Page 22 of Silent Stalker

The doorbell pierces through my thoughts. I check my phone—it’s just after nine.

"Who..." My heart skips when I peek through the peephole. Silas stands on my porch, snowflakes catching in his dark hair. A silver gift bag dangles from his fingers.

I open the door, cold air rushing past. "Silas? What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't stay away. Been going crazy thinking about you." He steps closer, his cologne mixing with the crisp winter air. "I know it's late, but I had to see you."

The case files flash through my mind—I shouldn't let him in. But my body betrays me, and I step aside to let him in. His presence fills my living room, making it feel smaller somehow.

"I brought you something." He holds out the bag, his deep voice wavers which seems out of character for his usual controlled demeanor.

My fingers brush his as I take it. "You didn't have to..."

"I wanted to." His voice drops lower. "You've been on my mind. Every minute. Every second."

The raw need in his voice mirrors the ache building inside me. I should focus on the case and finding this killer before he strikes again. Instead, I can only focus on how Silas's shirt stretches across his muscular chest, the way the ink at his cuff has me imagining how much ink adorns his body and how his eyes darken when they meet mine.

"I shouldn't be here," he whispers but takes another step closer. "Tell me to leave."

I can't form the words. Don't want to.

The silver bag hits the counter with a soft thud. My breath catches as Silas closes the distance between us. His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip. The touch sends electricity through my body, making my knees weak.

"Clara..." His voice is rough, desperate.

His mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is hungry and demanding. My fingers tangle in his hair as he backs me against the wall. His tongue sweeps past my lips, tasting of mint, while a dangerous aura of darkness teases my senses.

Heat pools low in my belly. I arch into him, wanting more, needing more. His hand slides down my side, gripping my hip. The other braces against the wall beside my head, caging me in.

A moan escapes me as his teeth graze my bottom lip. He growls in response, pressing closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel every hard plane of his body, the evidence of his desire pushing against my stomach.

My mind goes fuzzy, lost in the sensation of his mouth on mine, his hands exploring. The case files, the murders, everything fades away until there's nothing but this moment, nothing but Silas.

I gasp as his lips trail down my neck, his teeth scraping against my pulse point. My head falls back against the wall, giving him better access.

"Tell me what you think about late at night," he murmurs against my skin. "When you're alone in your bed, touching yourself..."

Heat floods my cheeks. How does he know? My midnight sessions scrolling through videos of masked men, my hand between my legs...

"I-I can't..." But his hand slides up my thigh, making me shiver.

"Yes, you can." His voice drops lower, darker. "Tell me your darkest fantasies, Clara. Every dirty thought you've tried to hide."

His thumb brushes over my center through my clothes, and I bite back a moan. "I watch videos... of men in masks."

"What else?" His fingers continue their torturous path.

"I imagine being taken... controlled." The words spill out before I can halt them. "Someone dangerous wanting me, choosing me."

Silas's grip tightens on my hip. "Keep going."

"My mind is so fucked up." I pull back from his kiss, shame, and desire warring inside me. "It's why I became a forensic psychologist. To understand..."

His fingers trace my jawline. "Tell me."

"I have these... impulses." My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Dark ones. When I'm alone at night, I fantasize about being forced to submit." Heat floods my face, but his intense gaze draws the words out. "By someone dangerous. Someone who could hurt me but chooses to possess me instead."

Silas's thumb brushes across my bottom lip. "A killer?"

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