Page 2 of Hunting Gianna (Stalkers in the Woods #3)

She’s still in those tiny shorts, that tight top, hair tied up and a long strand falling against the curve of her cheek.

She's panting. Her breath like small, feral pants after a hard fuck.

I want to run my tongue along the shine of sweat glistening on her neck.

She pauses at the edge of the site and pushes a loose curl back behind her ear, like she can feel the heat of my gaze, the raw press of it from all the way across the trees.

But then she grins, just a flicker across those perfect lips, and it hits me that she isn't being careful.

She isn't looking around. She’s looking right through me.

And when she finally reaches her tent, the real delicious thing hits me.

She doesn't see it. Walks right past my offering without even a glance. I didn't think I'd want her this much, this fast. But I feel it now, more than I want to. As loud as this forest around me and I smile at her blind fucking stupidity.

She's perfect. And she doesn't have a clue.

My pocket buzzes and it’s Kairo, telling me to reset the feeds because the connection is wavering. I growl, looking at my girl one more time before starting up towards his cabin to finish connecting the cams to each other.

***

I drank myself into a stupor, watching the shitty trail cams. 32CX is the one that is trained on her section. It’s so grainy, I can hardly see anything, but I watch anyway. The whiskey hits harder and harder and there’s not a chance in hell that tonight will be the one where I make my move.

Kairo was right… we definitely need better satellite connection. I’ll give myself access to the ones I just finished upgrading. He’d be pissed, but I truly give no fucks. I don’t care bout seeing Harbor, or his tiny dick for that matter. I just want to see her.

I breathe it in, this second hand intimacy, as I watch her start her fire, doing a little dance as it roars to life.

Her outline spread like some invitation I haven't RSVP'd yet. I should feel repulsed. Watching wasn’t my thing, but…

I don't. Grabbing a photo I took, my eyes roam her body.

I set a photo down, take it up again. Gianna's perfect mouth.

The soft lines of her legs folded beneath her as she sits by the fire.

A closer shot, sweat beading in the dip of her collarbone.

I don't want to stop. Watching her this way, it makes my skin feel tight.

Makes it hum with an anticipation that I could almost mistake for tenderness.

Mine.

The image is as real as the scent of her clothes. It fucks with my head more than it should.

She's made it easy. So damn easy to catch her this way, slipping up on her without even trying. Didn't she learn anything before coming out here? You'd think a girl would pick up some survival skills after going camping alone so often. Instead, she's oblivious to all of it. To me.

I sketch the letters out beside a photograph.

Loose. Clumsy. Ready to leave pinned to her tent.

Unfurling in the empty margins like an artist at work.

I've seen it all—her carelessness. Both in her life and when she camps.

I have pages and pages dedicated to studying her.

Memorizing her. But what is more fascinating than the idiot who dumped her, is the way she seems so oblivious to safety out here.

How she leaves the camp unattended for hours.

Fails to store her food. Leaves her damn tent flap open even when she's gone for the whole day.

She's acting like she wants this. To be caught.

I put those words down too, little traps just waiting to be sprung.

They make me want her more. They make me want her now.

And there she is, the cam catching my attention again.

Dancing by the fire. Not even worrying about it.

A snap of envy hits me for that kind of freedom, and then it's gone.

She takes off the too-tight tank, wipes her face with it, leaves it crumpled on the ground like a small flag.

Her big, perky tits are bouncing as she sways her hips, a big grin splitting her face.

She's dirty and careless. I'm hard. This whole game is beneath me, but it feels better than it should.

How fucking naive is she?

It wasn't a lie when I told the others to stay away.

I don’t plan on letting anyone else ever see her like this.

My cheeks flush and my cock is leaking and all this pent-up fucking energy has no where to go. So I shut off the feeds, slam the rest of the bottle and force myself to sleep. Tomorrow, I’m leaving her one of the stones in my collection and the photograph I took of her.

Tomorrow, she will either come to her senses and leave… or she will become part of my world.

I arrive before dawn, watch the world wake up with her in it.

Her tent unzips and it's like she unwraps herself, stretching into the morning.

A breath of air. The rise of her ribs. I want to press my teeth into that vulnerable skin and claim her now, but this isn't hunger. This is a slow feeding. A steady gorging. I set the next trap, a long, smooth stone, perfect for river skipping, right in her path, putting the photo right underneath. Surely she will see this. An unnatural hidden in the perfectly pristine forest . She steps over it, as careless and fucking perfect as ever. This time, it’s even sweeter.

Gianna, a bite of fruit left out to take, a heart left out to hunt.

How does she not see what she's asking for? How does she not know that I’m out here, my desire for her growing sharp enough to taste? It fills my mouth, slicks my skin, curls me around her.

Another day, another obsession.

Once I make my move, she might fight. Leave me some pretty battle scars, but she won’t escape.

Because she will come to understand that when it clicks, it clicks. Much like the closing of handcuffs, or the snap of a trap. There is no mistaking the moment your prey realizes that there is no way out.

I lower the binoculars as she heads out for another hike, and force the impatience down, feel it gnaw at my insides. She’ll know it then, her freedom is mine to construct. Like an architect. My possession.

My chest tightens around the thought, and I walk faster.

I circle her camp while she's gone, letting the need build, feeling my control splinter and crack.

I want this to hurt. I want it to hurt me.

Her shirt is where she left it, and I bring it to my face, breathing her into me.

As close as I can get without forcing her beneath me, and not nearly close enough.

I should have made my move this morning.

Should have pinned her down and swallowed her whole.

My body betrays me. My thoughts betray me.

I can't stop this delicious tension, the one stretching and coiling, testing its limits before it breaks.

Like I’m testing myself. Making sure she’s worth the effort. Making sure I am, as well. Leaning in, I grab a pair of her underwear. Lace. Black. Some skimpy little thing that she has no use for unless it’s to wear for me.

Her smell. Her sweat. I know them now.

I want to see how loud she screams.

And then I want to swallow her whole as she comes around my cock.