Page 87 of Stalked

Even when I go see her.

Teeth brushed, wearing jeans and T-shirt, I roam down the stairs and into her apartment barefoot.

And here I am. At her bedside. My shadow clouds over Prue’s naked, peaceful body.

The sheets don’t cover her this time. There’s nothing to shield her against this intruder’s lust.

Being closer to her without touching her doesn’t do shit for my fathomless need. For my all-encompassing obsession.

If anything, the fire inside me rages harder. Crackling in the silence of her apartment.

Whispering,she’s mine.

I can touch her. I can lose my clothes, beat off, feed her my cum.

Hell, over the weekend, she practically gave me her permission to do it.

I open my palm, trailing it over her forehead, cheeks, lips. I don’t touch her, though.

Tonight, I want to watch Prue. To absorb her beauty, the faint light of the moon and the way it dances across the dainty features of her face. To marvel at the black and blue marks I left on her skin.

The bulge in my jeans is painful, straining against the zipper, demanding I take care of it.

I ignore it, same as I ignore the rest of the world.

I keep watching Prue. Keep admiring her.

I keep…

“Theo.” My name is nothing more than a breath. The laser focus I have on her, however, ensures I hear her as loud as I would if she were screaming it in my ear. “Theo, please.”

Over the last weekend, she’d been everything I dreamed she would be and a lot more. She consumed me. Satisfied me. Conjured a laugh out of this icy heart of mine.

Answering her plea and serving her is the least I can do to show her my gratitude.

The sheets beneath her make a low whooshing sound as I spread her legs open. Her pussy, already damp and needy, waits for me to take care of it. Of her.

And I do. I wet my lips, lower my face to her center. I lick her from her entrance to her clit, tilting my head to taste her lips.

“Theo.” My name again, urgent, as she grasps the sheets in her sleep. “Please, Theo, make me come.”

I don’t have to see my smirk to know it’s a deviant one. My depraved soul could easily live off Prue’s begging and pleading until the day I die.

“I love you, Prue,” I tell her things I can’t say in the light, my voice low and gravelly, laden with honesty. “I love you so fucking much.”

Low hums and clenching thighs are what I get in return. They’re not enough, though. I want more of those. More of her.

I devour her the way she likes it. Spreading my attention between slow circles and harsh flicks on her clit. Long laves of my tongue from her slit up, going back lower where I tongue-fuck her tight little cunt.

She thrashes and moans, her juices making a mess of my face. My chin is covered in her arousal, my nose smells her growing desire.

Her pleasure expands, swallowing the entire space of the room. There’s only Prue grunting, groaning, rocking her hips in her desperation to get closer to my face.

“Please,” she resumes begging.

At first, I treat it like it’s just another plea like the others that came before it.

Then, she whispers what she has a hard time saying in her waking hours.

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