Four months later
ALEX
Crawling on my knees, I push through the thick brush and forest undergrowth. I lied. I texted my stalker that I needed his help, but didn’t tell him anything else, not where I was and not what exactly was happening.
These little tests for him are something I immensely enjoy.
I force my way through the dense thicket because I want to get as far from the beaten paths as possible.
Another sixty, another eighty feet, and I’ll reach the spot from which I can see him if he comes, while staying hidden myself.
The stalker arrives exactly twenty-three minutes later.
He walks straight toward me as if following an invisible line, because no one could find me like this, only my True Mate.
I smirk subtly.
Only he could know I was in danger. Back then in the park, when the Tanners attacked me. Or the Hansons. Then again when he showed up on the day Oswald entered my house. There were no cameras that could have led him to me, not in the park and not near my home, because the storm knocked them out.
It’s only the particular Bond we share. He could sense its energy better than I could with my damaged DNA, and he obviously read much more from it throughout the years.
I watch him. I know his movements, his body, strong yet feline-like.
He looks around the wooded slope, but the instinct guides him toward me without fail. Yeah, today I will finally look him in the face.
That’s my plan.
My heat has just started and the first wave is slowly washing over me, but I honestly doubt that it’s my scent pulling him in, because the wind is blowing the other way.
The wave keeps rising as I strip off my pants and sweater, lying completely naked on the forest floor, a bed of fallen leaves beneath me. I spread my legs wide, as far as they’ll go.
That’s when the stalker emerges from the bushes. He stops dead in his tracks.
His dark mask turns straight toward me, my pale body sharply outlined against the shadowed ground. I must look obscene. I’m sure of it, and I intend to keep it that way.
I don’t say a word. My cock stands at attention, ready and waiting.
Silence.
Absolute, unbroken silence.
He stands there, staring at me, naked and spread open on the forest floor.
I wonder what he must be thinking. He can’t possibly see me as normal. Who the hell lies down bare-assed in the woods like this?
I notice his hands, hanging loosely at his sides as always, gloved in thick material, flexing slightly.
"Will you touch my nipples?" I ask softly. They jut into the air, hard and tight, begging for his touch: a pinch, a squeeze, a roll, a tug.
A slow, intended step.
Then he lowers himself, kneeling between my thighs. His knees shift slightly, nudging my legs apart, since they’d instinctively closed a little, but no, he won’t allow that. He spreads them wide again, a short, almost correcting motion.
Fuck. It’s like a shot of desire, a hit of some drug, his proximity always does this to me. Safety mixed with hunger, a hint of darkness. The perfect cocktail.
His gloved hand rises, moving unhurriedly along my neck. A finger hooks my silver chain, lifting the little tab before letting it drop back against my heated skin.
The proof that I still belong to him, no matter if he came as a ghost.
Then he traces the scar on my gland, the one left by the teenage Bay’s teeth. It’s a strange sensation, feeling his fingers there, lingering, almost as if he’s emphasizing his presence over it.
Interesting.
Then his hand drifts down to my collarbones, tracing their shape before his fingers finally reach where I want them most, he pinches my stiff nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
I let out a shameful little mewl as he rolls and tugs it, making me moan and arch my back.
I’m already so fucking turned on, my cock is shamelessly dripping pre-cum.
He leans in, hovering over me on all fours, his hands planted beside my shoulders.
For a moment, his mask hangs just above my face. And then…
For the first time, he does something new. He dips his head, resting it just below my collarbone, right above my nipple.
It’s a rare gesture, almost like he wants to nuzzle me, or maybe just drag his masked mouth over my nipple, even with the fabric in the way.
But it’s not enough. I need to be satisfied, deep, hard, fucking satisfaction.
"Fuck me," I whisper breathlessly, my fingers clawing at his sweater. I don’t need foreplay with him, not ever, and especially not in heat. My hole is swollen, aching, half the day spent stuffing myself with a dildo just to hold out until now.
I only want one thing: good, rough, animalistic fucking.
The condoms are already laid out beside us, where I left them.
What’s interesting is that he always turns away when he puts them on. And in those brief glimpses of his crotch, it’s always smooth, shaved bare, with no visible trace of the auburn-brown pubes Bay has. He opens a second condom, always doubling up to maintain an extra-thick barrier between us.
He lowers himself over me, his thighs under mine, lining up his thick cockhead with my open, pulsing hole.
