Page 7 of Stalked (Mating Run #3)

Chapter seven

Toby

Toby felt Mason's hand slide down his stomach like he owned every inch of skin it touched. The button on his jeans popped open with a flick of Mason's fingers—a small sound that seemed to echo through the entire forest.

"All that attitude," Mason growled, yanking Toby's zipper down, "and still so fucking ready for me."

His voice vibrated against Toby's back, and Toby knew he should have been horrified. Or at least trying to run. Instead, he was frozen, caught between terror and a humiliating, overwhelming arousal that made his knees weak.

Mason Blackwood. Alpha of the Northern Woods Pack. Father of Caleb fucking Blackwood, who'd made Toby's time at college a living hell.

And he was tugging Toby's jeans down his hips like unwrapping a present he couldn't wait to play with.

This has to be a joke , Toby thought desperately. Some elaborate prank, some blackmail attempt. In a moment he'll be laughing about how the pathetic scholarship student thought he had a chance with a man like him...

But there was nothing joking about the way Mason's breath came in a hot, dark growl, or the way his cock ground against Toby's ass.

The cool night air hit Toby's exposed cock, and he bit his lip to keep from making a sound. It didn't help. The second Mason's large hand wrapped around him, Toby gasped like he was drowning.

"Sensitive," Mason murmured, sounding pleased. His thumb circled the head, gathering the wetness already there. "I wondered if you would be."

Toby's brain short-circuited. How was this happening? Mason Blackwood had watched his videos? Had fantasized about him? It didn't compute. Men like Mason didn't look at awkward scholarship students who spent Friday nights alone in the library. Yet here we are , Toby thought, hysteria bubbling beneath his arousal. With my dick in Mason fucking Blackwood's hand.

Mason's other hand gripped Toby's hip, pulling him back more firmly against him. The hard length of Mason's cock pressed against Toby's ass, hot and heavy and very, very real.

"I've imagined this," Mason said, his voice a dark rasp against Toby's ear. His hand wrapped around Toby's cock with devastating precision, thumb rolling over the tip before sliding down the shaft in one long, deliberate stroke. "How you'd feel in my hand. How you'd tremble when I touch you just... like... this."

If Toby had been in his right mind, he might have had a witty response. Something cutting to hide how those words sent electricity racing down his spine. But all he could think was that Mason Blackwood was naked behind him, hard for him, working Toby's cock with the confident rhythm of someone who'd spent years learning exactly what pleasure looked like when it broke across another person's face.

Which, apparently, he has. Because he's been watching. He's been watching ME.

"I—" His voice cracked embarrassingly. "Why me?"

Smooth, Toby. Real smooth. Why not just beg him directly to tell you how special you are?

But instead of laughing, Mason's chuckle was low and dangerous. "You still don't get it, do you?" His hand squeezed just enough to make Toby's hips buck. "So fucking brilliant in class, but you can't see what's right in front of you."

Toby leaned back against Mason without meaning to, his body seeking more contact. Mason's chest was a wall of heat against his back, all hard muscle and strength. Nothing like the boys Toby had fooled around with in high school—not that there'd been many. A few fumbling makeouts, one disappointing handjob behind the bleachers, and a blowjob that had ended before it began when Coach Harfield had walked in. Toby had soon learned to hide that part of himself away. It was too dangerous for the real world, where he was a target just for existing.

But this—Mason's confident touch, the way his stubble scratched deliciously against Toby's neck, the sheer size of him—this was something else entirely.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" Toby managed, trying and failing to keep the breathlessness out of his voice. "That you're a stalker with boundary issues?"

Mason laughed outright at that, his hand never stopping its torturous pace. "There's my sharp-tongued boy."

My boy . The possessive phrase hit Toby like a drug, sending heat spiraling through his stomach. He'd always hated any reminder of his youth, his inexperience, his perceived weakness. But from Mason's lips, it sounded like praise. Like a treasure Mason had claimed for himself.

"I'm not your anything," Toby said, but it sounded weak even to his ears. Not for the first time, he cursed his inability to sound convincing when aroused. His body was a traitor, incapable of maintaining his carefully constructed walls when presented with pleasure.

