Page 25 of Hunt Me

My hands go numb.

He’s in my system. Watching me work. Probably has been since the moment I opened my laptop.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, shaking.

I type fast, before I can second-guess myself.

What do you want?

The response comes instantly, like he’s been waiting for me to ask.

Right now? I want to watch you squirm. I want to know if your cheeks are flushed pink and if you’re pressing your thighs together while reading this? I want to know if your breath catches when you imagine what I’d do if I showed up at your door.

Heat floods my face. I stare at the words, brain stuttering.

Not talking about code, sweetheart. That foreplay’s done. I’m talking about spreading you out on that desk you’re sitting at, pushing my cock between those smart-ass lips until tears streak that perfect makeup.

My breath catches. Just like he said.

Another message.

Bet you’d fight it. Probably scratch and bite and pretend you don’t want it. But I’ve seen how you operate, Iris. You’re obsessed with control because you’re terrified of losing it. And I’m the only person alive who could take it from you.

I should close the laptop. Block the number. Do literally anything except keep reading.

Wonder if you’d still be mouthy when I’ve got you bent over, fingers twisted in that blonde hair.

My core clenches. Actual physical reaction to words on a screen.

This is insane. I don’t do this. Don’t think about men, don’t date, don’t waste time on sex when there’s work to do. Haven’t touched anyone in over two years, and before that, it was mechanical. Necessary stress relief, nothing more.

But Alexi’s words spark something dark and hungry I didn’t know existed.

You there, Phantom? Or did I finally find something that shuts you up?

My hands shake as I type.

You’re delusional.

Am I? Then why haven’t you blocked this number? Why are you still reading?

Because I can’t stop. Because every crude, explicit word makes my pulse race faster. Because somewhere in my fucked-up brain, the idea of Alexi Ivanov—brilliant, dangerous, completely unhinged Alexi—wanting me like this does something no one else ever has.

That’s what I thought. Sleep well, Iris. Dream of me.

The messages stop.

I sit frozen, staring at my phone, body humming with unfamiliar need.

“What the fuck,” I whisper to the empty room.

I should shut down. Lock everything down and go to bed.

Instead, my fingers move across the keyboard with familiar precision.

If he’s been watching me, turnabout’s fair play.

It takes three minutes to breach his personal network. Another two to access his system’s camera feeds. He’s gotsecurity, layers of it, but nothing I can’t unravel. The arrogance of thinking I wouldn’t retaliate makes him sloppy.