Page 60 of X Marks the Stalker (The Hemlock Society #1)

His fingers press deeper, pushing me past the point of no return. My entire body convulses as the orgasm crashes through me, wave after unstoppable wave.

“Xander!” I scream his name, back arching off the bed, wrists straining against the cables. My inner muscles clamp around his fingers in rhythmic pulses as I ride out the climax, each contraction more intense than the last.

I thrash against the restraints, unable to escape the overwhelming pleasure as he maintains the perfect pressure, drawing out my release until I’m gasping for air, trembling uncontrollably.

I’m shaking all over, my body still clenching in waves of pleasure that won’t stop. Every nerve ending fires, leaving me gasping for air against the mattress.

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

I’m so spent that all I can do is whimper in response, my body still trembling with aftershocks.

Xander flips me onto my stomach with one fluid motion, the plug shifting inside me and sending shockwaves of pleasure up my spine. He hovers behind me, his breath hot against my skin. His large hands spread me open, thumbs digging into the flesh.

Cool air rushes across my exposed skin as he removes the plug. My body clenches around emptiness, desperate to be filled again.

The blunt head of his cock presses against me. Unyielding. Insistent. He pushes forward, stretching me open inch by agonizing inch.

“Fuck!” The word tears from my throat as he breaches me, the burning stretch nothing like the plug—hotter, more intense, alive and pulsing. My fingers claw at the sheets, back arching as my body struggles to accommodate him.

Xander stops, his breathing ragged. “Too much?”

I shake my head against the pillow, unable to form words. My body adjusts to the intrusion, the initial burn fading into a pleasurable fullness.

“Please,” I gasp.

He pushes in further, filling me. The sensation is overwhelming—not quite pleasure, not quite pain, but something transcendent between the two.

His fingers find my clit again, circling with deliberate pressure as he moves inside me, establishing a slow, careful rhythm .

“You’re still coming, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice tight with restraint.

I can’t tell anymore. The sensations blur together—his cock stretching me open, his fingers working my oversensitive clit, the aftershocks still rippling through my core. It’s overwhelming. Too much. Not enough.

“You’re taking me so well,” Xander murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of his control.

I press my face into the pillow, muffling my cries as he increases his pace. His hips snap against me with more force, each thrust driving deeper than the last.

“I want to hear you,” he says, tugging my hair to lift my face from the pillow. “Don’t hide from me.”

My next moan fills the room, unfiltered and raw. The sound seems to break something in him. His rhythm falters, becoming more urgent, more primal. His fingers dig into my hips, holding me steady as he drives into me.

“Fuck, Oakley,” he groans, his voice cracking. “You feel incredible.”

I pull against the restraints, wanting to touch him, to feel his skin under my fingertips. The cables hold firm, keeping me bound and helpless beneath him.

“Are you going to come again?” he asks, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“Yes,” I gasp, barely recognizing my voice.

He leans forward, his chest pressing against my back as he maintains his relentless pace. His breath is hot against my ear as he whispers, “Let go, baby.”

His words push me over the edge. This orgasm hits differently—deeper, more intense.

Xander growls in response, his hips stuttering as he follows me over the edge. He buries himself deep inside me with a last thrust, his body shuddering against mine as he comes.

For several heartbeats, we remain frozen together, both panting and trembling from the intensity. Then he withdraws, collapsing beside me on the mattress. His fingers make quick work of the restraints, freeing my wrists.

I roll toward him, my limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He pulls me against his chest, one hand massaging my wrists where the cables left faint marks.

“That was...” I trail off, unable to find words adequate to describe what just happened.

“I know,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead.

I trace lazy patterns across his chest, enjoying the rapid beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. “I should lock you up more often.”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Yes, please.”

I curl against Xander’s side, my body still humming with aftershocks. His arm wraps around me, fingers tracing idle patterns along my shoulder. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear grounds me as my thoughts drift.

“So,” he says, his voice rumbling through his chest. “What are you going to do about the Hemlock Society invitation?”

The question hangs in the air between us. My fingers freeze mid-pattern on his chest.

“I...” The words stick in my throat.

I think about Blackwell, about the satisfaction I felt when the final nail pierced his heart. About the gas station attendant, my first unplanned kill. About Dr. Wendell’s blood pooling on the floor, and how I’d suggested cutting out his tongue.

But I also think about the nightmares that followed. The way my hands sometimes shake when I’m alone.

“I don’t think I can,” I whisper. “The need to hunt, to...balance scales. It’s not there for me.” My voice grows smaller with each word, fear creeping in. This society is his family. His purpose.

I tilt my head up, needing to see his face. “I’m sorry.”

Instead of disappointment, his eyes soften. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says. “You are my woman. And I love you, with or without the Society.”

“I love you, too.” Relief floods through me, tension I hadn’t realized I was holding melting away. I smile against his palm, then press a kiss to his chest.

“I can help, watch, prepare. Whatever you need.”

His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. “I would love that.”

I nestle deeper into Xander’s embrace, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. His breathing evens out, that perfect rhythm that tells me he’s drifting toward sleep. I trace the line of his collarbone, memorizing every contour of his body.

“You know what’s strange?” I whisper, not sure if he’s still awake enough to hear me.

His fingers flex against my shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I’ve never felt safer than I do right now. In bed with a serial killer.”

Xander’s chest rises with a soft laugh. “You make it sound so romantic. ”

“It’s the truth.” I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him. His features are softer in the dim light, vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be. “Most of my life, I’ve felt hunted. Now I’m with the hunter.”

He reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re not prey, Oakley. You never were.”

I lean down to press my lips against his, a gentle promise.