Page 20 of Hunt Me

Taking a breath, I roll onto my stomach and rock my hips into my mattress. I’ve been half hard since the cemetery, and right now, I can’t stop thinking about my pretty, panty-wearing little rabbit.

He was different when he stalked me to that little church. He wasn’t like the performer onstage that I’d been quietly watching. No, he was terrified but also wanting, and his desire for me was starting to win.

Until I went and fucked it all to hell.

But I’m not giving up. It’s not just my need for him. It’s also the fact that Denver was and has been in danger for a while. I’d seen Denver’s stalker the same night I saw him perform for the first time. I’d happened upon the bar by accident and went in for a drink without realizing what kind of show was going on.

I nearly left, but then Denver took the stage as Glimmer Dear, and my entire world was rearranged. But I didn’t get the chance to talk to him that night. I noticed he was being watched, and not the same way I was watching him. Not the same way the rest of the audience was.

It was easy to spot a stalker, especially since he wasn’t very good at what he was trying to do. He wore all black with his hood up, which made him more conspicuous, and after the show, he hovered near the side door almost like he wanted to get caught.

He didn’t, though, so I followed him and realized that he was tracing Denver’s steps. He hovered at the edge of the parking lot at the college, then followed Denver and waited around the corner at the supermarket, then the bank, and then he followed him home.

I waited, ready to step in if he tried anything, but all the man did was sit behind the wheel of his car and watch. I couldn’t be sure if he was dangerous or not, so I decided that Denver was my next project. I just hadn’t realized that in the weeks I hovered around, ready to step between him and the man after him, I was going to fall so hard.

That I was going to want him so much. And I had no idea how I was going to bridge the gap between us because Denver had no idea I existed, but then the hooded asshole made his move, and that gave me the chance to finally put myself in Denver’s line of sight.

Keeping on the hooded man’s heels as he followed Denver into the alley had been easy work. So had hitting him so hard that blood spilled like artwork over Denver’s face.

And fuck, the way Denver had shuddered and leaned in when I put my hand to his cheek…

How soft he felt against my palm.

My dick throbs at the memory, so I slip my hand under the waistband of my jogging pants and grip my shaft. I don’t normally jerk off. It’s more like an itch I need to scratch every now and again, and usually, I use another faceless person in a dingy bar somewhere to do it.

But right now, the itch is all-consuming.

I close my eyes and see those panties—see the look of desperation and want on his face. I see him stalking me to the church, speaking to me in the only language that has ever been kind to me, and fuck. If I ever had a chance to defend myself against falling for another man, I’ve lost it.

I lift my knees to give myself room, and I begin to jerk myself hard and fast. It’s too dry and too hard, but I want to get this over with. I need to take the edge off before I see him again—and Iwillsee him again.

I finally have a plan.

He has a show tonight, and I will be there. I will watch as he sees my gift, and I know he’ll understand it for what it means. That I’m sorry. That I’ll fix it. That there’s a thing between us that can’t be ignored, and as much as I want it, I know he does too.

“Denver,” I whisper into a pillow. I piston my hips back and forth, fucking my fist like I would if I were fucking into him. And then I feel the familiar hot, tight pulse in my balls. I spread my legs a little more, each thrust sending the head of my cock into the mattress.

I imagine it’s him—the crack of his ass, the space between his cock and his tight hole, waiting for me. I can all but feel the scratchy sensation of his lace panties against my skin as I suck in a breath, tighten my fist…

And come.

I cry out against the silk pillowcase, letting it collect my moans as I make a mess beneath me. My legs give out, and I collapse into the wet spill, hating every single second of that sensation.

I find the strength to roll over a moment later, and with wobbly legs, I get off the bed. Tearing off the sheets, I drop my pants into the fabric pile, and I redress before grabbing new bedding from the heavy armoire. It used to belong to my mother, and it’s the only thing in the house that reminds me of her.

It’s cherrywood and imposing. Looming and a little unforgiving.

Just like she was.

I throw the folded sheets on the naked mattress just as I hear a knock at the door. It’s easy to recognize the pattern as Milo’s, and I’m surprised he’s here. He’s not usually home during the day, which is probably not a good sign.

I don’t bother telling him to come in because he’s just going to do it anyway.

“What are you—” he starts, strolling past the door and coming to a skidding halt. “Oh, fuck. Did you just jerk off?”

“Yes,” I tell him. There’s no point in lying now. He can see the evidence all over, and in all honesty, I’ve never seen the point in not being truthful unless it’s to avoid a murder charge.

Glancing over, I see he’s got Hexe, one of his favorite cats, wrapped around the back of his neck like a scarf. She’s a diluted calico, all grays, whites, and peaches mottled on her fur.