Page 9 of My Masked Stalker
My good little girl. Afraid. Obedient. Ready.
“Don’t scream,” I murmur, not bothering to raise my voice. The gun is statement enough.
Emily closes her mouth, her throat bobbing as she swallows convulsively. Her eyes follow me as I approach, and I savor the moment our gazes lock for the first time.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” I whisper. I lower the barrel of the gun to her cheek, enjoying the way she shivers as the cold metal touches her overheated skin.
“W—what do you want?” she stammers, her first words to me.
The answer is easy: “You, Emily. I want all of your pleasure, your pain…” I move the muzzle down her neck and over her chest, resting it on a peaked nipple, pointed at her heart. “Your fear.”
If I weren’t already rock hard, her whimper would have gotten me there. The way she responds is utter perfection.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asks next, her eyes round like a doe’s. I can’t help but chuckle at the possible answers I could give her to that question. Most would terrify her.
“I interrupted you,” I muse, tilting my head at where her hand still rests on her pussy. As if just now realizing it’s still there, she pulls it back and tries to close her thighs.
But I’m faster. “Ah—ah, sweetheart.” I click my tongue and use my gun to pry her knees open.My Glock does open many doors, I think, snickering to myself. “I’ll never neglect your pretty pussy.”
I glide the barrel of the gun down her inner thighs, fascinated by the goosebumps that rise in its wake. When I reach her cunt, I lean in, taking a deep inhale. Warm, aroused woman, mixed with steel and gun oil. Nothing has ever smelled better.
Her legs try to close in reflex as I use the barrel to push back the hood of her clit.
“Stay still,” I warn her. “Don’t want my finger to slip on the trigger, do you?”
Her sharp gasp tears into the silence of her bedroom, the city noise outside hardly penetrating our little bubble of lust and possession. I soak in her fear, marveling at her arousal—my gun slides through her folds easily, her wetness smoothing the way.
Her hips buck involuntarily, a broken whimper escaping her lips as the muzzle circles her clit in lazy, merciless arcs. I smirk beneath the mask, watching her toes curl, her fists knotting the sheets like she’s praying for deliverance.
“Look at you,” I murmur, pressing just enough to make her gasp. “So scared. So wet. You don’t even know what you want more. For me to go away. Or for me to get you off.”
Her eyelashes flutter, her eyes glassy with tears and lust. She doesn’t answer, can’t answer, not when her body is betraying every denial before it even forms on her tongue.
I press harder, moving to her tunnel, pushing the cold steel inside her hot channel. The cry that leaves her lips makes me growl. It’s a sound of pure desperation and helpless surrender. When her hips start moving in small circles, seeking out pleasure, I pull back.
Her chest heaves, her hand twitching like she might chase the friction, but fear still has her pinned in place. Perfect. My perfect little contradiction.
I lean close, the cold steel of the Glock brushing her temple as I whisper against her ear, “Next time, I’ll finish what I start. But for now…” I drag the weapon down her sternum, savoring the way her breath stutters. “…you’ll lie awake and think about how close I was. About how close I’ll always be.”
Her whimper follows me as I slip back into the shadows, silent as death. I’m out before she can find her voice to speak, and I make sure the apartment is locked behind me.
I look at the cheap security cam in the corner and flip the bird at Ethan, who I know is watching. One of us is always watching, monitoring who comes and goes, keeping her safe.
The second I’m in my Charger Hellcat, I rip open the front of my pants. My dick is in my gloved hand the next moment, and I tug at it roughly, almost violently. When I think about Emily pushing aside her fear and pride to take care of the state I left her in, I clench my teeth, a loud hiss leaving my mouth. I bring the Glock to my nose, taking a deep inhale of the wetness smeared on the barrel.
Shit. I’m gripping my steering wheel so hard it creaks. I’m so fucking frustrated I could rip it off.
By the time I pull down my mask to lick the barrel, tasting the sweetness of Emily’s cunt, my cum is painting the Alcantara suede in thick white stripes, and I’m growling like a wild animal.
6
EMILY
As soon as the masked man leaves, my hand moves between my legs of its own volition.Fuck. Tears leak out of the sides of my eyes as I silently scream at myself to stop, to get dressed, to call the police. Instead, I reach into my bedside drawer. My fingers won’t do after… the gun. A fucking gun. He fucked me with a fucking gun, the fucking psycho. If ever there was a time for a kindergarten teacher to drop a string of F-bombs, it’s now.
I take out my biggest dildo, one I normally reserve for special occasions. Like getting stood up by Chris when ovulating. Even then, I needed copious amounts of lube for it. Not tonight. Tonight, I rub it against my pussy, coating it with my arousal. I don’t think I’ve ever been wetter in my life.
I work in the tip, squirming as it penetrates, thinking of how the cold steel of the gun felt against me. Thinking of the man’s finger on the trigger, threatening me to lie still, to keep my legs spread for him. Moaning, I start thrusting the toy inside me, my free hand circling my clit, just like the barrel of his gun did.
