Page 6 of Hunting Gianna (Stalkers in the Woods #3)

Chapter Four

Knox

Her body is limp as I pull her in, the door slamming shut against the violence outside.

She passed right out, exhaustion etched into her skin.

Dark lashes brush pale skin, and she shivers slightly in her unconscious state.

Rain drenches her clothes, her hair, but I know what to do.

I’ve been waiting for this. I lay her by the fire, watch the glow of flames on her still, soft lips as I grab a towel and begin peeling her from her clothes.

The thought of this happening was a fevered fantasy, but her collapsing in front of me was even more perfect than I could have imagined. So perfectly fucking easy that I almost felt insulted. This little bird sure made my life easy.

Not that I’m complaining.

It’s about time that the universe aligns and works in my favor.

She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, almost a moan, as I strip her wet shirt off, then her sports bra.

Each layer removed, revealing pale skin, breath moving in small shallow bursts from the rush of warmth.

I want to catch it with my mouth, to make it my own, but instead I hold back, the smallest act of restraint.

The fire builds fast, heat already warming her skin as I cradle her in my arms. Flickers of light catch the curve of her shoulder, the perfect bow of her lips, and I follow each shadow with my hands as I move them down, pulling the clinging clothes off, off, off.

Her shorts slide from her hips, the soft lines of her underwear a temptation I almost let win, but I leave them. For now

A single word calls in the back of my skull, relentless. Mine. Mine. Mine.

My fingers curl, my resolve tenses, my chest tightens, but I leave them on.

I am carving my own intention. I want her to know who I am as she feels me mark her. Claim her. Infect her.

Her nipples harden against the change in temperature and I can’t stop staring, at the soft rise and fall of her chest, the sigh that follows. Her oblivion works on me, turning me into a fucking pile of mush. But it’s not just oblivion this time. She came here. Sought shelter here.

My shirt is soaked, the knees of my jeans drenched, but I don’t care.

I don’t want to put her down. She is beauty wrapped in a sinfully delicious package and there’s this urge inside me to actually get to know her.

That’s the part that’s both confusing and frustrating.

I could take her right now, bury myself inside her, leave marks on her skin.

My focus stays on her, a careful attention I haven’t felt before.

More of her slips from the fabric, and I wrap the towel around her skin, before working it through her hair, let it soak the drops before letting it fall away, her breasts catching the dim light with their perfection.

My hands move over them, my breath is uneven, my restraint unsteady, but I stop myself from pinning her down and taking her now, how she is, fucking unaware.

I am more patient than I want to be.

And there’s a moment. An awful, unbearable moment that feels like tenderness.

It hits me in the chest, a surprise, a crack, an indecent clarity that makes me see her as something besides prey. I move past it. I move fast. If I linger in the space between true want and desire, I might fall for her, and if I fall for her, there’s nothing I won’t do for her.

In my wildest imagination, I couldn’t have conjured up this situation any better than it played out.

I don’t understand the softness. But I don’t have to.

Finally, she’s dry. Her skin smooth and warm, her body still blissfully oblivious.

Her head lolls, but I hold her carefully.

That hike must have fucked her up for her to still be so unaware.

I get it though. She probably tried to escape the storm in her car and realized she was soaked and needed warmth.

Oops. She doesn't know, not a thing, as I finally lift her and pull my shirt off, tugging it over her head, finally clench my jaw at how beautiful she looks wrapped in me.

I pull her close again and put her on the couch, wrapping the blanket over her delicate shoulders, her curvy body that is so fucking mine I almost lose it.

The restraint, the small gift, almost a disappointment but it’s too satisfying for that.

This tension is so thick, I might come just from the feeling of waiting.

Sitting across from her, I wait. No sense in freaking her the fuck out before she’s even had a moment to acquaint herself with her new boyfriend.

The blanket slips from her, and I want to let it. I do let it. But then I don’t. Then I fix it, put it back where it belongs, telling myself that I’ll be the one to take it away again.

