Page 123 of Stalker's Toy

Her touch is light, barely there, but I feel the weight of it like a fucking anchor.

She grabs my cock, firm and possessive, like she’s claiming something that already belongs to her.

I’m a slave to the feel of her hand, to the goddamn mastery she has over me.

"Best to wait," she murmurs, voice sweet, mocking, a perfect contrast to the chaos she’s creating inside me.

"Mia," I say, but it comes out strangled, half breath, half plea.

She squeezes, and I swear the whole world blurs at the edges.

"Look at you," she whispers. "What am I going to do with you?"

Everything.

Do everything to me.

But she pulls back, leaves me on the brink, teetering, wrecked.

It’s a kind of torture, this waiting.

This maddening, delicious game we keep playing.

She knows I want her now, right now, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

More than I’ve ever wanted her.

But the wait—it kills me, it saves me, it’s fucking beautiful.

It’s us.

She steps back, just enough to let me breathe, just enough to remind me that she’s in control.

For now. The student has become the teacher.

"Christ," I say, raking a hand through my hair, trying to steady the chaos she’s left in her wake. "This is going to kill me."

Every time we do this, it feels new.

Every time we stretch the limits of desire, it feels like we’ve discovered something no one else ever has.

I want to live here, in this endless wanting, in this delirium we’ve made ours.

"Better to wait," I say softly, not wanting to, but knowing we should.

Her eyes flash, a brilliant, searing green. "Much better if we do.”

I feel like I’m tearing at the seams, like I’mcoming undone.

But that’s her specialty, isn’t it?

Undoing me.

Unraveling me.

Leaving me exposed and raw and wanting.

I need her.

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