Chapter Ten

FIAMETTA

T he sensation of something heavy dropping onto my bed rips me out of a very pleasant dream I was in the middle of enjoying. It involved my masked hunter, the same way most of my thoughts and dreams have been consumed by him lately.

This one had me right back in my boutique’s fitting room. His knife was replaced by his bare cock, firmly in his grip, while he kept my panties pressed against his nose. Even in my dreams, it seems, I’m not allowed to look upon his face. If it isn’t a mask of his own choosing, it’s the fabric he stole from me.

And had I not been so rudely torn from sleep; his face would’ve been obscured between my legs. With his tongue finding its way between my folds while his emerald eyes peered up from below.

But, as it always seems to happen, my dream starts fading from my mind as soon as I wake up. Although, it might be that the fear that spikes through my veins at the sudden intrusion into my bedroom chases it away quicker.

My eyes snap open with a sudden rush of adrenaline, and I peer into the inky blackness of my bedroom. I don’t make any sudden moves to alert whoever may be here that I’m awake, but my rapid breathing is probably a dead giveaway.

It’s only when my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, that I notice the shape of someone sitting on the foot of my bed. His back is turned to me and he’s fiddling with something in front of him.

It has to be him. My stalker. My assassin. Whatever the hell he is to me.

Should I shout to get Tomas’s attention? He’s only a few rooms away. He could be here in an instant to deal with this guy...

Unless I’m wrong. What if this is Tomas?

I can’t be so foolish as to think that my stalker would be able to get through all of my apartment’s locks, past my bodyguard, and into my bedroom without also believing that Tomas couldn’t at least get through a single lock.

Jumping to conclusions could make things much worse, especially when whoever it is still thinks I’m sleeping. Maybe I don’t have to do anything. If I just lie here completely still, he’ll do whatever he did the last time he came around. Wander around my room aimlessly, knock over some things on my drawers and side tables, and be on his way.

That’s a terrible idea. If it is my snake-eyed stalker, he’s probably here to finish the job he couldn’t finish in the fitting room. A change of heart in the moment is one thing, but can he change who he is because he wants to have sex with me?

Then there’s the most screwed-up part about all this, and it’s the flutter in my stomach that finds this exhilarating. He’s willing to defy all, and risk being caught by Tomas, just to be here. And if it’s anything like our time in the changing room, I’m sure he isn’t going to stop at pressing his masked face against my thighs or stealing another pair of panties.

He’s going to take what he wanted to then, and I’ll be the lucky recipient of his pleasure.

A shifting weight at my feet snaps me out of my daydream and back to reality. Holy shit, did I really just get excited by the thought of this guy touching me again? I should be repulsed by it. I should fight tooth and nail to get him away from me. I should cry out for help at the top of my lungs...

And yet, I watch him slink through the shadows instead. He gets off my bed, with whatever he was inspecting in tow, and walks around to my side. Given his size, I know it isn’t Tomas. There’s too much muscle for even the darkness to conceal.

I shut my eyes as he nears the end of his walk, and instead, I focus on the sound of his footfalls. Big as he is, he moves with the quiet elegance of a panther—stealthy, controlled, and unnervingly smooth.

He wanted me to wake up when he dropped onto my bed. He wants me to know he’s here. He wants to prove that my father’s men aren’t good enough to keep him out, and that he can do whatever the hell he pleases.

“In vain, I have struggled. It will not do.” His raspy whisper strikes my ear, quoting one of the lines from my copy of Pride and Prejudice.

My cheeks are instantly set ablaze at hearing him speak. The heat is twice as harsh, as I realize he’s read my notes scattered across those pages. He’s seen my ramblings and scribbles, mixed in with my own wants and desires.

Is it normal to feel embarrassed when you’re about to be murdered?

He doesn’t give me time to search myself for an answer, but grabs the end of my blanket in both hands and rips it off my body.

I launch myself forward with my duvet, in some vain attempt to pretend he’s just yanked me from sleep. Before I can make a sound, his open palm slams against my face with a slap, and clamps my mouth shut tightly. He forces my head back down into the pillow, pinning me in place as his body begins to move again.

His grip is different this time. It isn’t the soft leather of a glove holding my mouth, but his skin brushing against my lips. And unlike in the changing room, the rest of my senses come to life as the darkness blinds my vision in here.

I hear the soft rumble in his chest, as his free hand grazes my silky-smooth shin. His oaky cologne wafts in my direction with every repeated touch. Most importantly, I feel the goosebumps forming on my skin wherever his hand moves, as he starts to ascend my leg.

My heart pounds against my rib cage as he moves past my knee and against my thighs. Try as I might to fend off his touch, my body is fighting my mind and I part my legs further, wholly accepting what he’s trying to do.

Trying to fight it is pointless.

