Page 102 of Stalked
“I hate you,” I whisper, hating myself more for the wetness I can feel dampening my underwear. And for the fact that theopposite is true, no matter what this man is and has done, I love him—I always fucking have.
His mouth crashes against mine, hard and demanding. Despite everything—the horror I witnessed, the tracking, the lies—my body responds instantly. My lips part, welcoming his invasion. His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer as a whimper escapes my throat.
When he breaks the kiss, we're both breathing hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. His eyes gleam in the moonlight, that dangerous emerald intensity I've never been able to resist.
“You want to run, wildflower?” Vane whispers against my lips. “It's what you're good at, isn't it? Running from me?” His thumb traces my lower lip, his touch electric. “So run. And I'll chase you.”
I should be terrified. I should be disgusted. But the predatory hunger in his eyes makes my knees weak, igniting something primal inside me. This dark game between us—this push and pull—it's always been our dance, since we were seventeen.
My mind wars with my body. The memory of the warehouse flashes briefly, but then Vane's hand slides down to grip my hip, his fingers digging in possessively, and rational thought fades.
“You won't catch me this time,” I whisper, surprising myself with the playful challenge in my voice.
A slow, wolfish grin spreads across his face. “Ten seconds, wildflower.” He releases me, stepping back. “Ten seconds before I hunt you down.”
I don't wait for him to start counting. I bolt into the trees, my feet carrying me through the undergrowth, branches whipping past my face. Behind me, I hear his deep voice:
“One... two... three...”
In this moment, I'm not thinking about torture or murder or lies. It's just us—Vane and Lia—playing the same game we'vealways played. Me running. Him chasing. The inevitability of being caught.
“Ten!” His voice echoes through the trees.
My heart leaps with a giddy thrill as I push myself faster, knowing he's coming for me.
40
VANE
The Hunt is short. Too short.
I track her through the darkness, following the crack of branches, the rustle of leaves, the sharp inhale of breath she can't quite control. My cock strains against my jeans, harder than steel. She's always been mine to chase, mine to catch, mine to claim.
I find her pressed against an oak, chest heaving, eyes wild in the moonlight filtering through the canopy. Beautiful. Feral. Perfect.
“Found you, wildflower.”
She tries to run again, but I'm on her in a heartbeat, spinning her around and pinning her against the rough bark. Her hands come up, pushing against my chest.
“Vane, wait?—”
“Say your safe word.” My voice comes out rough, animalistic. “Red stops everything. Yellow slows me down. Say them if you want me to stop.”
Her pupils dilate, those amber eyes going molten.
Instead, she bites my shoulder through my shirt, hard enough that I feel her teeth even through the fabric.
A growl rips from my throat. I capture her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head while my other hand yanks down her leggings and underwear in one savage motion. The cool night air hits her exposed skin as I press my hips against hers, grinding my erection into her.
“That's how you want to play?” I bite down on her neck, sucking hard enough to mark. She gasps, arching into me. “Fine.”
I release my cock with my free hand and lift her against the tree, positioning myself at her entrance. She's already wet, even as she struggles against my hold. I thrust inside her in one brutal stroke, burying myself to the hilt.
“Fuck!” She cries out, her back arching off the tree.
I don't give her time to adjust. My hips snap forward again and again, each thrust driving her against the bark. Her hands still pinned above her head, she can't move, can't escape, can only take what I give her.
“This is what you wanted?” I growl against her ear, my teeth grazing her lobe. “Running from me so I'd chase you down and fuck you like an animal?”