"Fuck," Toby whispered, unable to stop himself from pushing back against Mason, creating more friction.

"Soon," Mason promised darkly.

That single word sent a bolt of electricity straight to Toby's cock. He'd never done that—never been fucked, though he'd spent countless nights imagining it. Fingers weren't the same, toys weren't the same. And now Mason was promising it like it was inevitable. Like it was already decided that Toby would let this man, this werewolf, this relative stranger, fuck him.

And the worst part is, he's right. I would. I will. All he has to do is ask, and I'll bend over like I've been waiting for him my whole life.

Mason's hand moved faster on Toby's cock, the other sliding up to pinch Toby's nipple through his shirt. The dual sensation had Toby arching, a moan escaping before he could catch it.

"That's it," Mason encouraged, his voice rough with arousal. "Let me hear you. No need to hold back out here."

Out here , Toby thought wildly. In the middle of the forest, where anyone could stumble across us...

As if summoned by his paranoid thoughts, a twig snapped somewhere to their left. Toby's eyes flew open, scanning the darkness.

There. Movement in the shadows. Eyes reflecting the moonlight. They weren't alone.

Toby froze, mortification crashing over him like ice water. "Someone's watching," he hissed, as if Mason might have somehow missed the fact.

Mason didn't even pause his movements. If anything, his grip tightened, his strokes becoming more purposeful. "Of course they are," he said, sounding amused by Toby's alarm. "It's the mating run, Toby. You know we're not the only ones out here."

Oh god , Toby thought, panic squeezing his chest. He knew the woods were crawling with werewolves tonight—but he'd assumed they'd be occupied with their own hunts, their own mates. Not standing in the shadows watching a random human getting jerked off.

The realization of how vulnerable he was hit him like a physical blow. Human. Exposed. Surrounded by creatures who could tear him apart without breaking a sweat. He was prey in a forest full of predators, with only Mason standing between him and potential danger.

But Mason didn't seem concerned at all. His hand never stopped its relentless pace on Toby's cock, his body a solid wall of heat at Toby's back. And despite the fear—or maybe because of it—Toby's arousal didn't flag. If anything, the adrenaline heightened every sensation, made him hyperaware of Mason's touch, the night air on his skin, the eyes in the darkness.

The combination of terror and pleasure created something new inside him, something wild and desperate that clawed its way up his throat before he could stop it. Toby whimpered, the sound high and needy, nothing like the controlled performances he put on for his camera.

"I can't—not with people watching," he whispered, even as his cock throbbed in Mason's hand, betraying his words. His body apparently had different ideas than his brain, and it was winning the argument.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I even harder now?

Mason's lips brushed Toby's ear. "Can't you? Isn't that exactly what you've been doing? Showing off that gorgeous body, letting strangers see how desperate you are to be touched?" His teeth grazed Toby's earlobe. "Only difference is now they can smell how much you want it."

Mason was right, and the realization hit Toby like a punch to the gut. How many nights had he spent carefully angling his camera, making sure the lighting highlighted every sensitive spot on his body? How many times had he gotten off knowing nameless strangers were watching him, wanting him?

But this was different. These were real people, real eyes—right here. Real judgment.

"They're not judging you," Mason said, as if reading Toby's thoughts. His voice softened for just a moment, something almost tender crossing his face. "They're envying me."

Something about the absolute certainty in Mason's voice broke through Toby's hesitation. And maybe he was right. Maybe this was no different from what Toby had been doing all along—only more honest. More real.

Fuck it , Toby thought. If I'm going to do this, I might as well commit.

He reached down, tugging his shirt over his head in one decisive movement. The night air raised goosebumps across his skin, his nipples hardening in the cool breeze. "Fine," he said, trying for nonchalant despite his racing heart. "You want a show? Let's give them one."

Mason's growl of approval vibrated through Toby as he kicked off his jeans completely, standing naked in the moonlight. Exposed. Vulnerable.

And somehow, powerful.

I'm in control , Toby realized with a jolt of clarity. He's the one who's been watching, waiting, wanting. I'm the one who gets to decide if he gets a taste.

The thought was heady, intoxicating. For all Mason's dominance, all his strength and power and years of experience, he wanted Toby. And that gave Toby a power of his own.

