Page 25 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

“No,” I trace the tear’s path with my thumb.

“You hate that you want this. You hate that after everything,” I tear open her shirt, and our gasps collide.

I bite on my lip as I marvel in the beauty of her skin, the shape of her tits, her waist, her belly, “I’m the one who understands the darkness inside you, the one who obsesses and worships it as much as he obsesses and worships your body.

” I can’t help myself. My palm takes its time exploring how it feels to touch her without a barrier.

I study every curve, every bone, every sensation that shatters the edges of sanity and paste it all to memory.

Thunder rumbles overhead, vibrating through the ground beneath us. Her bodyguard’s voice has faded, lost to the storm or distance. Or perhaps he never was here at all. Perhaps it’s always been just us, predator and prey, locked in this eternal dance.

“Tell me what you really want,” I command, leaning until our foreheads touch, and my lips are a breath away from kissing hers. “No more lies. Not between us.”

“I want—” Her lips part, words forming and dissolving before they can take shape.

“Louder,” I demand, tightening my grip on her throat, her pulse racing beneath my fingers.

“I want you to stop.”

Desire and rage twist together inside me, a blend that leads to pain and mayhem. How dare she lie to me, even now? How dare she deny what burns so obviously between us?

“Even here, in the darkness of your own desires?” I shake my head slowly. “I thought we were past that, Reagan.”

My free hand trails down her exposed skin, savoring the goosebumps that rise in its wake. Her skin is feverish despite the cold rain, burning with the same fire that consumes me. “If you can’t be honest with me, then you don’t deserve what you truly want.”

Her eyes widen as I rip open the buttons of her jeans.

She squirms, kicking and screaming. Her strength is nothing against mine.

All her resistance can’t stop me from punishing her now.

I unzip her pants and pull them down with her panties below her ass.

Then I shift my weight, my knee pressing between her thighs, parting them just enough to see the slickness of her pussy.

A needy growl seethes out of me. I’ve killed for this moment, just to worship at this altar. Her fear, her struggle, her unbidden arousal, all feed that primal hunger I have only for her.

This was always inevitable. She was created to be found by you, to be taken by you.

I hate that voice, but it’s right. “Yes. A masterpiece designed solely for me.”

“No—” she begins, but I press my thumb against her lips, silencing her.

“Shh. No more lies. Not when I can read the truth in your body. Not when I can taste your desire in the air between us.” My lips crash against hers—not gentle, not asking permission, but taking, claiming, branding.

Her surprised gasp melts into something hungrier, and her lips respond to mine with an eagerness that calls her out on her bullshit. When I pull away, her eyes are glazed, her lips parted in shock and need.

“That,” I murmur, “is what honesty feels like.” I taste her rain-stained skin, her cheek, her jaw, and leave a trail all the way down to her pussy.

My whole body trembles, not with hesitation but with the overwhelming power of having her completely at my mercy, pinned and helpless beneath me, with the sight of her wet pussy that is all mine to finally own.

With my fist on her throat, I press my lips to her pussy. My first taste of heaven. No, of hell. Her wetness in my mouth ignites all my vices at once. Possession, hunger, violence, a savage need to claim what I’ve hunted for so long.

Groaning, I devour her. I lap my tongue inside, outside, over and under many times like a depraved animal until I savored every drop. Only then do I come down from my feverish delight and realize she’s not fighting me anymore. She’s moaning with me, moving into my mouth, needing more.

“No, butterfly. Last time, I let you come and denied myself pleasure.” I pull down my mask.

“Today, it’s a different story.” Then I work my pants and pull my cock out.

She wriggles as my hardness pries its way between her thighs.

I take my hand off her throat and pin down both of her wrists.

“I’m not gonna fuck you either. I’ve made you so horny you’re gonna come all over my cock in no time. You don’t get to come today…but I do.”

She protests when I slide the tip inside her. Then, when I rub myself, teasing her to the point of whimpering, her protests turn into pleas.

“Yeah, little slut, beg for my cock. Beg for your stalker to fuck you like an animal. Beg to make you my little bitch. Isn’t that what you want? A fucked up monster to pursue you, chase you and make you his fucktoy when he catches you, to show you what it is to be loved by a predator?”

Her moans grow louder, pumping fire through my veins. My breath catches as my fist works faster, and I know I’m tormenting her clit.

“Last time I was in your bed, what were you going to say before they cut us off?”

“What?” she moans again.

“When I counted how many times your pussy clenched to orgasm…” My balls grow heavier. I’m so close. “I thought you’d think it was sick or plain psycho, but you were about to say something else. What was it?”

“I’m never going to tell you.” She arches her hips, trying to take more of me inside her. But I don’t let her. Just when she rubs herself around my shaft, I pull out and choke her again.

I howl at the thunderous sky. Angrily, my cum spurts all over her, on her pussy, on her stomach, on her neck, on her cheek.

I marvel at the sight of my marked prey sprawled beneath me, drowning in a need she denies, begging for a darkness she can’t resist, and a sated smile creeps under my mask.

“That’s for hiding from me.” I tuck my cock back inside my pants and rise to my feet.

Then I push my cum inside her pussy, where it belongs, and smear some of it over her lips before the rain washes it away.

“And that’s for not answering me, lying to me and…

believing I’m only a dark fantasy you can control. ”

“I… You… This… is all in my head. It’s the only explanation.”

“Is it?”

The rain pelts harder, erasing the evidence of our encounter, the mud, the sweat, the tears. But it can’t wash away the connection that binds us—predator and prey, stalker and stalked, two damaged souls orbiting the same dark star. Two broken pieces that only together are whole.

“Until next time, my butterfly.” The forest swallows me as I become one with the darkness and rain.

But not before I glimpse the war in her eyes—anger battling desire, fear wrestling with longing, madness defying sanity.

She can deny me with her words all she wants, but her body has already surrendered.

The next time we meet, I won’t be wearing a mask, and I’ll claim every inch of what’s rightfully mine.

For now, the hunt continues.