Page 8 of Obsessive Stalker

I close the distance between us, expecting her to recoil and back against the door behind her. She doesn’t, though. I see her chest rising and falling faster, shallow breaths as she watches me and waits for what I’ll do next. I glide my fingers down her torso, ending at the waist of her pajama pants once again.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” I say in a low voice.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Tell me,” I press. “Lie to me.”

“I don’t want to lie to you,” she whispers. “I just want to know what you’re planning. You scare me.”

She’s telling the truth. I scare her, and I know it. But weaved into the fear is desire, heat, a need that she doesn’t want to acknowledge, but that I desperately need her to.

“You want this,” I say, dipping my fingers beneath the waistband, feeling the tender skin between her hips. “Tell me that you don’t.”

“I do,” she says between shallow, strangled breaths.

There it is.The permission I required, the permission I desperately hoped she would give to me and knew that she would eventually.

I slip my hand lower, finally stroking the wet slit that I watched her play with just last night. I press my finger against her, sliding between the soft lips, gliding my fingertip upwards and then in circular motions around her clit.

She flattens against the wall, tilting her head up and moaning.

Touching her after restraining myself for so long is threatening my self-control. The urge to throw her on the countertop, to rip every stitch of her clothing off and fuck her mercilessly is almost too much to resist.

But I know it’s too soon. Know that I scare her more than I make her feel safe, for now, and that as long as this is the case, I’ll always be the bad guy in her mind. Maybe a bad guy who knows how to get her off, but still a bad guy.

Not a husband.

I feel her legs shaking, her body tensing around my fingers, and I can tell she’s fucking close.

“You fucking love it,” I growl. “Don’t pretend. You can’t hide what you want from me, pet. And there’s no need to. Whatever you want, you simply have to ask. Needing this isn’t something to be ashamed of. Feel how good this is, feel how good it is to surrender and let me give you the pleasure that you so badly need.”

She’s close, so fucking close. I stroke her faster, apply more pressure, and now she’s basically grinding against my hand, matching my pace with her own as she climbs to the peak. It’s glorious, watching my girl like this, watching her get herself off using my fingers.

But right when she’s about to come, I pull my fingers away.

She cries out in frustration. Opening her eyes, she glares at me.

“What the fuck?” she asks through hitched breaths.

“I’m having fun,” I say. “But not so fast, angel. Orgasms are for good girls, and you’re far from it tonight.”

I lift my hand to my lips and suck her juice from my fingers, my eyes on her the whole time. She watches, still trembling against the wall, looking as though her legs might give out at any moment.

But though her legs are weak, her smart mouth is as strong as ever.

“You’re an asshole.”

I shrug. This isn’t news to me. Iaman asshole. That’s exactly how I’ve made it this far in life, how I built my empire brick by brick and eventually foundher.

If I wasn’t an asshole, we would have never been brought together. In fact, I would have been dead a long time ago. Because weak men don’t survive in my world.

“You cut me,” I tell her, gesturing to my chest. “You ran from me. Though it pains me to do so, you’ll need to be punished for that.”

Her eyes widen.

“Did you think I was going to let that go?” I ask with a light laugh. “You might be my bride, my favorite, my jewel, but that doesn’t mean I won’t discipline you. Clearly you need it.”

“Fuck you.”

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