Toby reached out, his hand finding Mason's cock. It was like touching fire—hot and thick and alive in his palm. He'd never touched another man before, had only ever fantasized about it during his most private moments.

Mason's cock was substantial—long and thick, with a prominent vein running along the underside that pulsed beneath Toby's exploring fingers. The head was flushed and glistening, broader than the shaft, and when Toby's thumb brushed over it, Mason's entire body tensed in response. Even fully hard, the skin was velvet-soft over steel, a contradiction that made Toby want to explore every inch.

Holy shit , Toby thought, a wave of dizziness washing over him. I'm actually touching a cock. A real cock. Mason Blackwood's cock.

And the rest of Mason was just as impressive. In the moonlight, his powerful body seemed carved from marble—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles defined by years of physical dominance rather than gym routine. His chest was dusted with dark hair that silvered at the center, a trail leading down his flat stomach to where Toby's hand now gripped him.

"Jesus," he breathed, wrapping his fingers around Mason. The size of him, the weight—it was nothing like touching himself. It was better. Hotter. More real.

Mason's rhythm faltered for just a second as Toby's hand started to move. "Fuck," he ground out. "Your hands."

A grin tugged at the corner of Toby's mouth. For someone so composed, so in control, Mason seemed surprisingly affected by Toby's inexperienced touch. It was... empowering.

"What about them?" Toby asked, deliberately tightening his grip as he stroked upward.

"Perfect," Mason said, his voice strained. "Just like I knew they would be."

There was something heady about knowing he affected Mason, that his touch could make Mason's control slip, even for a moment. Toby experimented with pressure, with speed, learning what made Mason's breathing change, what drew those delicious sounds from his throat.

I'm doing this , Toby thought, wonder threading through his arousal. I'm making a man like Mason Blackwood lose his composure.

Mason's hand never stopped working Toby's cock, his other arm wrapped around Toby's waist, holding him against Mason's body. They moved together, finding a rhythm that had them both panting. The slick sound of skin on skin filled the clearing, punctuated by their ragged breathing.

The watching eyes no longer felt threatening to Toby—they felt like validation. Look at who wants me. Look at who I'm making lose control. The alpha, the businessman, the father of my bully—he's the one who can't keep his hands off me.

"Such a natural," Mason murmured, his voice a dark caress against Toby's neck. "So perfect for me."

A shiver raced down Toby's spine at the praise. He'd always been starved for recognition—the scholarship kid who'd clawed his way into an elite university, always feeling he had to prove himself. And now Mason was looking at him like he was something precious, something worthy.

It's just sex , Toby tried to remind himself, the familiar armor of cynicism sliding into place. Just biology. He'd say the same things to anyone. He doesn't actually see you. No one does. The thoughts came automatically, protective barriers built over years of disappointment and rejection, walls designed to keep hope at bay before it could take root and eventually wither—

Mason's mouth found Toby's neck, biting down on the sensitive juncture where it met his shoulder. The sharp sting of pain mixed with pleasure had Toby crying out, his cock leaking heavily over Mason's fingers. The sensation cut through his spiraling thoughts like a knife, silencing the defensive voice in his head and leaving only raw, undeniable need in its place.

And he was needy. The dual sensation of Mason's hand on his cock and Mason's cock in his grip was pushing Toby toward the edge faster than he wanted to admit. It was humiliating how little it took—Mason had barely touched him, and already Toby was ready to come.

Twenty-one years old and about to come in my bully's dad's hand. Way to go, Toby.

It hit him like a freight train—years of secret desires racing through his brain in a desperate stampede. Fuck, no, not yet. I want EVERYTHING . He wanted to be bent over, held down, filled up, used thoroughly. Wanted to taste, to feel, to surrender completely. Twenty-one years of careful restraint and calculated denial, and here he was about to blow his chance at all of it because Mason Blackwood's hand felt too damn good around his cock. The universe had a sick sense of humor sometimes. "Not yet," Toby managed, slowing his movements on Mason's length. "I want—"

He realized what he wanted most at the exact same moment Mason growled it in his ear:

"On your knees," Mason commanded. "I want to feel that smart mouth around my cock."