Page 40 of Stalker's Toy

His hands slide up my sides, leaving trails of paint in their wake. "You're not just my employee anymore, Mia. You're my muse, my obsession, my toy."

The words should frighten me, but instead, they send a thrill through me.

"And what does that mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Henrik turns me to face him, his eyes burning with intensity. "It means I'm going to consume you, body and soul. I'm going to push you to your limits and beyond."

His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing over my lips. "I'm going to show you pleasures you've never dreamed of, and pains that will make you feel more alive than you ever have."

I should be terrified.

I should run.

But instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, craving more.

"Promise?" I whisper.

His smile is dark and predatory. "Oh, my sweetNattblomma. I promise."

Henrik's lips crash into mine, the kiss hungry and demanding.

I respond with equal need, my painted hands leaving marks on his shirt as I pull him closer.

When we break apart, both breathing heavily, Henrik's eyes are dark with desire.

"Are you sure about this, Mia? I’m afraid once we cross this line again, there won’t be any going back for either of us."

I take a deep breath, considering.

Everything about this situation screams danger—and right now, danger is what I desire.

I take a deep breath, considering.

"I'm sure," I whisper, my fingers trembling as I reach for the buttons of my blouse.

Henrik's eyes never leave mine as I slowly undo each button, letting the fabric fall open to reveal my lace-covered breasts.

His breath hitches, a small sound that sends a shiver of pleasure through me.

I let the blouse slide off my shoulders, pooling at my feet.

Next, I reach for the zipper of my skirt, dragging it down with agonizingslowness.

The fabric whispers as it falls, leaving me in nothing but my underwear and platform heels.

Henrik's gaze is hungry, devouring every inch of exposed skin.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

I step out of the puddle of clothes, my heart pounding as I get closer to him.

Each click of my heels on the tile floor feels like a countdown to something monumental.

“God, this is going to be amazing,” Henrik murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "For now, just feel."

And I do feel—every stroke of the brush, every place where Henrik's fingers brush against my skin.

It's intoxicating, and I find myself swaying slightly, lost in the sensations.

---