I touch her mouth with my fingers, trailing the perfect planes of her lips, aching to cover them with mine. I want to crush the line between us. I want it now. But I let it breathe, I let it take shape, knowing how sweet it will be to crush when the moment finally arrives.

She stirs again, almost an hour later, a slow soft stirring that makes my breath as shaky as the fucking fool I’ve let myself become. It’s fucking ridiculous. Fawning over this woman. Someone I hadn’t paid mind to before.

What a fool I’d been to sleep on this beauty. But perhaps it’s not me that was the problem. She is different. She wears her smile differently. More… carefree.

She moves on the couch, her breath uneven, and I wait, breathing to match hers until it becomes my own. Then her eyes start to open. She’s startled at first. She’s confused, but I’m ready.

“You’re safe,” I say. My voice as steady as I knew it would be. “You’re safe now.”

She tenses, then relaxes. “Where am I?”

“You’re inside.” The hesitation in her body gives way, just a little. Just enough. “Your clothes were soaked. I was afraid you’d get hypothermia.” Her mouth shapes a cautious smile, and the sweetness of it runs through me, addicting and immediate.

“I changed your clothes,” I add, before the first sign of concern sets in. “It was the only way to get you warm again.”

“Thank you,” she says. It’s soft, so soft, like she doesn’t know whether I’m friend or foe.

“I thought…” A pause. A furrow of her brow that I’ll remember. That I’ll savor.

“Mhmm?”

Her lips purse and I’m mesmerized. “I thought I was going to freeze to death.”

The delight she gives me feels too easy. Too free. “Not if I had anything to say about it.” I move closer, but not too close. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

She nods, her eyes scanning the cabin, not quite focusing. “The storm,” she says. “My car… I couldn’t get it started. It was terrifying out there.” She meets my gaze for the first time, and it lands on me with a dizzying force. “You saved me.”

Yes. Yes, I fucking did.

Of course, I also almost killed her.

But who gives a fuck about semantics when it worked.

She’s still disoriented, her words slow and tangled. “I was at the old campgrounds. No one knew I was there.” I notice everything. How she swallows, how her lip catches between her teeth. “I thought I was going to die out there so I tried to get to my car. And then I tried to get to the lodge.”

She has no idea.

“You’re lucky I saw you collapse outside.” My voice steady, my pulse not. “I’m the only one up here.” I hold her gaze, let the weight of it settle between us. “Tea?” I offer. “It will warm you up.” She nods, her face softening in a way that I want to destroy.

“Can I stay until the storm passes?”

I pretend to think about it, but I’ve thought about nothing else. “Of course.” Her small sigh of relief is a gift, an unexpected pleasure that lands too sweet to bear.

Her hair falls in wet curls, and I follow the line of them as I move to the kitchen. Each step is its own pleasure, each distance is a distance that means nothing, that means more than everything.

I hold the sleeping pill between my fingers, my breath so calm and so calculated. My eyes tracing the outline of her mouth, the promise of her breath, the rise and fall of her chest.

I imagine her under me, limp and exposed and willing.

It feels better than it should.

The pill dissolves completely, and I’m already back at her side. I want to fuck her, but she’s not ready and neither am I. All that her being awake is going to do is unleash the feral urges that I’m currently keeping under tight control.

Her hands wrap around the warmth, sipping slowly, steadily, until she meets my gaze and blushes. She’s grateful.

“Who are you?”

“A friend. Names Knox. And you are?”

“Gianna.”

I hear the fatigue in her voice, watch it tug her mouth.

“It’s nice,” she says, “being warm.” Her eyes drift, the edge of a new panic fading, an unfinished “I should…” before she interrupts herself with a yawn, a yawn that makes me hard.

Again. “What did you…?” Her confusion, her sweetness.

Oh Gianna, you beautiful naive little bird. “What did you say your name was?”

“Don’t worry about it now.” I lay a hand on her shoulder.

Gentle. Possessive. “You should rest. Use my bed. You’ll be more comfortable there.

” I nod toward the open door, where a big, heavy duvet lies, waiting to be wrapped up in her.

