Page 10 of Hunting Gianna (Stalkers in the Woods #3)

Chapter Eight

Knox

She hardly slept last night. I sat outside the door and listened to her talk to herself for hours, trying to process what the fuck she found. So far, she’s seen my level-headed side. Pretty quick here she’s going to get a taste of the monster inside me.

It’s wearing me thin trying to be a gentleman when I want to be anything but.

I listen to her footsteps for an hour before I bother to go in.

She’s wearing a path into the floorboards, the same frantic route every time: window, then door, then window, then door.

As if the outcome would change with each repetition, as if she’d wear down the lock with nothing but persistence and raw animal panic.

She’s not wrong. Persistence does win, sometimes. I want to see how long it takes before hope burns out and something else flickers in.

To be perfectly honest, all I can think about is that look of terror in her eyes while she’s on her knees in front of me, sucking me into the back of her throat as I face fuck her. Tears streaming down her face as she chokes.

God, wouldn’t that just be the most holy of sights?

When I finally enter, she’s standing at the window, palms splayed on the glass, fogging it with her breath.

Her shirt is too big, the one I gave her, and it slides down her shoulder.

A wave of shock hits me when I realize that despite her fear, she still chose to wear my shirt instead of finding another one.

I take a moment to study her. The way her hair clings to the sweat on her neck.

The way she chews the inside of her lip, fighting not to cry.

She notices me and spins, eyes wild. “Open it,” she says.

Her voice is hoarse from hours of talking to herself, or maybe screaming at the wind.

“Let me out. You said you’d fix my fucking car yesterday and somehow it keeps getting pushed off.

Unlock the damn door so I can go down to the Retreat and figure it out on my own. ”

I move slow, measured, crossing the room with my hands in my pockets. “You’d last half a mile,” I say, “if you were lucky.” I let my eyes travel down her body, lingering, because I want her to see it. I want her to feel it. “It’s safer here.”

She bares her teeth. “Safer for who?”

A low chuckle shakes loose from my chest. I like her anger. I like it more than fear. I like it when the prey looks the predator in the eye and dares him to do his worst.

She’s trembling, but she stands her ground as I stop a foot away. The heat coming off her is something I want to bottle, something I want to rub all over my skin until the scent of her sticks. I lean in, but she doesn’t move. She’s learning.

“What do you want from me?” she demands. Her hands are fists at her sides, nails biting into her own skin. “What are you going to do?”

I take my time, let the silence stretch out between us. I want her to think about it, want her to feel the weight of every second I don’t answer.

“Why do you have rope in your drawer?” she blurts. “Why do you have a bird with my name on it? Why—” her voice shakes, breaking the mask for a half second— “why do you stare at me when you think I’m asleep?”

I don’t bother denying it. Instead, I touch her face, careful, like I’m inspecting bruised fruit at the market. Her skin is hot under my fingers, feverish and tight. “Because you’re mine,” I say, calm and cold, like a doctor telling some asshole he’s going to die. “And because I can.”

She tries to slap me. It’s beautiful, really. The way her body coils, the way her arm flies, the way she commits to the strike even though she’s shaking. It lands across my cheek, stinging and bright. I let the pain bloom, let it settle in. I want her to know she got through.

She’s so stunned that I let it happen, she barely has time to react before I grab her wrist and pin it behind her back, twisting her body into mine. Her breath explodes from her lungs, wild and sharp.

“That all you got?” I murmur into her ear.

She kicks me in the shin, hard enough to hurt. Then she spits, the fleck landing on my collarbone, where it glistens like a second mouth. I press my hips into her, letting her feel the evidence of what she does to me.

Her voice is thin, almost a whimper. “Don’t.”

But she doesn’t mean it. Not really. Her body betrays her in every way that matters, the arch of her back, the way she leans into me, the way her fingers curl into my shirt instead of clawing for the exit.

I take her face in my hands and kiss her.

I don’t give her the option to resist. My mouth is a weapon, a hunger, a warning.

I bite her lower lip and draw blood. She tries to pull away, but I hold her there, let the taste of her fill my mouth.

When I finally let her breathe, she gasps, shaking all over.

“You fucking psycho,” she hisses, but her arms are around my neck, her nails digging deep into my skin.

