Page 35 of Hunting Harbor

The question hangs between us, heavy and inevitable. I smile, though she can't see it with her back still to me. The hunger that's been building all morning claws at my insides, demanding satisfaction.

"Stalking is such an ugly word," I say, finally letting my hands settle on her hips, feeling her jolt at the contact. "I prefer to think of it as... research. Getting to know the woman behind the words."

My thumbs trace slow circles just above the waistband of her jeans, dipping occasionally beneath the fabric to touch bare skin. Her breath hitches.

"You needed me," I continue, pressing closer until my chest is flush against her back, my growing hardness nestled against the curve of her ass. "You needed me to show you the depths of desire you deserve to feel, and I gave it to you." My lips graze the sensitive spot just below her ear. "I'll give you the world, Harbor, you just need to let me."

She shudders, a full-body tremor that does nothing to disguise how her body melts back into mine. One of my hands slides up to cup her breast through her sweater, feeling the peaked nipple pressing against my palm. Evidence that her body knows what she needs, even if her mind is still catching up.

"This is wrong," she says, but she makes no move to pull away.

"Is it?" I counter, squeezing gently, relishing her small gasp. "Or is it just honest? Raw? Real?" Each word is punctuated by a subtle rock of my hips against her ass. "Isn't that what you've been searching for, Harbor? Something real?"

My other hand drifts lower, toying with the button of her jeans. "Tell me to stop," I challenge, knowing she won't. Not really. "Tell me you don't want this."

The silence stretches between us. Harbor's breathing has gone ragged, her head fallen back against my shoulder in what couldbe surrender or could be despair. Maybe both. The beautiful contradiction of her.

I wait, letting the moment expand, letting her feel the weight of her own desire. The choice she's not really making because I've rigged the game from the start.

Her eyes drop to the floor, that silence more revealing than any words could be. In the reflection of the window above the sink, I can see her face—the conflict, the want, the self-loathing. It's everything.

"That's what I thought," I murmur, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on the crown of her head. "Good girl."

Releasing my hold on her, I step back. “Do some writing. After dinner we will nap and then I’ll take you to see the stars.”

I lie perfectly still in the darkness, my breathing deep and even, the perfect imitation of sleep. Harbor's been watching me from her side of the bed. I can feel her eyes boring into me. Sure as shit, she wrote all day. Dinner was filled with small talk and now, I put her to the test.

The cabin is silent except for the occasional pop and hiss from the dying embers in the fireplace. I fight the urge to smile. She thinks I'm asleep. She thinks she has a chance. It's fuckingadorable how predictable she is. This is what she feels she needs to do, to tell herself that she’s not as sick and twisted as I am.

Night presses against the windows, thick and impenetrable. The forest outside is a wall of black, the kind of darkness city people like Harbor find unsettling. No streetlights, no ambient glow from neighboring buildings, just primal darkness that seeps into your bones and whispers of monsters. Of me.

I feel Harbor shift minutely beside me, testing whether the movement will wake me. I don't react, continuing the slow, rhythmic breathing. Playing possum. Anticipation coils in my gut like a sleeping snake. I've been waiting for this moment since I brought her here, setting the stage piece by piece.

The front door is unlocked. Has been all day.

Not an oversight… an invitation. A test.

Harbor needs to believe escape is possible, needs to try and fail before she'll truly understand her situation. There's something viscerally satisfying about the chase, the hunt, the capture. It’s something I’ve imagined doing with her over and over.

Something I’ve never done with anyone else. Sure, I’ve had my sure of flings, some bordering on psychotic, but nothing this consuming. She’s inside me, in every breath I take, every decision I make.

It’s a monstrous urge that lives inside me. To claim, mark, dominate. To feel the moment the hatred gives way to unabated love. Lust.Desire.

The mattress dips slightly as Harbor carefully, so fucking carefully, begins to extract herself from the bed. The glacial pace of her movements would be comical if it weren't so goddamn arousing. The fear driving her caution is like a drug to me, better than any high I've chased before.

I watch through slitted eyes as she finally stands, her silhouette a darker shadow against the blackness of the room. She's put her clothes back on—jeans and that oversized sweater from this morning. Smart girl. The temperature drops sharply at night out here. Wouldn't want her freezing to death before I catch her.

She pauses, looking down at me, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think she's caught me watching. But then she turns away, padding on silent feet toward the bedroom door. She's barefoot—another mistake. The forest floor will tear her city-soft feet to shreds.

Part of me wants to end this charade now, to lunge from the bed and pin her to the floor, to see the hope drain from her eyes as she realizes there was never any chance of getting away. But the greater pleasure lies in letting this play out, in giving her the momentary illusion of freedom before I snatch it away.

So I stay still, listening to her cautious progress through the cabin. A floorboard creaks under her weight, and she freezes. I can practically hear her heart pounding, imagine the coldsweat breaking out across her skin. After a long moment, she continues, moving with excruciating slowness toward the front door.

I count her steps in my head, tracking her position. When I estimate she's reached the front, I allow myself to roll over, as if shifting in sleep. I hear her sharp intake of breath, the complete stillness that follows as she waits to see if I'll wake. I don't. After thirty seconds of held breath, I hear the softest exhalation of relief.

The door hinges are well-oiled—my doing, in preparation for tonight. When Harbor turns the knob, it makes no sound. The door swings open on silent hinges, letting in a whisper of cold night air that carries the scent of pine and promise. I imagine her disbelief, her surge of hope at finding the door unlocked. The sudden lightness in her chest as she thinks, Just maybe...

She slips outside, not bothering to close the door behind her. Rookie mistake. The night air flowing in would alert even a genuinely sleeping person. But I'm not asleep, and I'm already counting in my head.

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