Page 32 of Hunting Brooklyn (Stalkers in the Woods #5)

Chapter Eighteen

Slade

S he’s trembling, but not with fear.

I take a step back, letting my eyes adjust to her silhouette.

The blindfold blacked out her world, but for me, she’s radiant.

The shudder in her shoulders, the precise way she balances on the balls of her feet—she’s anticipating, not dreading.

The air in the room is cold and wet, but she sweats through the shirt, a faint dark line trailing from neck to cleavage.

I let my hand hover over her cheek, just long enough for her to feel the heat, then stroke from temple to jaw, thumb grazing the edge of the blindfold. The silk is tight, cutting off all light, amplifying everything else.

I lean in. The scent of her—salt, old sweat, shampoo from three days ago, plus the faint wild note of her arousal—hits me like a fist to the teeth.

“Take a breath,” I say, close to her ear.

She does. In through the nose, out through the mouth, and I watch her chest rise, my shirt stretching over her tits. When she exhales, there’s a whimper tangled in it, the sound she makes when she’s caught between wanting and not knowing how.

I take her wrists and guide her forward, steps careful.

The bed’s right there, sheets crisp, mattress soft.

Turning her, I sit her down—she startles at the contact, knees buckling, but she sits, palms pressing flat to the surface.

I can feel her cataloguing the bed: the height, the softness, the tension in the air.

Slowly, I lift her arms and tug the shirt off her body.

“Lie back,” I say, flat and simple.

She obeys. Stiff at first, then more fluid, arms at her sides, her hair a gold fan across the blue-black bedding. She can’t see me but she’s waiting, breath shallow, hands curling and uncurling like she’s fighting the urge to reach for something.

I stand over her, taking it in. She is a thing to be worshipped and wrecked, all at once.

Kneeling at the edge, I want to take my time and start slow.

My lips find her neck, skin hot and pulse frantic under my tongue.

She shivers, goosebumps chasing my mouth as I work from her jaw to the hollow of her throat.

I bite, just enough to leave a mark, and her body jerks, thighs clenching.

She doesn’t try to hide the noise this time. Good girl.

My hands travel up her sides, fingers splayed wide. I could rush, move faster but I want her to remember the sensation, every inch. Her skin glows in the low light, veins blue under porcelain. I leave a line of kisses down the center, slow and methodical, like I’m tracing the path to her heart.

She moans when my teeth graze her clavicle, a low, raspy sound. Her nipples are hard enough to dent steel. I mouth them, tongue flicking, then suck until she’s gasping, her hands fisting in the sheets.

I move lower, dragging my tongue down her body before moving back up and blowing a steady stream of air. The sensation raises a rash of gooseflesh across her, nipples tight, skin flushed from neck to navel.

I don’t say a word. Just drink it in.

Her breathing is ragged, chest pumping like she’s been running for miles. I press my mouth to her stomach, teeth scraping just above the waistband of her panties. She jerks, tries to close her legs, but I grip her knees and keep them open.

“Don’t move,” I say, the warning flat and final.

She freezes, every muscle tense, but she listens. Her obedience is the best drug in the world.

I hook my thumbs in the waistband, slow, dragging them down her hips, thighs, knees. Her cunt is already wet, a glossy shine even in the dim. She’s not even trying to hide it, but I don’t want her to. I want her to feel what it is to be stripped down to nothing, then worshipped.

The panties drop to the floor. I spread her legs, wide, exposing her fully and just stare. Fucking perfect. She is soaked, throbbing, the air making her shudder. She tries to squirm, but I press a palm to her thigh and pin her.

“Stay.”

She obeys and relaxes when I move off the bed.

I reach for the rope. It’s heavy, rough, the kind that leaves marks but not scars. I double it, wrap around her wrists—one, two, three times—then knot it to the headboard, high above. She makes a soft sound, something between fear and need, but when I tighten the loop, she relaxes into it.

I run my hands over her arms, tracing the blood back down to her core.

“If you want out, say it now,” I growl.

She shakes her head, once, sharp. “No.”

“Good.”

I lean over her, weight pinning her to the bed. Her legs are trembling now, small involuntary spasms. The blindfold is still perfect, not a hair out of place. I lick a stripe up her inner thigh, slow, savoring the taste. She moans, arches, tries to press her pussy to my mouth, but I hold her down.

