Page 13 of Hunting Brooklyn (Stalkers in the Woods #5)

Slipping my hand under her shirt, flat against the warmth of her belly, I hold back a groan.

I feel the tension there, the way her body resists intrusion even in sleep.

I caress upward, following the curve of her ribs, until my thumb grazes the underside of her breast. I stop, listening to her breath: a hitch, a half-moan, then nothing.

I cup her gently, reverently, thumb flicking over the nipple until it stiffens.

My fingers roll it, tugging just enough to make her shift on the mattress.

She makes a sound, soft and high, and I freeze, savoring the echo.

She rolls over onto her back, her arm flung over the side of her pillow, almost smashing into mine as she moves.

Once she stills, I slide my hand down, over her stomach, inside the waistband of her underwear.

She is warm and damp, and when I part her folds she is slick—soaking, pulsing, the heat of her pussy an invitation.

I stroke her, slow, learning her cunt by touch.

Over and over, my finger flicks over her clit.

Fuck, I so badly want to taste her, to lick her, to force her to come on my tongue.

She is so wet that the noise is loud in the silence.

She moans, hips tilting toward me, body seeking pressure even as her mind is lost.

I push a finger inside. The resistance is nothing, the grip of her muscles everything.

I want to split her open, to see how much she can take, but I force myself to wait, to savor.

I curl another finger, scissoring, stretching her.

Her breath comes faster, heartbeat stuttering under her skin.

She is so ready, so desperate, and she doesn’t even know why.

“Little fox,” I whisper in her ear. The words are a curse and a benediction. “You’re mine now.”

She moans again, louder. I finger her harder, thumb finding her clit and circling with the lightest, most precise motion. Her body clenches around me, wetness leaking down onto the sheet, onto my hand. I want to lap it up, to taste the salt and tang, to claim her in every possible way.

I let go of restraint, there’s no way I can feel her come around my fingers and not want that around my cock.

Off go her panties in one smooth movement, leaving her bare from the waist down.

Spreading her thighs, she’s exposed to everything.

I stare at her pussy, glistening in the moonlight Such a pretty pussy .

Running my tongue from the bottom to the top of her clit, flattening it, pressing hard.

She bucks under me, tries to close her legs, but I hold her open and keep licking.

She tastes fucking perfect. I fuck her with my tongue, my fingers, my mouth, working her clit until she is whimpering in her sleep, hands clutching at the sheets. I keep going until she is right at the edge, then I pull away and watch her face.

She is lost, completely, overwhelmed by pleasure. Her breathing is short and raspy, but there’s a small smile on her lips and I wonder what she’s dreaming about not to wake to this.

I can’t wait any longer.

I free my cock from my pants, stroking it once, twice, feeling the pre-cum wet my hand.

Lining up with her cunt and pushing inside, slow, relentless.

She is so tight it’s almost painful, but the pain is beautiful, a reminder that she is real, that this is real.

I bottom out, balls pressing against her ass, and stay there for a moment, savoring the heat, the pulse, the sense of ownership.

Leaning forward, I bite down on her neck, marking her, even knowing she won’t remember, won’t understand.

I fuck her slow at first, then harder, faster, pounding into her until the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. Her body takes it, absorbs it, responds to it. She moans, cries out, tries to arch away, but I pin her down, hands on her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh.

“Mine,” I tell her, again and again, like a hymn. “You’re mine, little fox. You belong to me. That’s it, baby girl, let go. Come for me.”

Her pussy flutters, clamps down, and then she’s coming, squirting around my cock, soaking the sheets, the mattress, my thighs.

She screams, not in pain, but in pure animal release.

I keep fucking her through it, chasing my own orgasm, and when I come it is like nothing I have ever felt—violent, savage, absolute.

I spill inside her, filling her up, marking her as mine.

Staying still a few moments to watch her face, and to allow my come to do what it should be, I wait.

Oh yes, I want to breed my little fox. Dump her full of come over and over until she’s a fucking sopping mess. And then I want her full of my babies, round with pregnancy and then I’ll do it all over again.

I pull out and watch the cum ooze from her hole, a glistening mess on her thighs. Without thought, I lean down and lick her, gentle, almost tender, savoring the taste of our bodies mingled.

When I am finished, I pull on her underwear, careful to leave no trace except the scent of sex and the faint bruises on her hips, one on her neck and a wet mess below her. I tuck her in, brush the hair from her forehead, and kiss her lips, soft and closed.

“Good girl,” I whisper. “Sleep now.”

I stand, wipe my hands on the inside of my shirt, and retreat to the doorway. I watch her for another minute, making sure she is breathing, that her dreams are not nightmares.

I want to stay, to hold her until she wakes, but that would be a mistake.

I slip out of the apartment, locking the door behind me, heading down the hall and opting for the stairs, my body still electric, still alive with the memory of her.

She will wake tomorrow with no idea what happened, but she will feel it. In the ache between her legs, in the soreness of her muscles, in the craving she cannot explain.

I will be waiting.

And next time, she will beg for it.