Page 127 of Letters From A Stalker

It vibrates against my mouth like echo. His hand settles against my hip, fingers digging in as if he needs something to hold onto so he doesn’t just slam the rest of the way home. His mouth finds mine and then he moves. The first few strokes are controlled, deeper than they are fast, his body giving me enough time to feel every inch of his dick before drawing back and pushing forward again. I feel the drag of him along my inner walls, the way he fills me so completely that there is no room left for thought.

I hold onto his shoulders. There is no face to watch, only the heat and weight of him between my thighs and the soft sounds of skin, bedding and increasingly rough breathing. His restraint begins slipping. I feel it happen gradually. The controlled rhythm becomes harder, his hand tightening at my hip while my nails drag across the tattooed muscles of his back. I can no longer see the bison skull or the forest beneath my palms, but I remember exactly where they were, and the thought of those dark lines moving under my hands while he drives into me sends another pulse of heat through me.

My head falls back as he pulls my thigh higher around his hip and the angle changes. “Oh my God.”

The next thrust hits so deep a broken sound tears out of me. He stops just long enough to register it, then does it again. And again. Each stroke is measured and filthy at once, the wet sound of him fucking my pussy filling the dark room, his pelvis grinding against my clit at the end of every thrust.

“Ah—” a broken sound comes out of me just in time as his mouth moves to my neck.

I feel his teeth against the sensitive skin there while his pace grows harder, less patient now that my body has adjusted to him. I cling to him. There is nothing gentle about what I want tonight, nothing soft or careful. I want the man from the letters exactly as he promised himself to me, hard enough that the rest of the world disappears for a while, controlled enough that I know the difference between being taken and giving. His hand returns to my throat, the pressure remaining measured. My body reacts immediately, my pussy tightening around his dick so hard he groans into my skin.

He notices and a low sound leaves him. “Good girl.”

I tighten around him again which makes him swear quietly against my neck. The sound nearly wrecks me. Instead, I roll my hips up to meet him which makes his grip tighten and the rhythm changes — harder. My body starts climbing again, pleasure gathering beneath every thrust until my legs begin trembling around him. His breathing turns ragged but mine is worse.

“Ghost.”

His forehead drops against mine. “Come.”

The orgasm tears through me around him, deeper than the ones before, every muscle pulling tight while my thighs lock around his hips and the sound that leaves me disappears into his shoulder. I pulse around his dick so hard I can feel him throbbing in answer. He keeps moving through it, slower now yet deep enough that every remaining pulse drags another shudder through me. His rhythm finally breaks. A rough sound catches low in his throat while his whole body goes tense above mine, his face turning into the side of my neck as the last of his control disappears with it. I feel him come, the way his hips stutter, the way his hand flexes at my throat and then gentles, like he remembers himself even in the middle of falling apart.

For a while, there is nothing except breathing, just his chest rising hard against mine. My hands remain spread across his back, palms resting over ink, and the intimacy of the silence catches me more than I expect. His mouth finds mine once more and this kiss is slower. There is no instruction attached to it and nothing he seems to want from me except the kiss itself, so I let myself sink into it without wondering what comes next. When it ends, his thumb brushes my cheek and he moves away. I hear him quietly take care of the condom. The mattress dips as he leaves it. Fabric shifts in the dark, and for a second I am sure this is the part where he disappears the same way he arrived. I wait for the scrape of denim, the pull of a shirt, the sound of him finding the door.

Instead, the mattress sinks again behind me. He doesn’t speak. He just comes back, heat settling along the length of my spine, and the unexpectedness of it makes my throat tight. I thought he would go. I had already started bracing for the empty side of the bed and the quiet house and the letter still waiting downstairs.

“Sleep,” he whispers.