I walk her backward to the bed, never breaking the kiss. She tries to twist away, but I grip her waist and throw her down, hard. She lands with a yelp, legs splayed, eyes burning. I like the look on her face. I like the way her thighs are open, the way she’s still glaring up at me even now.

Pulling her up by the hair, I twist her body and push her face into the pillows. My hand finds her ass and I squeeze, leaving red fingerprints that will blossom into bruises by morning. No underwear. Such a good girl. She’s panting, desperate, a wild thing that’s run too far to turn back.

I shove the shirt up, exposing the creamy expanse of her back. I run my nails down the length of her spine, leaving thin, red trails. She shudders, her body going limp for a moment, then tensing again as I press my cock against the heat between her legs.

I can’t fucking wait anymore. Pulling my sweats down past my hips, I manage to grab her just as she tries to jump off the bed.

“Stay still, Gianna. All you’re doing is making me harder.”

She whimpers again, but this time it’s a plea, not a protest.

I run my fingers through her pussy lips.

“You say you don’t want this, but your pussy is telling me a very different story.

” I want to be inside her more than I want to breathe.

I want to fuck the defiance right out of her, to make her forget every man who ever made her feel small. I want to ruin her for anyone else.

I spread her open, fingers digging into her hips. She’s dripping, slick and ready, and the sight of it makes me lose what’s left of my control.

I push inside, slow at first, letting her feel every inch of it.

She cries out, tries to twist away, but I hold her still, hands locked on her hips.

My weight slams into her, forcing her to arch her back so she doesn’t suffocate in the pillows.

I pound into her, harder and harder, until her body gives up and melts.

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this, pretty girl?” My voice is a rasp, I can hardly contain the urge to take all her holes, leave her a gaping mess.

She moans, low and desperate, biting into her forearm to keep from screaming. Her hands claw at sheets and the sounds she makes drives me wild.

The wait was worth it. The way my balls ache with the need to empty inside her, the feel of her tight pussy clenching around me as she comes all over my cock…

She’s fucking perfect.

Just like I knew she would be.

I fuck her until she’s sobbing, until her voice is hoarse and her body is limp. I fuck her until the only sound in the room is the slap of skin on skin and the wet, broken gasp of her surrender.

When I come, I bury my teeth in her shoulder, marking her, branding her, making sure she knows she’s never getting away.

When it’s over, I collapse on top of her, my weight crushing her into the bed. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just lies there, trembling and spent.

I roll off, leaving her in a heap. I stare at her, let the image burn into my memory. The perfect ruin of her, the way her body is curved, the red handprints on her thighs, the blood trickling from her bitten lip. My come seeping from her well fucked hole.

“I’ll be back in a second.”

There’s no rhyme or reason why, but I want to clean her. To take care of her. To show her that as much as I’m a monster, a demon who should terrify her, I’m also her demon.

She curls into herself, small and shaking as I head to the bathroom and grab a wash cloth, making sure the water is luke warm before making it wet enough and heading back to the bed. With steady hands, I wipe her up, taking care on her split lip, even as she stares at me with hatred in her eyes.

After a minute, she says, “I shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice is so soft I almost don’t hear it.

I smile. The kind of smile that splits a face in two.

“But you did,” I say. “And you’ll do it again.”

“Fuck you, Knox. Let me leave.”

She wants to leave, hmm? “Sure. I’ll go unlock the door.”

“Really?” Her eyes are glassy as she looks at me.

“Cross my heart and hope to die, I will let you walk out that door.”

True to my word, I leave her on the bed and go unlock the front door before going to put on a pot of coffee. I’ll give her just enough of a head start that she believes she will actually make it to Pine Ridge.

She’s gone before I finish my coffee.

The front door is wide open, swinging slightly in the wind, a hinge squealing with every gust.

I sip, slow. No need to rush. Let her get the illusion of distance, let her believe in her own escape. It’ll make what comes next that much sweeter.

When I step onto the porch, the world is glassy and bright with cold.

Raising my arms above my head, I stretch, relishing in the way my back cracks.

Mmmm, smells fresh out here. Heading back inside, I walk towards the bedroom, finding the small button in the back of the closet. The surveillance room.