Page 83 of Stalked
“Yes,” I whisper. “I missed you.”
His thumb traces my jawline, eyes never leaving mine. “Just tonight? Or have you missed me all these years, wildflower?”
I bite my lip, dropping my gaze. The question digs into places I've kept locked away, even from myself.
His grip on my throat tightens just enough to tilt my face back up to his. “Tell me the truth. I want to hear you say it.”
I nod slowly, my defenses crumbling under the intensity of his stare.
“Say it,” he growls, his body pressing harder against mine.
“I missed you,” I confess. “Every day. Every man I was with... none of them were you.”
Triumph flashes in his eyes before his mouth crashes down on mine. His kiss steals my breath and my resistance in equal measure. His leather jacket feels cold against my skin through the thin nightgown, the contrast of temperatures making me gasp into his mouth.
I run my hands over his shoulders, feeling the smooth leather under my palms. He looks so fucking gorgeous in his biking leathers. The scent of leather, cologne, and Vane’s unique musk surrounds me, intoxicating and somehow familiar.
My body responds to him instantly, arching into his touch like it's been programmed to seek him out. Three days with him after fifteen years apart, and I'm addicted. Or maybe I've been addicted since that night at prom, and I've been in denial, suffering the longest withdrawal in history.
His hands are everywhere at once, impatiently shoving the thin nightgown up my thighs. The sound of leather hitting the floor echoes through my apartment as he tears off his jacket without breaking our kiss.
“Need you now,” he growls against my mouth, his voice wrecked with desperation. “Fuck the rules.”
I cling to his shoulders as he yanks his shirt over his head, revealing the tattoos that are so fucking beautiful on his skin—tattoos he didn't have when we were eighteen. His belt hits the floor next, followed by the metallic rasp of his zipper. Everything happens in a blur of movement and need.
He lifts me against the wall, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. With one smooth thrust, he's inside me. My head falls back against the wall as he buries his face in my neck.
“All this time,” he pants against my skin, his hips driving into me with punishing force. “So many years and you still feel like coming home.”
There's no art to this, no elaborate bondage or carefully orchestrated dominance—just raw, primal need.
“You're everything,” he whispers, his voice breaking as his rhythm falters. “You're the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins. I've existed in grayscale since you left.”
Tears prick my eyes at his words. My body tightens around him, drawing him deeper.
“You're the color in my world, wildflower.” His lips brush my ear, each word punctuated by the thrust of his hips. “The green in every forest, the blue in every sky. I've been drowning without you.”
His words break open a truth inside me. Something I've kept locked away for fifteen years.
“I love you.” The words tumble from my lips.
Vane goes still inside me. His breathing halts, his muscles tense beneath my fingertips. My heart pounds against my ribs as seconds stretch into eternity.
The vulnerability of my position—pinned against the wall, physically and emotionally exposed—suddenly feels overwhelming.
Then his eyes meet mine. The intensity I find there steals what little breath I have left. His pupils are blown wide, ringed with that impossible green that's haunted my dreams for fifteen years.
“Say it again.” His voice is hoarse, desperate.
I swallow, suddenly shy despite our intimacy. “I love you, Vane. I think I always have.”
A sound escapes him—half growl, half roar—before his mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is devastating, consuming, like he's trying to devour the words I've given him. His hands cradle my face with such tenderness that tears spring to my eyes.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead presses against mine. “I love you,” he whispers, the words brushing against my lips like a prayer. “Fuck, Lia, I have loved you since high school. Every day without you has been torture.” His hips start moving again, each thrust punctuating his words. “You're mine. Always have been.” His voice intensifies, turning almost feral. “I'm never letting you go again. Never.”
His fingers tighten in my hair, tilting my head back so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“My heart. My soul.” His eyes burn into mine, leaving no room for doubt. “No more running. No more denying what we are. You belong to me, and I belong to you.”