His arm comes around my waist and he draws me back into him, fitting my body against his like it is the most obvious thing in the world. It should feel awkward. A masked man in my bed, his chest to my back, one heavy arm locked around me as if he has any right to stay after everything we just did. But somehow it doesn’t because the fit is too easy. His breath is warm against the back of my neck. His hand rests flat over my stomach, not demanding anything now, just holding me there.

I don’t have time to decide what that means. Sleep takes me before I can.

24

Kai

Julia falls asleep faster than I expected. One minute she is still awake beneath my arm, warm and loose against me while the hand resting over her stomach rises gently with every breath. The tension leaves her body in slow intervals until her fingers uncurl from around my forearm and her weight settles fully into mine, trusting sleep enough that she no longer helps me hold her.

I stay exactly where I am. The room has been quiet for long enough that I can hear the old house settling around us, wood shifting somewhere beyond the bedroom and the refrigerator humming faintly downstairs before everything returns to silence. Outside, an occasional car passes at the end of the street, but Julia doesn’t react to any of it. Her breathing has gone deep and even, her back warm against my chest and one leg bent beneath the sheet where she curled into me without seeming to notice she was doing it. I wait a little longer anyway. There is no reason to rush this part, especially when leaving suddenly feels considerably less appealing than it did when I imagined tonight from outside her windows.

I had imagined plenty. Her against a wall. My hands finally touching everything I had spent weeks watching through glass. The sounds I could only guess at from the trees. I had imagined getting her into bed too, although those particular thoughts never went much farther than sex because apparently my imagination had neglected to account for what happened afterward. It had never bothered to include Julia falling asleep in my arms. My hand remains spread loosely over her stomach beneath the sheet, no longer holding her there so much as resting against her because I haven’t convinced myself to move it. The warmth of her body has settled into mine with an ease I didn’t expect, and for a few minutes I allow myself to lie there without deciding what any of it means. Tonight does not need another explanation. I have given myself enough of those.

Julia shifts slightly and makes a soft, sleepy sound into the pillow. My whole body goes still. She settles again within seconds, pushing a little farther back against me as though searching in her sleep for the warmth I am already giving her, and something in my chest pulls tight. Once I’m certain she is properly asleep, I reach carefully for the bottom edge of the balaclava and peel the fabric upward. It has been hot and uncomfortable for the better part of the night, and dragging it completely over my head feels almost obscenely good after hours of making sure no useful part of my face became visible.

Cool air reaches my skin and I let out a quiet breath.

“Jesus Christ.” There is no need to distort my voice now. Nobody awake can hear Kai Blackwood. The bedroom remains dark enough that I can barely make out my own hand at first, but my eyes gradually adjust until Julia begins taking shape against the pillow beside me. I can see the pale curve of her cheek, the darker spill of auburn hair surrounding her face and the soft outline of lips parted slightly while she sleeps. She is so fucking beautiful like this. There is nothing polished or carefully arranged about her now. Her hair is a mess, whatever makeup survived the day disappeared hours ago and one cheek is pressed into the pillow enough that her mouth sits a little crooked, but she looks more peaceful than I have ever seen her.

She was beautiful beneath me too. That particular image is going to be considerably more difficult to remove from my head, especially the moment her entire body tightened around mine and she stopped caring what sounds came out of her mouth.

Unfortunately, I remember one of those sounds perfectly.

“Ghost.”

My mouth pulls into a faint smile before the small thread of regret follows. I like the name. I liked it far too much the first time she said it downstairs, and there is something deeply satisfying about knowing she created a name for the man she waits for after dark. Still, for one second while she was coming around me, I wanted to hear something else.

“Kai.”

That particular disappointment belongs entirely to me. I could have avoided it by doing what any remotely sensible man would have done months ago. Once I realized wanting her had stopped being something I could comfortably contain inside an office, I could have referred her to someone else, waited until enough time had passed and approached her as myself if that ever became appropriate. I know how to ask a woman to dinner. I have even managed it without hiding in foliage. Out of all of the problems in my life, that was never one of them.