Page 81 of Stalker's Toy

How can I feel so safe and so exposed at the same time?

Henrik's presence is both comforting and threatening, and I can't shake the feeling that there's more to last night than he's letting on.

But as I lose myself in the intensity of his gaze, I realize that, for better or worse, I'm drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of desire, I lean in and press my lips against Henrik's.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but quickly deepens as pent-up longing bursts forth.

My duvet slips away, exposing my bare breasts to the cool air of the room.

I barely notice, too consumed by the heat building between us.

I break away, breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest.

Henrik's eyes are dark with want, his pale skin flushed.

Without thinking, I straddle him, my legs on eitherside of his hips.

He's wearing only boxers, and I can feel him hardening beneath me.

"Mia," he growls, his hands finding my waist.

I kiss him again, harder this time, more urgently.

My fingers tangle in his dark hair as I press myself against him.

The contact sends sparks through my body, igniting a fire I can’t suppress.

Henrik's hands roam my back, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Each touch, each caress, makes me feel desperately wanted, needed.

It's intoxicating.

"I know we shouldn't be doing this," I whisper against his lips, even as I grind my hips against his. "But I want to, Henrik. I always want you."

A low chuckle escapes him, sending vibrations through my body. "Oh,Nattblomma," he murmurs, his accent thicker with arousal. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words."

As his lips find my neck, I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation.

A part of me knows this is dangerous, that Henrik is dangerous.

But at this moment, with his hands on my skin and his breath hot against my throat, I can't bring myself to care.

Henrik pulls back slightly, his icy blue eyes gleaming with a mixture of desire and something darker.

A smirk plays at the corners of his lips as he regards me, his hands still firmly on my hips.

He snickers, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. "Nattblomma," he purrs, his voice low and commanding, "call me Daddy."

The request catches me off guard, and for a moment, I'm frozen.

My heart races, pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird.

Is this what I want?

But as I look into Henrik's eyes, I see the hunger there, the need.

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