Page 9 of Stalked (Mating Run #3)

Chapter nine

Mason

Mason stared down at Toby, fighting to control his breathing, the aftershocks of his orgasm still rippling through him. Fucking hell . Twenty years of control, of calculated restraint, and this college kid had just dismantled him with nothing but eager lips and defiant eyes.

It shouldn't have been that good. Toby was clearly inexperienced—hesitant at first, fumbling, learning as he went. But there was something about that combination of uncertainty and determination that had sent Mason spiraling toward the edge faster than he'd care to admit. The way Toby had looked up at him with those eyes—earnest and challenging all at once—had been his undoing.

Toby knelt before him now, lips reddened and slightly swollen, a faint sheen of saliva and cum making them glisten in the moonlight. A single drop had escaped, trailing down his chin, and Mason had to resist the urge to brush it away with his thumb. Or lick it away.

Mason could still feel the wet heat of Toby's mouth, the careful suction, the way his tongue had pressed against the underside of his cock. The memory alone was enough to stir interest despite his recent release. The perks of being what he was—recovery time measured in minutes rather than hours, especially on a night like tonight with the moon high and primal instincts running hot.

The boy's expression was a contradiction that made Mason's chest tight—smug satisfaction warring with raw vulnerability. Like he was silently saying See? I told you I could do it while simultaneously asking Did I do okay? Was I good enough? It was maddening. Intoxicating.

What truly fascinated Mason was the tension in every interaction between them. Toby pushed back constantly, reflexively, even when on his knees. A challenge in his eyes, in his words, in every line of his body. Yet beneath that defiance was a clear desire to submit—not to be broken or humiliated, but to be mastered. To find someone strong enough to handle his sharp edges without dulling them. Someone who would command him because of his strength, not in spite of it.

It had been a long time since anyone had intrigued Mason this way. A long time since anyone had dared to challenge him while simultaneously inviting him to take control.

Mason's gaze drifted down Toby's body to where his cock stood rigid against his stomach, flushed and leaking, untouched throughout Toby's enthusiastic performance. That kind of focus, that willingness to set aside his own pleasure to concentrate on Mason's... it was both surprising and deeply satisfying.

After all those nights Mason had spent with his fist around his cock, imagining this exact scenario, the reality was infinitely more satisfying.

The scent of Toby's arousal hung heavy in the air: sharp, sweet, unmistakable. It called to something ancient and predatory in Mason's blood. He'd waited long enough. Watched long enough. Those secret posts Toby thought were private, the ones with captions about rough hands and firm grips, about being held down and taken—Mason had committed every one to memory.

He knew what Toby wanted. What Toby needed .

Mason reached forward, wrapping his hand around Toby's throat—not squeezing, just holding him there with gentle pressure, his thumb resting over Toby's pulse point where he could feel the frantic beating of his heart.

The effect was immediate and unmistakable. Toby's eyes widened, pupils swallowing the iris until only the thinnest ring of color remained. His lips parted on a silent gasp, and his cock, already painfully hard, visibly twitched, a fresh bead of precome gathering at the tip.

Gotcha , Mason thought, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. The sight of Toby responding so honestly, so viscerally, to his touch sent a fresh surge of arousal through him. No more games. No more teasing. It was time to claim what was his.

"Up," Mason commanded.

Toby stood on shaky legs, his body trembling slightly—from the chill of the night air or from need, Mason couldn't be sure. Perhaps both. His naked form was beautiful in the moonlight, all lean muscle and smooth skin, marred only by the occasional freckle or mole that Mason found himself wanting to trace with his tongue.

With deliberate movements, Mason guided Toby backward until the backs of his thighs met the fallen log that had been waiting there like nature's own altar. With a gentle but firm pressure on Toby's shoulders, Mason directed him to lie back, positioning him along the moss-covered trunk.

Toby complied, his breath coming in short, anticipatory bursts as he settled onto his back, the moonlight painting his skin silver and shadow.

"Here we go, pretty boy," Mason murmured, the wolf inside him pacing restlessly, urging him to pounce, to claim, to take . He ignored its desperate howling, lifting Toby with deliberate care, enjoying the surprised gasp when his strength made the boy's weight seem like nothing.

Mine , the wolf snarled as Mason arranged Toby across the log like a sacrifice, supporting his head with one hand while positioning him with the other. Mate. Claim. NOW.

Patience , Mason answered silently, his jaw clenching with the effort of restraint. The best hunts were slow. Thorough. He'd waited this long—he could wait a little longer to savor every moment.

He stepped back just enough to admire his handiwork: Toby's back arched slightly over the curved surface, legs spread wide, everything on display. The position left nothing hidden, offering Toby up not just to Mason's hungry gaze but to the watchful eyes lurking at the edges of the clearing.

Let them look. Let them see what they can never have.

A delicate blush had overtaken Toby's skin, spreading from his high cheekbones down the elegant column of his throat. His cock lay rigid against his stomach, the tip glistening, pulsing visibly with each frantic beat of his heart.

And all the time, his eyes were on Mason, drinking him in.