With a smooth, gradual thrust, he slides inside, the move almost elegant, seamless, and I let out a creaking groan.
I love this feeling. Sometimes I wonder how I survive just with my dildos, when what I really crave is to be fucked, ridden, pounded.
His hard body moves over mine, pushing me, shoving me across the forest floor like I’m some animal.
He sinks in deep, to the edge of comfort, and I feel impaled on his thick length, like I’m skewered on a log.
But the wildness, the primal rawness of it all, fits perfectly, not just in this place, but in how I feel, thrillingly split down the middle…
Why do I still continue this role-play game? Why don’t I scream the truth right now? Why can’t I find the final push within me, and instead just let him fuck me anonymously, let him pant over me, let him shove inside…
I lie there, taking him, rocked by small waves of orgasms, one after another, speared by his cock, stretched by his thick length…
But in the throes of pleasure, moans rip from my throat:
"Oh, Bay, yes, yes—"
The stalker doesn’t stop, but I swear his heart races faster, his breath hitches, and I feel his cock pulse inside me.
He came, hearing that.
Still, he doesn’t say a word, just tears off the condoms, slaps on new ones. His hot breath rasps behind the mask.
He spreads my legs, slams back in.
And we start again, my hunger demanding more, harder, faster.
In a way, I feel perverse, yet we both chose this twisted game of secrets.
Why are we doing this?
Maybe because there’s something sick in it, giving up control of my body to the idea of my fated mate’s ghost…
In a way, I’m tormenting myself with the lack of Bay’s real presence, hating myself for sinking into pleasure with just his shadow, which only serves a purpose, helps me, but does not join my everyday life.
It is like a concept of a person devoid of reality, of the actual existence.
A ghostly figure. Now, I’m simply letting myself wallow in my own twisted arousal.
This wrongness.
This sweet, sweet wrongness.
He slams into me, again and again, minutes pass, and my cock keeps spilling cum, wave after wave of orgasms rocking through my body. My hard nipples jut out right in front of his masked face, is he looking at them?
Or maybe at my face, flushed and sweaty, my wide-open eyes, my tongue dragging over my lips to wet them, dried out from the intensity? Is he staring at my shamelessness?
I feel him glide inside me, a swaying, arcing motion, and it feels like he’s going deeper and deeper every time. I drop a hand to my stomach, pressing it just below my navel, I can feel every thrust there, so damn deep inside me.
His other hand pushes my left thigh aside, making more room, and he tilts my pelvis slightly. Now his cock moves at an angle, stretching me wider, then twists and drives in deeper from another direction. A wild, drawn-out growl escapes me as I’m spread open and drilled by his thick length.
My ass, my cheeks, slide across the forest floor, leaves and twigs digging in, but the stalker doesn’t slow down. His stamina is impressive! Twenty, thirty, forty minutes of
—thrust,
—thrust,
—thrust!
Bam, bam, bam…
Over and over, minutes after minutes…
The wave finally ebbs after a full fifty minutes of being fucked hard and fast, perfectly paced to leave me thoroughly satisfied.
Now I’m just waiting for what comes next.
For the knot!
But he doesn’t knot me. Of course, it doesn’t always happen at the start of heat, it usually expands around the middle, but I still feel a pang of disappointment. I had a plan for what I’d do once we were locked together.
I chose this face-to-face position for a reason.
Enough of shadows, and roleplays.
I feel him come again, the condom filling inside me, his hips pressing harder against me, his thick rod pulsing deep.
His breath is ragged, slightly hoarse beneath the mask.
And right at his peak, I make my move. In a fast motion, smirking, I lift my hands and grab the edge of his mask, yanking it down hard.
And…
It works.
Sort of.
The mask slips down, revealing about a third of his face…
Oh wow.
I realize with a shock that this isn’t Bay’s face!
It lasts only a brief moment, just long enough for me to catch the upper part of his face, but I know Bay’s face too well and this isn’t him, the guy’s eyebrows are completely black, and I see a bit of his hair under the black mask and that’s black too.
I don’t manage to see his eyes because the mask stops right at his upper eyelids, and then he suddenly jerks back and adjusts it, pulling out of me in a rough motion, one hand holding the condom so it won’t spill.
Fuck! What the hell?
I wish I had managed to look him in the eyes. I would have known instantly, because I will always recognize Bay’s eyes, their dark malachite color.