Page 131 of Stalker's Toy

It should frighten me, this level of possessiveness, but instead, I feel a thrill of excitement.

I gnaw on my bottom lip, a nervous habit I've never been able to shake.

"We should take a break," I suggest, my voice barely above a whisper. "Fifteen minutes or so. Just to... catch our breath."

Henrik's icy blue eyes flash with understanding, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'm on board with that idea."

Without another word, we weave through the throng of art enthusiasts, my hand firmly clasped in Henrik's.

The constant chatter and clink of champagne glasses fades as we approach the studio.

I fumble with the key, my hands trembling slightly as I unlock the door.

Once inside, Henrik swiftly closes it behind us, the lock clicking into place with a finality that sends a shiver down my spine.

The familiar scent of charcoal and turpentine envelops me, a stark contrast to the perfumed air of the gallery.

"Finally," Henrik murmurs, his tall frame looming over me in the dimly lit space. "Just us."

I lean against my worktable, surrounded by half-finished sketches and the tools of my trade.

"Henrik," I start, my voice wavering. "This ring... us... it's all so sudden."

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. "Is it? Haven't we been moving toward this since the moment we met?"

I close my eyes, remembering our first encounter, the instant spark of connection. "Yes, but..."

"But what, Mia?" Henrik's fingers trace the silvery scars on my arm, a gentle touch.

"I'm scared," I admit, the words escaping before I can stop them. "Not of you, but of... this. Of how much I want it."

Henrik's eyes darken with desire as he pulls me against him, his lips crashing onto mine with an urgency that steals my breath.

I respond instantly, my body arching into his as if pulled by an invisible force.

His hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"You're mine now," he growls against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Say it."

I gasp as he lifts me onto the worktable, scattering pencils and papers. "I'm yours, Henrik. Always."

He pushes my dress up, his fingers finding their way beneath the fabric.

I shudder at his touch, my mind clouding with desire. "Henrik, we don't have much time," I pant, even as I fumble with his belt.

"Then we'll make every second count," he says, his voice low and husky.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer.

The cold metal of my new ring presses against his back as I cling to him.

Our bodies move together in a frenzied dance, the passion between us reaching a fever pitch.

"God, Mia," Henrik groans, his rhythm becoming erratic. "You're perfect. Made for me."

I lose myself in the sensation, my world narrowing to just us, just this moment.

"Henrik, I—" My words are cut off by a wave of pleasure so intense it leaves me breathless.

---