Page 8 of Savage Stalkers
His head tips back, eyes closing again.
Silas likes order, for things to run a certain way. He got caught up in the moment. He hasn’t checked on Skye, had my cum in his mouth and I licked it out, and Kain’s cum is in his ass. It sent him straight into a spiral.
He had no control the entire time, and that is what Kain wanted. He wanted to remind Silas that he could remove his control at any time. Why? Sometimes, Silas needs a reminder that he could lose control, which could happen if things don’t go the way he wants with Skye.
I wash his arms, his chest, between his legs. I clean him up and give him back control bit by bit. When I reach his thighs, he shudders. “Better?”
He nods. “Yeah. I just... I hate the mess.”
“I know,” I reply as I straighten. “It’s okay. You’re not broken, Silas, you’re just wired a little different.”
His lips twitch as if he wants to argue. He leans into me instead, his forehead pressing against my collarbone.
“Kain wasn’t mad,” I say after a moment. “That wasn’t punishment—it was his way of making a point.”
Silas’s voice is rough. “Because of Skye.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t pull away, just whispers, “She’s mine.”
“No,” I tell him, brushing my hand through his wet hair. “She’s not yours yet.”
His jaw clenches. I feel it against my skin.
“She signed the contract,” I remind him. “Her safe word is locked in. The chase starts soon. And you need to get your head straight before then.”
“I know.”
“You scare me when you look at her.”
My words earn a light chuckle against my skin. “Because she is perfect.”
We stay like that a little longer, then I kiss his temple and reach past him to turn the water off.
“Let’s get you dry, pretty boy. We’ve got masks to put on and a girl to catch.”
Chapter Four
Skye
My footsteps echo loudly in the library corridor, each step bouncing off the walls. I check the time on my phone as I make my way to the study room I booked. Room 3C is tucked in the back corner, away from foot traffic, where it’s nice and quiet.
My shoulders twitch. Three times on the way here, I spun around, certain I heard footsteps behind mine. But each time, the sidewalk was empty except for a few scattered students, none following me. Yet the feeling hasn’t left. I reach for the handle, my palm damp against the cold metal.
The gifts started last week—a single rose on my pillow, a note slipped under my door. Last night I swore when I was getting changed there was a shadow standing across the road under a tree, but when I walked closer to check, it was gone.
I open the door to the study room, but I freeze when I see there is already someone inside, seated at the far end of the table, hoodie pulled up. “S—sorry,” I stammer. “I booked this room.”
He doesn’t answer; instead, he looks up slowly, his dark eyes meeting mine. Wait, is that Silas, the TA from my psych class?
“But if it’s okay, I’ll just... join you?” I motion toward the empty chair.
Unspeaking, he simply extends his hand toward the seat like he’s giving me permission to use the room I booked.
I blink. “Right . . . okay.”
I drop into the chair across from him and unzip my bag, pulling out my study notes. We sit in silence. He continues with whatever he is reading, and though I try to study, I keep glancing up to see if he is looking at me. I sense he is, yet every time I check, he is engrossed in his book.