I was literally dreaming about this very thing happening before he appeared in my bedroom, and now that it is happening, I’m getting more turned on than I ever thought possible, with the man who is trying to kill me.

It’s forbidden arousal , I reason with myself. The emerald-eyed monster has been taunting you for weeks. It’s Stockholm syndrome without the kidnapping .

I can think of a thousand more ways to make sense of this, but none of them do my thoughts any real justice.

Because, deep down, I know the truth.

I want it just as much as he does.

After admitting my desire to myself, I finally gather the courage to meet his face. To my disappointment, he’s still wearing his black mask. The biggest bummer of all is that I don’t even get to see his eyes in the darkness. He’s just a black mass, sliding through the shadows and—

My thought is cut off as his hand glides down my thighs and a single finger grazes my soaked panties right above my pussy.

“Aaah,” a choked sound is emitted into his palm. It inspires him to tighten his grip on my mouth further, forcing my silence.

My entire body starts to shake as he starts to move his finger down, then up, and back again. His gentle caress isn’t what I was expecting. No, something told me he’d force himself on top of me. Tear away my clothes and bury his cock down to the balls inside me.

This unexpected twist only turns me on more.

What is wrong with me?

I should be scared. Trying to fight him off. Calling for Tomas and any other of Father’s men who are stationed around my building.

But no. I’m letting this freak touch me. Please me. Soak his finger in my wetness and still, I want more.

As if he can read my thoughts, he slides his hand up my panties and hooks them by the waistband.

“Lift your ass,” he commands, and I give in against the last screech of good reason echoing in my head.

He pulls my panties down to my calves and leaves them there. Is he trying to trip me if I run? Probably not, but somehow thinking I’m bound here makes this feel so much hotter.

My stalker stands as his hand returns to my center. He isn’t on his feet long, before the same heavy weight that roused me from slumber, drops beside me. He’s on his knees now, peering down at my body as his already soaked finger finds its place again.

“Lift your shirt,” another order that my mind refuses to obey, but my body gives in to willingly.

Between my muffled cries against his palm, and my body rattling at the overwhelming sensations his hand delivers with only a graze, it’s a harder task to complete than simply hoisting my ass in the air.

But when my tits are finally exposed, a deep rumble rolls out from the back of his throat.

“Christ,” he utters in a husky whisper, and drives the finger he’s been teasing me with inside my tight hole.

My eyes roll to the back of my head while my pussy aches at the thrill of being filled. He teases my hole with a single finger, until he’s satisfied with the result of my rattling body. During his fast-thrusting motions, a second finger slips inside, and his thumb finds its way to the hood of my clit.

In the back of my mind, all I can do is wonder, if his fingers are filling me to the brim, how the hell would his cock feel inside me? I can see its outline in the darkness, pressing tightly against his pants. It’s the only other shape I can make out against the black, other than his frame.

Any time I try to move, or join in the fun of his hand’s pleasure, he reminds me that he’s in control by squeezing my body back in position with the hand that’s still covering my mouth.

When my muffled groans and fierce jerking become too much for a single hand to keep pinned, my stalker presses his knee against my chest to hold me down. This new leverage gives him a free range of motion, until he’s slamming his fingers inside of me to the knuckle with fast, intense strokes that seem to hit the perfect spot.

I can’t hold back my squeal of delight, and to his growling annoyance, his covering hand barely catches the sound. Somewhere in the mix of this swelling pleasure, reason manages to find its way back into my mind. It isn’t the fun I’m deluding myself to believe, he’s violating me.

But it’s too late to fight him off. He has me pinned in place, and even if I begged him to stop, those fingers would continue to fuck me as hard as he wants them to.

“Oh my God,” I roar the words against his palm as he tears a climax from me.

He continues to thrust his fingers inside me while my body coils like a spring, and releases with a wave of pleasure that leaves my thighs dripping wet.

Did I really just cum at the thought of this guy violating me? While he WAS violating me?

A pit forms in my belly as he pulls his fingers out. I watch his hand move to his face, and he yanks his mask up from the bottom. Squinting in the darkness I try and get a look at his face, but all I see is two fingers slip between his lips, and I hear the lustful, hungry growls that come from his mouth.

It’s the closest I’ve come to seeing what my stalker actually looks like, and instead I’m left with another wave of desire at his actions.

“My feelings will no longer be repressed.” He finishes another section of the quote and hoists himself to his feet. Foolishly, I almost expect him to say the rest, too: You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you . But the words never come, and as he takes a few steps back, eventually becoming indiscernible from the shadows.

I crumble back into my bed and feel the warm threat of tears in my eyelids as I stare at my ceiling. I want them to be because of what my stalker just did to me, but I’d be lying if I told myself that was the reason.

Because, as violated as I feel, I’m just as satisfied by his touch.

And I want it again.