“I need to check the generator anyway.” She hesitates. “Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

It’s all fucking mine.

She makes it halfway across the room, then her steps falter, and I’m right there to catch her. She smiles, embarrassed, a sound like laughter catching in her throat.

"Sorry,” she mumbles. “Must be more tired than I thought.”

The slow blink of her eyes, the sleepy sag of her shoulders, the way she presses her lips together, all of it consumes me until I’m dizzy.

I help her to the bed, and her body gives out the moment she hits the soft comforter.

Her eyes are closed before I’ve even shut the door.

I wasn’t lying. I did need to check the generator. But I also need her to sleep because resisting her right now is tempting fate in ways she’s not ready to tempt.

Once I’m done, I’m going to finish carving a token for my little bird.

Hours later, I watch from the doorway, her body still, her breath moving in a slow, deep rhythm that works into me and breaks me down.

She lies on the bed, chest rising and falling in drugged, helpless sleep.

A step forward and then another. Closer.

Closer. The tension grows tight and electric, a pulse in every inch of me, a pulse that drives me until I am right there, finally letting myself reach down, pull the blanket back, watch her lay beneath me, the shirt riding up her thighs.

So soft, I hardly want to break her.

My pulse is a violent, impossible promise.

Her pulse is a sweet and silent relief. She doesn’t know how hard it hits me.

She doesn’t know how perfectly she trains me to want to be gentle.

To be anything but what I am. Anything the world says I am.

Her submission without trying. Her careless and beautiful vulnerability.

I could shake the bed, scream, roar, tear myself into fragments, and she’d still be like this, still this pristine, untouched thing that I have every intention of destroying.

Every breath, every drugged and dreamless breath, they run through me like a language I can’t speak but finally understand. It drives me to take more than I can handle.

Her leg shifts in sleep, the faintest motion, the slightest suggestion of consent as her knees fall open, and it brings me closer, the need so strong that it’s an illness, a sickness, a disease. But only for her.

The blanket is on the floor. My restraint is gone.

She is right here, under me, trusting and unaware, the smoothness of her forehead free of any worry or fear.

That’s what I love the most. That’s what I want to have.

She’s the wildest animal of them all, trusting the wrong things, me most of all, and it only drives me closer, harder, fuller.

Her eyes shift under their lids. It gives me the tight feeling in my chest, the promise of it, the full fucking thrill of our first time being so quiet. So… gentle.

My hand brushes the soft curve of her thigh, up and up and up, the shirt coming with it, and I breathe her in, filling my lungs with the luxury of her, the luxury I’ll never have enough of.

She is already mine but I take her again.

I will take her always. She doesn’t see. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t move.

There is no air but hers. There is no breath that isn’t an invasion of privacy in my body.

This is suffocating and I drown in it. Drown and surface. Drown and drink the length of her skin, my lips slow as I drag them down her body, too slow, slow and delicate, desperate enough that I’m sure she’ll wake, slow enough that she doesn’t.

A soft, unconscious moan escapes her. A noise she doesn’t know she makes. A noise that runs a million miles through me and cuts a jagged path until I am exactly where I want to be, until it’s enough to hold me in place and enough to move me.

A careful drag of my hand, of my body, then another, then more. More, more . My mouth, my tongue, my self-control, all of it tasting, holding, taking. Her nipple, tight between my lips as I suck and lick, drawing it into my mouth.

And yet, even as her bare pussy is on display, I don’t touch. I want to, oh God, do I ever, but I don’t. I toy with her tits, her nipples, running my hands between her thighs, but stopping short of the prize.

Because somewhere, somehow I realize…

Her pussy isn’t the prize.

She is.

And even as that thought shocks me, I grab my cock out of my sweats and come all over those perfectly perky tits.

It’ll be enough.

Until she wakes and smiles at me with that perfectly beautiful mouth that I need worshipping my cock.

“Sleep well, little bird.” I whisper, pulling my pants back up and tucking myself in. “Tomorrow, I make you mine.”