Page 6 of Stalked (Mating Run #3)

Chapter six

Mason

The moment Mason pulled Toby against him, the boy went rigid. A sharp inhale, a choked sound—pure, startled panic. Mason could feel Toby's heartbeat hammering against his own chest, wild and frantic.

Toby tilted his head back, eyes wide as they locked onto Mason’s face. Recognition dawned, something flashing through those soft brown depths.

"You," Toby breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Mason’s lips curled. "Me."

The shock in Toby’s face sent a deep, electric thrill through him. He’d dreamed of this moment—aching, desperate nights spent staring at Toby’s secret account, knowing the boy had no idea how closely he was being watched. He’d imagined this exact moment a thousand times over the past few weeks, but none of those fantasies compared to the raw, trembling reality in his arms now.

“You’re shaking,” Mason murmured, tightening his grip. “Is it fear? Or something else?”

Toby flinched at the teasing lilt in his voice, but there—just beneath the terror—was something Mason recognized. A flicker of heat. A breath caught in the throat. A body that, despite itself, wasn’t pulling away.

Toby’s fingers twitched, his body leaning back as if to escape—but not pushing away. Not really. Mason felt the hesitation, the way Toby’s muscles went taut, like a rabbit caught in the jaws of something bigger, stronger. “This isn’t—” He started, but his voice wavered. His lips were parted, breath shallow. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Mason interrupted, tightening his grip just enough to make sure Toby felt it. Mason inhaled deeply, taking in the scent that had haunted him—vanilla, adrenaline, and beneath it all, unmistakable arousal.

Brave little liar.

“And you want me to.”

Toby's spine stiffened like a rod. "You don't know the first thing about what I want."

But I do. Mason had memorized every video. Every gasp. Every flush that spread across that pale chest when pleasure overwhelmed him. "Then stop pressing that perfect ass against me."

Toby exhaled sharply, his body still tense, but the raw panic in his eyes was fading. Not gone—but shifting. Something flickered behind that guarded gaze, something Mason had felt before he’d even seen it.

Then, to Mason’s utter delight, Toby narrowed his eyes.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, voice tight. “You kidnap me, hold me like some lovesick caveman, sniff me like I’m a scented candle—and now what? I’m supposed to swoon?”

Mason chuckled, low and dark, pressing his fingers just a little deeper into Toby’s hips. He could feel the way the boy’s pulse leapt beneath his touch, how his breath hitched even as he tried to hold himself together.

“You say that like you haven’t spent months begging for it,” Mason murmured.

Toby went still. His body tensed against him, muscles locking up like a wire pulled too tight. "What do you mean?"

Mason leaned in, letting his breath brush over the shell of Toby’s ear. “You think I didn’t recognize you, ShyBoy?”

Toby flinched, his breath escaping in a shaky exhale.

Mason felt it like a jolt straight to his cock. He'd spent weeks, months, jerking himself raw to those faceless photos, to those videos—just flashes of pale skin, teasing glimpses of a body desperate to be claimed. The little confessions Toby spilled into the void, the careful way he framed his shots, never showing too much, never revealing his identity. Except Mason had found him anyway.

And now he had him here. Warm, alive, real.

There was no going back from this.

Mason had known it was wrong, had felt the weight of it dragging behind him like chains. But instead of stopping, instead of doing the right thing, he had thrown himself into it, let it consume him.

If this was wrong, he was going to enjoy it as much as he could.

Toby's breath hitched. His body went stiff against Mason's, a full-body freeze that would have been amusing if it weren't so fucking delicious. His wide eyes locked onto Mason's, shock and something dangerously close to panic flickering in their depths. "You—" Toby's voice cracked. "How—"

"I make it my business to know things," Mason said, his hand still firmly wrapped around Toby's waist. Especially when they belong to me.

The color drained from Toby's face, then rushed back in a furious tide. His lips twisted, teeth bared in what might have been a smile if it weren't so bitter. "So what is this? Blackmail? You want me to stop complaining about Caleb, or you'll show everyone?" Toby's voice hardened, his body trying to pull away, but Mason held tight. "Poor little scholarship boy spreads his legs online, is that it?"

The accusation made Mason's jaw clench. "Is that what you think of me?"

"What should I think?" Toby shot back, defiance flashing in his eyes despite the vulnerability radiating from him. His voice quavered just a little. "What did you do, get off on it? Pathetic old pervert jerking it to college boys?"

Mason smiled, slow and dangerous. "Yes," he said simply.

That single admission knocked the breath from Toby's lungs. His eyes widened, confusion replacing anger. "What?"

"Yes, I got off to your videos. Every. Single. One." Mason leaned closer, letting his weight pin Toby more firmly. "I came so hard I saw stars the first time I watched you finger yourself open, begging for someone to fill you properly."

Toby's face flushed crimson, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"I especially liked the one where you whispered how desperately you wanted to be held down," Mason continued, his voice a dark growl. "How you wanted someone bigger, stronger to make the decisions for you. Just for a little while."

"Stop," Toby whispered, but there was no force behind it.

