Page 18 of Hunting Gianna (Stalkers in the Woods #3)

Cassidy looks up at me, eyes sharp. “You take care of her, Knox. Stop leaving these bruises on her! She looks like a battered wife,” she says. It’s not a request.

Gianna stifles a giggle, elbowing me in my side.

“I will,” I say.

The way Gianna shivers when I say it is almost obscene.

Cassidy stands, “Well, I’ve got to get to Noah. He’s in a whole ass mood today.” She gives Gianna a long, meaningful look, then disappears back into the lodge.

We’re alone again, but the silence is different now. Warmer, maybe. Or maybe just less hostile.

Gianna leans into me, head on my shoulder. “She’s nice,” she says.

“She is,” I agree. “Maybe once you’re trained, you two can have tea and crumpets.”

Cassidy is barely inside before Gianna tugs my sleeve, urgency all over her face. “Wait,” she says, voice pitched low. “Do you think she has—” she glances around, cheeks bright pink, “—like, pads or tampons or anything? I didn’t see any in your bag.”

I bark a laugh. “Go ask her.”

Cassidy must have been listening at the door, because she reappears before Gianna can chicken out. “You need something?”

Gianna hesitates, then nods, mortified. “I… yeah, sorry. I’m kind of dying.”

Cassidy waves it off, already rummaging through her massive over-sized purse.

“You should see the crap I have to keep for Noah in here. Hence why it’s so ridiculously big,” she says, pulling out a travel pack.

She hands over a handful of pads, a box of tampons, even a couple of mini-packs of some kind of pills.

“Always be prepared,” she says, like a Girl Scout who grew up and never learned to quit.

Gianna takes the stack and shoves it in the bag I put on the porch deck, mouth twisted into a weird shape that’s half gratitude, half shame. “Thank you,” she says. “Seriously.”

Cassidy shrugs. “Women have to stick together, right?”

Gianna manages a shaky smile. “Right.”

Cassidy leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “Seriously, don’t fight it so hard. You’ll like if you just give in,” she says. “Trust me.”

She squeezes Gianna’s arm, then ghosts away for good.

“I ordered the chefs to prep us some take out. Should be ready right about now.”

We head back inside to pick up the food.

The kitchen staff have packed everything in brown paper bags, the tops rolled down tight and the insides lined with foil containers.

Smells like fried chicken and biscuits, mashed potatoes, all the comfort food you could eat if you weren’t worried about what might come after.

Gianna sniffs the bag, her eyes closing for a second. “God, I’ve missed takeout,” she says, almost reverent. “Can we do this again?”

I pause, pretending to consider. “Maybe,” I say. “If you behave.”

She makes a face at me, then smiles, the first real one I’ve seen since I kidnapped her.

We walk out together, me carrying the bags, her glued to my side like we’re a real couple, not a monster and his favorite girl.

“Knox,” she says, just as we hit the front doors.

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re fucked up. But… thanks. For not making this worse.”

I look at her, really look, and for a second I almost say something true.

Instead, I just grin, hand low on her back, steering her into the cold.

“Dinner’s at six,” I say. “If you’re hungry then, we can come back.”

“Oh, I’m so excited!”

The look on her face is enough to make me feral. I’d kill men for that smile.

When we get in the door, the mood changes instantly. The air in here is thicker, sexually charged with everything we left unsaid. I put the food on the counter and open the fridge. The hum of it is the only sound for a long, loaded minute.

I’m pouring a glass of water when I realize she’s just standing there in the entryway, not moving.

She’s watching me. I turn around and lean on the counter, watching her right back.

She looks small, even though she isn’t. Her lips are chapped, bitten raw, and her eyes are black and wide.

I let the moment hang. The only thing in the world is the soft click of her teeth as she bites the inside of her cheek.

She clears her throat, and the sound is so quiet I almost miss it.

“Knox,” she says.

I don’t answer.

She’s gathering herself. I can tell by the way her hands go from fists to fingers and back again. She’s terrified, but she’s also angry. That’s my favorite flavor on her.

“I need…” she starts, stops. “I want to make a deal.”

This is good. I let a smile break over my face.

“Go on,” I say.

She takes a deep breath, and it hurts to watch. It’s like her lungs are trying to remember what air is for.

“You want me,” she says. “Fine. But if you ever hurt someone—kill someone—like you did that hiker, or anyone else, it’s over. You let me go. No chase, no games. Just done.”

It’s not the speech I was expecting. It’s better.

She holds my gaze, and I see it: the flicker of hope, the belief that I can be negotiated with, that there’s a man under the animal. I almost want to tell her she’s right.