“Patience,” I whisper.

She swallows. The sound is loud in the silence.

I take my time. Every inch of her is mine to explore, taste, ruin. My lips kiss the inside of her knee, the soft flesh at her hip, the sharp angle of her pelvis. When I finally reach her core, I don’t dive in. I let my breath brush her first, a warning. She groans, hips bucking, desperate for more.

Parting her with two fingers, slow, then licking the length of her, savoring how fucking perfect she tastes.

Her whole body convulses. I circle her clit with my tongue, not hard, just enough to make her crazy.

Her hands yank at the rope, futile, wrists straining.

The sound of the fibers creaking is fucking beautiful.

I alternate between mouth and fingers, never the same pattern, never letting her settle. I want her to lose sense of time, of space, of anything but this. I fuck her with my tongue, then my fingers, two, then three, stretching her until she’s a whimpering mess.

When she’s close, I stop. I back off, hands on her knees, holding her open.

“Not yet,” I say.

She sobs, frustrated, but doesn’t beg. She wants to, but she’s too proud.

I lean in, tongue tracing lazy shapes around her clit, fingers still working slow inside. Her body bows up, muscles taut, and this time I don’t stop. I keep going, relentless, until she’s shaking, every inch of her burning.

She comes hard, back arched off the bed, cunt gripping my fingers so tight it hurts. She screams my name, raw and broken.

I keep going, draw it out, until she collapses.

Crawling up the bed and straddling her, my hand cradling her face, I kiss her, slow and deep. Her lips are slack, surrendering. I pull the blindfold just enough for her to see, eyes glassy, pupils blown.

“If you stay,” I say, voice gentle but absolute, “you’re mine. All the way. No escape, no lies, all our cards on the table. You choose it.”

She nods, throat working as she tries to breathe. Her eyes are heavy, she’s panting, she wants more.

“Say it,” I command.

“I choose you,” she says, voice hoarse but clear. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air, perfect and irrevocable. “That’s my good girl.”

Putting the blindfold back, I grin. I’m not done with my little fox just yet.

She’s never looked more beautiful.

She’s never been more mine.

“Please…” she whispers, not even knowing what she’s asking for, but I’ll give it all to her.

She should be done. Most women would be.

But Brooklyn is still vibrating with need, breath sawing in and out. Her skin is a fever chart—pale at the wrists and ribs, flushed everywhere else, a living map of where I’ve touched her.

She’s blindfolded, but it’s more than sight I’ve taken; it’s every point of reference, every axis she orients her life around. There’s no more up or down, just sensation.

“Do you want more, Brooklyn?”

“Y-Yes… please Sir.”

I trace a line down her arm, nails scraping lightly.

She shudders, muscles tensing, then going slack.

I do it again, slower, and the tremor runs all the way to her toes.

Her mouth falls open. She’s seconds away from begging me to fuck her, but tonight is all about her.

Putting her in that space where she’s in control, even as I strip it away from her.

My cock is painfully hard, and I’d love to drive it into her, but giving her pleasure is just as satisfying.

I use my mouth. I take her nipple between my teeth and bite, just shy of pain, then soothe with my tongue.

The gasp she makes is high, then low—a melody of confusion and hunger.

I move to the other breast, lavishing it, then trailing lower, tongue flicking along her belly.

I suck a bruise just above her hip, forcing it to blossom into something bigger, something wilder.

Her thighs clamp together as I move lower. I wedge them apart, hands firm. I want to make her wait for her second orgasm, but her body is already waiting for me, so I don’t tease.

I barely have to touch her.

I suck her clit, tongue pressing hard, fingers sliding deep inside.

She screams. The sound bounces off the stone walls, loud and beautiful.

She comes so hard I almost lose control of her, her whole body seizing, thighs shaking.

The blindfold slips a millimeter, enough for me to see the tears leaking down her cheeks.

She’s not done.

I keep going, don’t let up, and soon she’s coming again, this time the climax is softer, but it wrings her out, leaves her boneless. I lick her through it, gentle now, and then just breathe her in, chin resting on her thigh.

Slowly she descends, listening to me murmur words of praise, affirmation and validation. How beautiful she is. How perfect. Her chest rises and falls, every exhale a shaky surrender. I run my hands over her belly, then up to her throat, feeling the pulse pounding there.

“Breathe,” I whisper.

She obeys.