God, he's gorgeous. Mason smiled, slow and predatory. He had all night, and he intended to use every minute of it.

A bead of sweat rolled down Toby's neck. Mason tracked its path with burning eyes, drinking in every detail of the boy sprawled before him. That delicate collarbone. Those peaked nipples. The gentle rise and fall of his chest. The slight tremor in his thighs. His cock, hard and leaking against his stomach.

"Perfect," Mason growled. His hands roamed Toby's body, claiming every inch. "Look at you. So beautiful like this."

Toby's skin flushed even pinker under the attention, the color spreading down his chest. Mason traced the blush with his fingers, savoring how Toby shivered at his touch.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this. Wanted you." Mason's voice dropped lower, rougher. "Ever since I first caught your scent in that office. And now everyone can see that you belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone," Toby shot back, but his defiant words were undermined by the way he arched into Mason's touch, seeking more contact. "And if you've wanted me that badly, what the hell took you so long to do something about it?"

Mason's eyes flashed, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. He leaned in, one hand sliding up to grip Toby's jaw. "Because good things come to those who wait."

The watchers in the shadows shifted restlessly in the gloom, their desire thick in the air. Mason paid them no mind.

He started at Toby's throat, his tongue gliding over the soft skin. The taste of salt and fear mingled with a hint of something sweeter, something uniquely Toby. He licked a slow path down to the hollow of Toby's throat, feeling the pulse quicken under his touch.

Toby's breathing hitched, a quiet gasp escaping his lips as Mason lowered his head. The hot press of Mason's mouth against his collarbone sent electricity racing down his spine.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed about tasting every inch of you," Mason murmured against his skin, voice rough with desire. "Every. Single. Inch."

Mason's mouth moved with deliberate slowness down Toby's body, mapping him with lips and tongue like he was memorizing territory. He found the hollow of Toby's throat, the curve where neck met shoulder, the flat plane of his chest—each spot claimed with a kiss, a lick, a gentle scrape of teeth that left Toby gasping.

When Mason's tongue circled one nipple, then the other, Toby's back arched involuntarily, his body responding with a mind of its own. Mason took his time, sucking each to a hard peak, the gentle pressure intensifying until Toby couldn't stop the moan that tore from his throat.

"That's it," Mason encouraged, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. "Let me hear you."

Toby's hands gripped the edges of the log, knuckles white with tension as Mason worked his way lower, trailing kisses down his sternum, his tongue dipping into the shallow depression of his navel. Each touch sent fresh waves of need pulsing through him, his cock now painfully hard, leaking steadily.

"Please," Toby whispered, unable to stop himself, hips lifting slightly in silent offering. "Mason, please."

But Mason merely smiled against his skin, deliberately avoiding where Toby needed him most. "Patience. I've waited too long to rush this now."

Mason's mouth traced the cut of muscle at Toby's hip instead, his tongue following the natural V-line down, down, down—only to veer away at the last moment. The frustrated whine that escaped Toby's throat was embarrassingly needy.

"Something you want?" Mason asked, the smug bastard, lips brushing the tender skin of Toby's inner thigh.

"Touch me," Toby demanded, voice breaking slightly. "For fuck's sake, Mason."

"I am touching you," Mason replied, punctuating his words with a gentle bite to Toby's thigh that made him jerk. "Right here." Another kiss, higher. "And here." A lick along the crease where thigh met groin. "All in good time."

Toby let his head fall back with a thunk against the log, frustration and arousal battling for dominance. His cock throbbed with each beat of his heart, leaking a small puddle onto his stomach, completely neglected as Mason methodically worked his way down one leg.

"You're a sadist," Toby accused breathlessly, legs trembling as Mason's lips traced the sensitive spot behind his knee.

Mason's chuckle was dark, promising. "You have no idea."

By the time Mason had kissed and nibbled his way down to Toby's ankles and back up the other leg, the boy was a quivering mess, all pretense of control abandoned. The scent of need emanating from him was nearly overwhelming now, sharp and sweet and demanding.

"Mason," Toby pleaded, beyond caring how desperate he sounded. "Please, I need—"

"I know exactly what you need," Mason interrupted, his hands moving to the backs of Toby's thighs, pressing them up and apart in one smooth motion that left him completely exposed.

Toby froze, sudden realization dawning in those expressive eyes as Mason settled between his spread legs, face level with his most intimate place. The wolf inside Mason rumbled with approval, urging him to taste, to prepare, to claim.

"Wait," Toby stammered, heat flooding his face that had nothing to do with arousal. "Are you going to—"

"Yes," Mason confirmed, his breath hot against Toby's most intimate place. "I'm going to taste all of you, remember?"

Mason watched the conflict play across Toby's features—excitement warring with embarrassment, desire with vulnerability. It was fascinating to witness, this unraveling of all his careful defenses.

"I've never—" Toby started, then stopped, swallowing hard.

"I know," Mason said, gentleness momentarily replacing the hunger in his voice. "Trust me."

Before Toby could formulate a response, Mason's tongue pressed flat against him, hot and wet and deliberate.