The havoc you wreak in my mind is a beautiful destruction."

She looks up at me, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “Maybe that's what makes us work—we're both a little broken, but we can build something beautiful from these pieces.”

A shiver runs through me at her words. I tighten my arms around her, savoring the moment. "We should get back before you catch pneumonia."

She nods, her forehead resting against mine. "You're right."

Reluctantly, I release her, stepping back to admire the sight of her—my goddess, flushed and disheveled from our encounter. And I know in that moment that life as I know it has irrevocably changed.

27

CLARA

The sunlight filtering through the windows rouses me. I’m wrapped in Silas’s strong arms. His warmth envelops me, and his steady breath tickles my neck. For a moment, I let myself sink into this comfort, this peace that feels so right despite everything going wrong.

My muscles ache pleasantly from our activities. I snuggle into his warmth, wishing I could skip work and stay here forever.

Work.

My eyes snap open, and I feel sick. The protective fog of denial evaporates, leaving me naked before a truth too terrible to process. My eyes snap open. The evidence. The murders. The investigation. My heart pounds against my ribs as I realize we got carried away last night without discussing it.

I can feel Silas’s DNA under my fingernails, on my skin, and probably all over this house. My training kicks in—the forensics team will find traces of him everywhere: hair, fingerprints, footprints in the woods, and potential witnesses who might have seen us together.

I tense in his arms, my breath catching. How could I have been so reckless? So consumed by our connection that I forgot who he is, what he’s done? James and the team are gettingcloser every hour. It’s only a matter of time before they piece it together.

Silas must sense my distress because his arms tighten around me. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs against my hair.

I turn in his embrace to face him, searching those mesmerizing blue eyes. The same eyes that have watched victims take their last breaths. Yet here I am, completely safe in his arms, more terrified of losing him than anything else.

“The investigation,” I whisper. “We didn’t... we never talked about how...” I can’t even finish the sentence. The weight of what’s coming bears down on me. Evidence is mounting. Connections are being made. Soon, very soon, someone will figure it out.

Silas brushes a strand of hair from my face, but I barely register the gentle touch. My mind races through all the ways this could end, each scenario worse than the last.

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