Almost.

I set the glass down, cross to her slow, each footstep deliberate.

“Okay,” I say. “Deal. But you should know, Gianna, that if someone comes for you—if anyone tries to take you from me—I will kill them. I can’t promise I won’t.”

She nods, and the motion is half defeat, half relief.

“Fair,” she says. “Just… don’t make it a habit.”

“Noted.”

The tension is still there, so thick you could wrap your hands around it and squeeze.

She looks at the floor, then back up, and there’s something hungry in her eyes. “What happens now?” she asks.

Now it’s my turn to pace her. I step in, crowd her against the wall, my hands braced on either side of her head. She’s trapped, but she doesn’t flinch.

“You tell me,” I say, low. “You made the deal. You set the rules, just this once.”

She licks her lips, breathing quick and shallow. I can smell the fear, the sweat, the tiny spark of something else under it.

She puts her hands on my chest, and instead of pushing me away, she pulls me in.

“I want you to stop treating me like I’m going to break,” she says, voice trembling.

I grin, slow and sharp. “You sure?”

She nods.

“Get on your knees,” I say, voice flat.

She slides down the wall, palms skimming the wood as she drops. The dress rides up her thighs, exposing everything. She shivers, but she doesn’t hesitate.

I step back, let her look up at me from the floor. I want her to feel the weight of this, the finality.

“Crawl to me,” I say.

She does, hands and knees, head up, hair falling around her face. There’s no shame in it—just raw, bright desire. She stops at my feet, waiting for the next command.

I tilt her chin up with my thumb, force her to look at me. “Open your mouth,” I say.

She opens, lips glossy, tongue wet. Her eyes never leave mine.

I undo my pants, slow, and feed her my cock. She takes it, first inch, then more, until her lips hit the base. She gags, just a little, but steadies herself, breathing through her nose.

“That’s it,” I say, running my hand through her hair. “Take it. All of it.”

She chokes, but doesn’t back off. I fuck her mouth, slow and with purpose, letting her feel every second. Her mascara runs down her face, black streaks painting her cheeks. I love her like this—ruined, and loving it.

I pull out, slick and hard, and drag her up by the hair. She’s gasping, spit dripping down her chin.

“Over the couch,” I say.

She stumbles, catches herself, braces on the armrest with her ass up. The dress is just a belt now. She’s shaking, but I can see the way she pushes back into my hand as I grab her hip.

I press against her pussy, teasing, then slam in hard. She cries out, her head falling forward before I pull her hair, yanking it back. The arch in her spine is divine. I set the rhythm brutal, relentless. The slap of skin on skin fills the room.

“God, you’re wet,” I say, bending over her back. “You fucking love this, don’t you?”

She whimpers, and I grab her wrists, pinning them behind her. Her face is buried in the couch, but her ass is high, begging for more.

“You ever been tied up, Gianna? And I don’t mean by me, leading you back home.”

She shakes her head, wild.

I grab my belt off the couch cushion and use it, wrapping her wrists together behind her back.

I fuck her harder, rutting into her like I want to hollow her out. She screams, and the sound is music.

I lean in, mouth right at her ear. “Next time, I’m going to take you out to the woods. Tie you to a tree and fuck you until you’re screaming so loud the bears think you’re a wounded animal.”

She sobs, and I know she’s close.

I reach down and rub her clit, fast, merciless. “Come for me,” I say. “Come now.”

She does, body locking up, every muscle trembling. She goes limp, arms wrenched behind her, mouth open, drooling on the cushion.

I pull out, jerk myself, and paint her back with my come. She shudders at the heat.

I untie her, collapse her onto the couch, and sit next to her. I’m breathing hard, my chest heaving. Such a perfect, perfect girl for me.

She curls into me, cheek on my thigh, hair a mess. I stroke her head, soft for once.

She’s so fucking innocent like this. Freshly fucked, taking what she wants and giving it in equal measure.

After a while, she looks up, dazed.

“Deal?” she asks, voice hoarse.

“Deal,” I say. “But remember, you’re mine now.”

She closes her eyes, but she’s smiling.

I watch her breathe, the bruises on her back, the new marks on her wrists.

I can’t say I saw this coming, but I don’t hate it.

“Come, let’s eat. Then we can nap before I take you back for dinner. I’m sure we can find something more suitable in the chest for you to wear.”

She looks up at me. “Like… a date?”

I shrug. “Sure. Like a date.”

It surprises me. The fact that I want to take her on a date.

But she deserves it.

If nothing else, she deserves all the good the world has to offer.

That I have to offer.