Page 84 of Stalked
“Yes,” I whisper, tears blurring my vision. “I'm yours, Vane. No more running.”
The raw emotion in his eyes nearly undoes me. Without breaking our connection, he lifts me from the wall, his strong arms supporting my weight. I cling to him, my legs still wrapped around his waist, as he carries me the short distance to my living room.
“I want to see you,” he murmurs against my neck. “All of you.”
He lowers me onto the sofa with unexpected gentleness, following me down until we're lying together, our bodies still joined. The frantic urgency from moments ago transforms into something deeper, something that makes my chest ache with its intensity.
Vane brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch reverent. “Fifteen years I've dreamed of this,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “Not just fucking you. Loving you.”
He begins to move inside me again, but this time with slow, deliberate strokes that make me feel every inch of him. My nightgown has ridden up around my waist, and he carefully pulls it over my head, tossing it aside. His hands caress my skin like he's memorizing the contours of my body.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses along my collarbone, up my neck, across my cheeks where tears have fallen.
I cradle his face between my palms, overwhelmed by the tenderness replacing his earlier ferocity. This is a side of Vane I've only glimpsed before—the vulnerable boy beneath the dangerous man. His movements remain measured and deep, each thrust punctuated by whispered endearments against my skin.
My body responds differently to this gentler approach, pleasure building slowly rather than crashing over me. I arch against him, seeking more of this exquisite sensation.
“I love you,” I say again, because now that I've finally spoken the words, I can't stop. “I love you, Vane.”
His answering smile is breathtaking.
His gentle touch traces patterns across my skin as our bodies move together in perfect rhythm. This isn't the frantic claiming from the maze or the possessive display at the ceremony. This is something else entirely—a communion, a promise exchanged without words.
Vane's eyes never leave mine, holding me captive in his gaze more effectively than any rope ever could. The vulnerability I see there matches my own, raw and unguarded. For a man who's spent years constructing walls around himself, letting me see him like this is the greatest surrender of all.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against mine. “Not for a single day.”
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to eliminate any space between us. His body covers mine completely, protective and possessive all at once. His weight grounds me, anchoring me to this moment that feels almost dreamlike in its perfection.
As the pleasure builds between us, slow and sweet and devastatingly intense, Vane captures my lips in a kiss so tender it brings fresh tears to my eyes. There's no demand in this kiss, no conquest—just pure devotion that steals my breath and mends something broken inside me.
When we finally break apart, I gaze up at the man I've finally stopped running from, and I know with absolute certainty that I'm exactly where I belong.
For so long, I thought independence meant standing completely alone. I built my life around proving I didn't needanyone, especially not the boy who made me feel too much, too fast. I crafted a perfect New York existence, filled with accomplishments and experiences, all while ignoring the Vane-shaped hole in my heart.
33
VANE
Sunlight filters through unfamiliar curtains, casting a warm glow across Lia's bedroom. I blink awake, momentarily disoriented until I feel her warm body nestled against mine, her back pressed to my chest, my arm draped possessively around her waist.
Fuck.
The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. I broke the twenty-four-hour rule.
In seven years of the Hunt, I've never once broken this cardinal rule. The mandatory cooling-off period exists for a reason—to prevent hunters from getting too caught up in the intensity, to force a pause for reflection. Even Xavier, who did end up driving to her place, ultimately adhered to the protocol.
Yet here I am, in Lia's bed merely eight hours since the Hunt ended, having completely disregarded the very rules I helped write.
One phone call. That's all it took. Lia admitted she couldn't sleep without me, and I was on my bike before the call even ended.
Lia shifts in her sleep, making a small sound of contentment as she presses closer to me. Her dark hair spills across the pillow, and the morning light highlights the marks I left on her skin.
I should feel some regret or concern about breaking the rules. Instead, all I feel is a bone-deep satisfaction. Rules exist for others, not for us. They never have. From the moment I saw her in that chemistry classroom, defying Lia Morgan has been impossible for me.
All it took was her voice on the phone saying she needed me, and I came running like a man possessed. Because that's exactly what I am. Possessed by this woman who's owned me since high school.
Lia stirs in my arms, her breathing pattern shifting from the deep rhythm of sleep to something quicker. Her body goes rigid against mine, muscles tensing beneath my fingertips. I tighten my grip, a primal response to keep her close.
