Page 43 of Stalked

As if she hears me through the screen, Lia's back arches sharply. She cries out—a broken, desperate sound—as her body shudders. The sight of her coming undone pushes me over the edge. My release hits me like a freight train, thick ropes of cum shooting onto my stomach as I groan through clenched teeth.

“Fuck, Lia...” I pant.

The office door bangs open without warning.

“Yo, Vane! There's some seriously—holy shit!”

Knox freezes in the doorway, blue eyes widening before a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. I scramble to zip myself up, slamming my laptop closed in the same motion.

“Seriously?” Knox laughs, sauntering into my office like he owns the place. “We've got half-naked women dancing in the club, and you're in here jerking off to porn?”

“Get the fuck out,” I snarl, wiping my stomach with tissues from my desk drawer.

Knox ignores me, trying to peek at my laptop. “What were you watching anyway? Must be good shit to have you hiding here like a teenager.”

I stand, putting myself between him and the computer. “None of your fucking business.”

“Ooooh, secretive.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Is it weird stuff? Like, midget clown porn or something?”

“I swear to God, Knox?—”

“Fine, fine.” He backs up, hands raised in mock surrender. “But seriously, you're missing some prime entertainment. There are these twin dancers from Vegas, and they do this thing where they?—”

“I'll be down in five minutes,” I cut him off. “Now get out.”

Knox finally leaves, my heart still hammering against my ribs. Fucking little brother—always with the worst timing. Taking several deep breaths, I clean myself up and adjust my clothing, then return to my laptop.

The camera feed shows Lia's empty bedroom. For a moment, panic seizes me—did I miss something? Did she leave?—until I notice the bathroom light spilling into the frame.

I switch to the bathroom camera feed.

My wildflower stands naked at the sink, running warm water over her toy. Her skin glows with a light sheen of sweat, her hair mussed from the activity.

“Look at you,” I whisper, leaning closer to the screen. “Trying so hard to pretend you don’t want me and then fucking a dildo while thinking about me.”

When she's satisfied with the toy, she sets it aside and turns the water warmer, wetting a washcloth to clean between her thighs.

My cock stirs again despite my recent release. I've never felt this out of control with anyone but her. Years of obsession, and she still reduces me to a desperate teenager with the simple memory of her taste.

The way she called my name while fucking herself—that wasn't pretend. That was honest need.

“You can lie to yourself all you want, wildflower,” I murmur, watching as she pats herself dry. “But your body remembers who it belongs to.”

The evidence is right there on my screen. She might run, she might hide, she might even convince herself she hates me. But when she's alone in the dark, it's my name on her lips, my cock she imagines inside her.

The Hunt is just a formality at this point. She's already mine—has been since that night after prom. She just needs a reminder of what we both already know.

17

LIA

Istare at the thick parchment in my hands, reading the terms for the fifth time. The contract sits beside me on the couch, black ink stark against cream paper, each clause more outrageous than the last.

“This can't be legal,” I whisper to my empty apartment.

The Hollow's Hunt. An exclusive event where five women agree to be hunted by fifteen masked men through a maze built within Purgatory for seventy-two hours. The men pursue; the women evade. If caught, the woman belongs to her captor for whatever desires he wishes to fulfill—for the remainder of the Hunt and potentially a full year afterward.

My fingers trace over the paragraph detailing theclaiming ceremony. A ritual where the hunters publicly stake their claim on their prey. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature in my apartment.