Page 27 of Hunting Brooklyn (Stalkers in the Woods #5)

Then she turns, catches my eye, and grins.

“Holy shit. This is insane,” she says. “It’s like we’re in a movie. Or, like, a nature documentary. Do you think there’s a bear in there?”

“Statistically?” I scan the perimeter, cataloging the tracks, the scent, the possible egress routes. “Doubt it. Most bears would avoid the noise. Lynx, maybe, but not at this time of day.”

She laughs. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

She toes off her boots, peels down the sweats I gave her. She’s not wearing underwear, which means she either planned this, or she’s decided to stop pretending she’s not a needy little wench for me. I’m hoping for both.

She strips off her shirt next, leaving her in nothing but the little fox charm.

She’s watching me watch her.

“It’s cold as fuck this time of year.” I pretend not to care, but that’s a lie so big it should have its own gravitational pull. My hands itch to touch her, but I don’t move.

She stands at the edge of the pool, shivers in the shadow of the falls, then turns and sticks out her tongue. “Last chance to join me, or you’re a coward.”

I snort. “I’m not jumping into glacial runoff for a cheap thrill. My balls would pack up and head south for the winter.”

She cackles, one hand over her mouth. “Come on, Slade. Live a little.”

Before I can answer, she dives in. Arms up, legs kicking, the whole body arching into the air before hitting the surface with a slap that echoes across the rocks.

The water is so clear you can see straight to the bottom, every pebble and weed, every flicker of sunlight refracted in perfect, shifting patterns.

She comes up gasping, hair slicked to her skull, skin instantly gone gooseflesh. She screams—a real, unfiltered shriek—then laughs so hard she almost swallows water.

I sit on a sun-bleached log at the edge of the pool, elbows on knees, and watch her flail.

She floats on her back, arms spread, and lets the current drag her toward the falls. The water pummels her, flattening her breasts, pushing her under. She pops up, spitting and laughing, then flips over and treads water.

“Stop pretending you’re above this,” she calls out. “You’re dying to jump in. I can see it in your face.”

“You can see jack shit from over there,” I call back. “You can’t even feel your own face anymore, it’s so cold.”

She ignores me, paddling in lazy circles, turning every so often to shoot a glare or a smile my way. She’s not graceful in the water—her arms windmill, her legs kick at weird angles—but it’s the kind of awkward that makes you want to protect it, or eat it alive, or both.

I watch the way the light bounces off her wet skin, the curve of her hip as she rolls to dive again, the pink of her nipples gone almost blue in the cold.

I think about what I want to do to her, and the list is endless.

Instead, I turn my attention to the practical.

I break off a few dead limbs, strip the bark with my knife, and build a teepee of kindling in the sand.

I flick my lighter, watch the flame catch and take, then lean in to blow until it’s alive enough to hold its own.

Adding on some logs, I force it to fan into a strong flame.

We’re gunna be cold as fuck when we get out.

I can still see her, out of the corner of my eye. She’s huddled near the base of the falls now, arms wrapped tight around her chest, teeth chattering in her head.

“Come on, Slade!” she yells. “Don’t be a pussy!”

The challenge lands, but I don’t bite.

I grab her boots and her clothes, drape them over a low branch to warm. Take care of her first, fun second . I stoke the fire, feed it twigs and needles, watch the smoke spiral up through the trees. My hands are steady, but my heart is a fucking riot.

“I think you’re just scared,” she shouts. “Of being vulnerable.”

I could deny it, but what’s the point? She already knows.

“Maybe,” I say. “But you don’t get to talk shit until you try something scary, too.”

She swims forward, resting her chin on a large rock. “Like what?”

Standing and stripping, I walk to her and kneel in front of her, reaching out, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek. My thumb lingers on her jaw, just long enough for her to catch the tremor in my hand.

“Like trusting me,” I say.

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods.

“I trust you,” she says. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll drown you in this pool.”

I grin. “Your secret’s safe.”

The cold slaps me in the face the moment I hit the water. It’s so cold my bones ache, so cold I lose my breath. But I grit my teeth and power through, diving under and surfacing just a few feet away from her.

She floats, all pale limbs and perfect curves, letting the current bring me to her. She treads water, legs scissoring under the surface, head thrown back. She’s not scared, not even a little. If anything, she looks relieved.

I circle around her, letting her see me, letting her feel the tension I’ve held back.

She turns, reaches out, and hooks her fingers into the cracks in my control. “I knew you’d come in.”

“You think you know everything,” I say.

She shrugs. “I know you want me.”

I move in closer, just enough that her knees brush my thigh. Her hands are cold, but her body is fever-hot under the surface, the skin slick and alive.

I grab her by the waist, lift her out of the water, and let her fall back in with a splash. She squeals, tries to shove me away, but I lock my arms around her and drag her in.

She wraps her legs around my hips, her ankles digging into my spine. I grip her ass, hoist her higher, and bite down on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. She jerks, then goes limp, arms thrown around my head.

I kiss her—hard, unyielding, no air between us—and she opens for me. She tastes like river, like snowmelt, like the first time you ever dared to do something stupid just to prove you were alive.

She grabs my hair, yanks my head back, and glares at me. “Don’t tease,” she growls. “Fuck me.”

I push her back against the smooth boulder at the edge of the pool, pinning her in place with my hips. I spread her legs, line up, and slam in all at once, no warning, no mercy.

She howls. There’s no other word for it.

The water is so cold, but inside her is molten, gripping me so tight I see stars. I set a rhythm, slow at first, then faster, until the slap of our bodies is louder than the falls.

She claws at my back, nails scraping lines down my skin, then bites my jaw, hard enough to draw blood. I love her for it. I love her for not pretending she doesn’t want to be ruined.

I hook my hands under her knees, lift her higher, and drive in deeper. She arches back over the boulder, tits out, head back, mouth open in a gasp.

The current pulls at us, threatening to drag us downstream, but I hold her steady, locked in place by the rock and the force of my own will.

She’s close. I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble, in the way her cunt flutters around me, in the way her breath comes in shallow, desperate sobs.

I grip her throat with one hand, thumb pressing against the pulse point, and stare into her eyes.

“Come,” I command, voice a growl.

She does, shattering in my hands, nails digging so deep into my arms I’ll wear the marks for days. She shakes, then goes limp, chest heaving.

I don’t stop. I keep fucking her, harder, until the world tunnels down to just her, just this, just the need to fill her with everything I am.

I come with a roar, biting her shoulder, marking her for the millionth time.

When it’s over, I hold her in place, forehead pressed to hers, both of us panting, water swirling around our bodies.

She laughs, breathless. “You’re insane.”

“Only for you,” I say.

She floats, arms around my neck, legs still wrapped around me, refusing to let go.

We stay in the water until the cold is too much to bear. Then I carry her out, wrap her in my arms once I’ve sat, and hold her by the fire, rocking her until she’s warm again.

She doesn’t speak, just curls into me, her face tucked against my chest, her fingers tangled in my hair.

I let her be. I let her have the silence, the peace, the feeling of being utterly claimed.

Tomorrow, she might run. Tomorrow, she might hate me.

But tonight, she is mine.

And I am hers, in every way that matters.

I kiss the top of her head, breath in the scent of her, and know that I will never, ever let her go.

Not even if she asks me to.

Especially if she does.