"Why? You wanted to be seen. That's why you posted them, isn't it?" Mason slid a hand up to cup Toby's jaw. "And I saw you. All of you."

Toby's cheeks burned, torn between humiliation and something else—something delicate.

"You have no idea how many times I imagined finding you," Mason continued, his thumb tracing Toby's lower lip. "Claiming what you were offering to anyone who would take it. Making it mine alone."

"I wasn't—" Toby started, but Mason pressed his thumb gently against his lips, silencing him.

"You were," Mason said, his voice dropping to a growl. "And now I'm here to answer every plea you whispered into the dark. Every fantasy you thought no one would fulfill."

He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of Toby's ear. "I'm going to take care of you in ways you haven't even imagined yet."

Toby shook his head, chest rising and falling in uneven pants. “You’re insane.”

Mason chuckled. “And you’re lying.”

Toby should be fighting harder. He should be struggling, twisting, swearing. But instead, his breath was uneven, his pulse hammering beneath Mason’s fingers.

“What do you want, Toby?” Mason murmured, pressing his lips just below Toby’s ear. His hands traced slow, possessive paths over Toby’s body, relearning what he had only ever seen on a screen.

Toby made a strangled sound, caught between defiance and something softer, something dangerous. Mason could feel the sharp inhale, the hesitation, the battle happening behind those bright blue eyes. His body betrayed him in all the ways Mason had hoped for.

"You act like you don’t want this," Mason murmured. "But I already know the truth."

Toby swallowed hard, but still—he didn’t struggle. He waited, his pulse hammering.

Mason smiled against his throat. "I know you want to be held," he whispered, one arm tightening around Toby's waist. "Not too tight. Just enough to feel... captured."

Toby's breathing hitched. Mason felt the tiny tremor that ran through him, the way his back arched almost imperceptibly into Mason's chest. "Is that in your research notes?" Toby managed, but the bite in his words was softened by the way his head tilted slightly, exposing more of his neck. "Your predator handbook?"

Mason chuckled, the rumble vibrating against Toby's spine. "No. That was from your post last Sunday. The one where you begged for someone to hold you down and make you feel small."

He dragged his teeth lightly over the tendon where Toby's neck met his shoulder, not breaking skin, just testing. Promising. "Fuck," Toby gasped, the word half-swallowed as his body went rigid.

Mason inhaled the scent of Toby's arousal, sharp and sweet. He'd spent months imagining how the boy would smell when turned on, and the reality was better—richer, more complex. It made his wolf pace restlessly, eager to claim.

"I know you want your hair pulled," Mason continued, sliding his free hand up to thread through Toby's soft waves. He tightened his grip just enough to test the waters. "Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you who's in control."

Toby's hips jerked involuntarily, pushing back against Mason's naked erection. The friction drew a growl from deep in Mason's chest. "Stop talking," Toby hissed, blushing—but his body melted when Mason tugged his hair again, guiding his head back to expose the elegant column of his throat.

"You don't want me to stop," Mason said, lips brushing Toby's pulse point. "You want me to tell you exactly how thoroughly I've studied you. How I know which spots make you whimper."

To prove his point, Mason lowered his mouth to the junction of Toby's neck and shoulder and bit down—firm, possessive, exactly how Toby had once confessed he fantasized about.

Toby's reaction was immediate and visceral. A moan tore from his throat, his body arching, head falling back against Mason's shoulder.

"That's it," Mason growled against his skin. "Let me hear you."

"This doesn't mean anything," Toby gasped, even as his body betrayed him, seeking more contact. "Biology. Just biology."

Mason smiled against his throat, hand sliding down to Toby's hips, fingers digging into the sensitive hollows. "Is that what you told yourself when you posted that video? The one where you begged for a strong hand around your throat while you came?"

His fingers trailed upward, a deliberate path of heat along Toby's ribs, his sternum, climbing with torturous slowness toward his throat. Toby's breath shortened, his head tilting back instinctively, body arching to meet the touch. Mason's fingertips ghosted over Toby's collarbone, brushing the hollow of his throat where his pulse hammered wildly... then diverted, tracing his jawline instead.

Toby couldn't stop the disappointed groan that escaped him, his body unconsciously chasing the denied pressure. "You're a fucking stalker," he managed, but his voice was wrecked, his hips pressing back against Mason's hardness even as the words left his mouth.

"And you're hard in my arms," Mason countered, rolling his hips forward, letting Toby feel exactly what he did to him. "Twenty years your senior and you're trembling for me."

"Arrogant asshole," Toby breathed, but there was no heat in the insult—only heat in his body, pressing back against Mason's, seeking friction.

Mason looked down, eyes locking on the unmistakable bulge tenting Toby's jeans. Evidence. Proof. His .

His hand slid down, deliberate and possessive, popping the button with practiced ease. "All that attitude," Mason growled, yanking the zipper down with a sound that cut through the night. "And still so fucking ready for me."

Toby's sharp inhale was music as Mason hooked his fingers into the waistband, tugging downward.

"Time to see if reality lives up to your fantasies, ShyBoy."