Page 13 of Stalked By Raiden

The elevator is broken, so we climb three flights of stairs, her breathing slightly elevated by the time we reach her door. She fumbles with her keys, and I stand close enough to smell her shampoo—a warm vanilla scent. I want to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in.

Her apartment is small and sparsely furnished but tidy. She sets her purse on a small table and turns. I place the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and close the distance between us. She stands frozen, her chest heaving.

I can see the hard points of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her dress. She’s trying to control herself. Trying to hide how much she wants me.

She’s failing. Miserably.

“You have freckles,” I say, my voice low, intimate. I reach out to trace the ones scattered across her cheekbone, and she shudders under my touch. “Here. And here.” My finger moves to her nose, then her other cheek. “Like someone spilled cinnamon across cream.”

Her face flushes pink. “They were the bane of my existence growing up. Kids used to tease me.”

“I love them on you.” I lean closer, close enough to feel her breath against my lips. “I love everything on you.”

She stares up at me, bright blue eyes wide and dark with need. The last thread of my control snaps.

I kiss her.

It’s not gentle. It’s not tentative. It’s the kiss I’ve been starving for since yesterday, hungry and demanding. My pierced tongue sweeps into her mouth to taste her, claim her. She melts against me with a soft sound that goes straight to my cock, her hands clutching my shoulders, pulling me closer.

I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop. The kiss deepens, turns filthy, all sliding tongues and nipping teeth and the desperate way she responds, open and eager and completely untutored.

Nobody kisses like this if they’ve done it often. She follows instead of leading. Gasps every time I change the angle, like it hadn’t occurred to her I could. Her hands stay exactly where she first put them because she doesn’t know she’s allowed to move them. It’s not in any file Royal could pull. She’s telling me herself, and she has no idea she’s doing it.

A virgin. In every way. I broke her tattoo virginity with my ink still healing on her skin, and I could be her first in this too. The thought makes me wild.

I guide her backward, toward the couch, never breaking the kiss. She stumbles, clinging to me, and I catch her, lower her onto the cushions, following her down. My body covers hers, and she arches up into me, seeking friction, seeking more.

“Raiden,” she breathes, and it’s needy and desperate.

I pull back just enough to see her face, flushed and beautiful, lips swollen from my mouth. “Freckles,” I rasp, my voice rough with restraint. “Tell me what you want.”

“I w-want you.” The words tumble out, raw and honest. “Please, I need…”

I don’t let her finish. I pull her dress over her head, revealing her simple cotton bra and panties. She’s exquisite. Ivory skin, soft curves, and those freckles everywhere, more of them than she’d ever have let me see with her clothes on. I unhook her bra, slide it away, and lower my mouth to her breast.

She cries out when I suck on her nipple, her fingers tangling in my hair. I lavish attention on one, then the other, until she’s writhing beneath me, until her hips are rocking against nothing, seeking relief I haven’t given her yet.

I move lower, kissing down her stomach, her hip, the inside of her thigh. I can smell her arousal, sweet and intoxicating, and when I peel her panties down her legs, she whimpers my name.

“Open for me,” I command, and she obeys, trembling, her thighs falling apart.

She’s beautiful. Glistening. Mine.

I lower my mouth to her, and she moans aloud, her heels digging into the cushions. I feast on her, relentless, using my tongue and lips and the occasional scrape of teeth to drive her higher. She’s so responsive, so honest in her pleasure. When I slide two fingers inside her tight heat, she clamps down around them, gasping.

“Raiden. W-what’s happening?. I don’t—”

“Let go,” I growl against her. I curl my fingers, finding that spot inside her that makes her see stars. “Come for me, Freckles. Now.”

She shatters. Her orgasm rips through her, violent and beautiful, and I keep working her through it, drawing it out, not stopping until she’s limp and gasping and oversensitive.

I sit back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and her eyes find mine, dazed and wondering. She watches as I unbutton my jeans, shove them down just enough to free myself. I’m hard and aching, pre-cum already beading at the tip. I watch her eyes widen in fascination.

“Come here,” I say, my voice strained.

She rises on unsteady arms, curious, with a hungry stare. I take her small, soft hand and wrap it around me. She’s tentative at first, exploring, and the sensation of her inexperienced touch nearly undoes me.

“Like this,” I grit out, guiding her, showing her how to stroke, how to grip. “Fuck, yes, just like that.”