Page 15 of Stalked By the Intern

"God, you're beautiful," I murmur, the words tumbling from my lips like a prayer to a deity that exists solely in the lines of her body. The sight of her bare skin sends a jolt through me, igniting every nerve ending with a need that borders on the divine.

Her breath catches, sharp and sweet, as my mouth descends upon her, lips finding the tender peaks of her breasts. My tongue traces circles around her nipple, coaxing it into a hardened point before flicking over it with an intensity that draws a gasp from her lips. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, urging me to take more, give more, be more.

"Please, Andy," she whispers, the soft plea laced with an urgency that resonates deep within my core. I can feel the heat of her desire, the way her body arches into mine, silently begging for the relentless pursuit of pleasure.

"Anything," I rasp, my voice thick with the weight of my obsession. And I mean it—I would tear worlds apart for this, for the chance to worship at her altar, to lose myself in the sweet oblivion of her touch. I am wholly hers, consumed by the fire that blazes between us, a blaze I stoke with every stroke, every kiss, every nip that claims her flesh as my territory.

Her moans fill the room, a heady soundtrack to the carnal dance we weave together. She is everything—my canvas, my muse, my undoing. And I? I am nothing but the artist, etching my passion onto her skin with the brush of my lips and the stroke of my hands, painting us both into a masterpiece of desire so intense it could burn the world to ash.

I drive into her with a fervor that borders on the primal, each thrust a testament to the hunger that's been festering inside me since the moment I laid eyes on her. I'm rougher than our first time, but I can't help him. Hearing Willow admit that she's wanted me too. Fuck, it's enough to drive me mad with desire.

"You know I used to have to rush to the bathroom ten times a day to jack off when I saw you in those tight little skirts at the office?"

She gasps, her pussy fluttering around my cock at my admission.

"You have no idea what a little cocktease you were to me. Had me nutting left and right. All for you. Always for you, baby."

My body moves with a forceful rhythm, every muscle coiled and releasing with the sole purpose of bringing us both to the precipice.

"Willow," I grunt, feeling the coil in my gut tighten with each motion. The cabin is alive with the sound of our union, the slap of skin against skin an unmistakable cadence that pushes us further into the abyss of our passion.

Her back arches, pressing her into me as if she wants to merge our very beings. Her cries mingle with my own guttural sounds, creating a symphony of raw need that resonates throughout the secluded space we've claimed as ours.

"More, Andy... please," she gasps, and God, it's not a request—it's an imperative that I'm all too eager to fulfill. Her words are fuel, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us whole.

My movements grow erratic, the pace uneven but powerful as we chase the edge together. She clings to me, nails digging into my shoulders, marking me in a way that only heightens the sensation coursing through my veins.

"Yours," she breathes out, and it's the sweetest vow, the most sacred of truths. In this moment, she is mine, and I am irrevocably hers.

Our moans crescendo, filling the small cabin with the evidence of our shared ecstasy. The world narrows down to just us, to the heat and the need and the relentless pursuit of release that has us spiraling into oblivion.

And then it hits—a tidal wave of pleasure that obliterates thought, reason, everything but the electric connection that binds Willow and me together. We cling to each other, bodies trembling as we ride out the waves, the aftermath of our climax leaving us both shattered and whole in ways I never imagined possible.

"Willow," I whisper against her skin, tasting the salt of sweat and the sheer intensity of us. Our breaths are ragged, hearts racing, and for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world fades away, leaving nothing but the echo of our desire and the undeniable truth of what we are—inescapably entwined.

But then the hinges creak—a violent intrusion. The door slams against the wall, and a jolt of fear cuts through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss that still clings to my skin. Sirens blare outside, an urgent wail that screams reality into the cocoon Willow and I have woven around ourselves. Our world, once so small and perfect, explodes into chaos. I scramble to my feet, every muscle tensing as blue and red lights slice through the dimness of the cabin.

"Police! Freeze!" The command is barked out, sharp and unyielding. Guns drawn, stark symbols of authority and danger, they point directly at us—no, at me.

Willow's eyes are saucers, her lips parted in silent shock. She's exposed, vulnerable in a way that claws at my insides. My chest tightens as if their hands are already around my throat.

"Willow, get behind me," I manage to say, though my voice feels like it's clawing its way out of my throat. It's instinct, protection, obsession—all the lines are blurred now. But she doesn't move, just stands there, shivering, her pale skin a canvas for the flashing lights.

"Everything's okay," she says, her voice steady despite the tremble in her limbs. She’s gathering her clothes, her movements quick but deliberate. "I'm here because I want to be. He didn't do anything wrong."

Their eyes flick to her, then back to me, suspicion etched into every line of their faces. I know what they see—an animal caught mid-hunt, unpredictable, possibly dangerous. I stand still, painfully aware of every heartbeat, every breath. The desire to pull Willow back into my arms wars with the need to keep her safe from the consequences of my own darkness.

"Ma'am, are you sure?" one of the officers asks, his voice skeptical but not unkind. It's a thread of hope, thin but undeniable. I cling to it even as I prepare for it to snap, for them to take me away and lock me up, away from the woman who has become my singular fixation.

"Yes, I'm sure," Willow insists, clutching her clothes to her chest. Her voice is a lifeline, her words the only thing standing between me and the cold grip of handcuffs. She looks at me then, and there's a promise in those deep blue eyes—a vow that she won't let this be the end of us.

"Okay. Lower your weapons," the lead officer finally says after what seems like an eternity. The tension doesn't dissipate completely, but it's enough for me to breathe again, to remember that for all the darkness in me, there's light in Willow strong enough to push it back.

"Get dressed," he adds, turning his back to give us a semblance of privacy in the aftermath of our exposure. I dress quickly, my fingers fumbling with the fabric, each movement heavy with the weight of what we've done, what we've risked.

As the police leave the cabin, taking the cacophony of the sirens with them, silence settles over us once more. But it's a different quiet now, one filled with the echoes of what could have been lost, what might still be forfeit. Willow's hand finds mine, her grip tight and unyielding.

"No one will ever take me from you," she says, "I belong to you."

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