Page 83 of Stalker's Toy

"God, Daddy," I gasp, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. "I need you."

He responds with a growl, flipping us over so I'm beneath him.

For a split second, he slides out of me and I whimper.

As he enters me again, I'm struck by the intensity in his icy blue eyes.

There's something almost predatoryin his gaze, and it sends a shiver down my spine—part fear, part excitement.

Yet even as I lose myself in Henrik's embrace, unbidden thoughts of the Stalker creep into my mind.

The way his presence makes my heart race, how his very existence seems to breathe new life into my world.

With Henrik, I feel desired, wanted.

But with the Stalker... I feel seen.

Truly seen, in all my broken, twisted glory.

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions warring within me.

What kind of person am I, to crave both these men?

To need the stability and passion Henrik offers, while simultaneously yearning for the dangerous thrill the Stalker provides?

"Look at me," Henrik commands, his voice husky with desire. I obey, meeting his gaze once more. "Where did you go just now,Nattblomma?"

I bite my lip, guilt gnawing at me.

"Nowhere," I lie, pulling him down for a kiss to distract him. "I'm right here with you."

As our bodies move together, I can't help but wonder—what if they did know each other?

What if, in some twisted way, they could both be part of my life?

The thought is as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

I know it's wrong.

I know I'm playing a dangerous game.

But as the pleasure builds, pushing me toward the edge of oblivion, I can't bring myself to care.

For now, I'll take what I can get from both worlds, consequences be damned.

"That's it," Henrik murmurs against my neck. "Let go for me, Mia. Let go for Daddy."

And I do, shattering into a thousand pieces in his arms, even as part of me wonders what it would be like to fall apart under the Stalker's touch instead.

CHAPTER TEN

Henrik

She’s leaving tomorrow, the old woman.

Finally.

I’ve given her too much of my time, sitting in that goddamned sunroom and listening to her talk about the latest shows she’s seen in Venice or Paris, places where she should be, not here, with me.

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