Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Henrik
I pour another drink, throw it back, pour one more, then make my way down the hall, past my own paintings glaring at me in their familiar way.
Past the private gallery, past the storage space where I've kept every piece I couldn't bear to sell.
I get halfway to my studio, change direction, end up in the master bedroom with another drink in my hand.
I'm fucking lost in my own house, but not for long.
The bed's too big for one person, and too big even for two.
California king with a custom frame and Egyptian sheets.
I think about driving over there right now, storming in, showing up in the middle of the night to remind her who owns her.
Just to see if she'd try to fight me off before I could pin her down.
Another drink, and she's still in my head, her nails dragging down my back, my hands tight around her throat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I never wanted anything this much, not even my own success.
I lay back on the sheets, head swimming with the single malt and her voice, the only two things I can actually stand.
Maybe I'm getting too soft, and my father was right.
Maybe I am a sentimental asshole who just needs to man the fuck up.
My mother thinks so, every time she catches me dreaming or distracted.
What would they think of Mia?
Of the way she lights me up inside?
I'm sure they'd nitpick the age difference, but I don't care.
I want what I want and I'll always get it.
I can't stop thinking about it—the way she came apart and melted, her whole body going liquid while I pounded her.
The way she shook as she came on my cock.
The way I came inside her, raw and reckless, no fucking care in the world except the way she took it all.
I need her.
Tonight .
Grabbing my keys, I head to my McLaren.
Obnoxious as it is, I can blend in with the rich college kids.
I trail her and her roommate, Larsa.
They’re coming from somewhere, all dolled up and looking pretty.
Somewhere where they got hammered and didn’t think of the consequences of being two drunk girls, out alone at night.
Jealousy rips through me.
Now who could she be dressed up for, but me?
Though, to be fair, I prefer her in undress.
Pretending to clean for me… that perfect pink pussy on full display..
Her friend laughs.
It grinds me.
I don’t like her.
Always out late, never there for Mia the way she should be.
They're a few steps past the liquor store, just before the crosswalk .
Close enough that I can almost hear them laugh over the car's purr.
Drunk as fuck and swaying together.
She's out there in the night, green eyes half-closed, while I'm parked in the shadows, wishing I had her skin under my teeth.
Three days and I'm restless.
Three days and she's out, on the streets, pretending I didn't change her life with the way I took her.
Out and within reach and mine.
Mine.
She's fucking mine!
They get further up the block, and I pull out of the spot I've staked out for the last while, head toward them, and kill the engine another block down.
Getting out, I fiddle with the mask in my jacket pocket.
The one I will use on her tonight, given half the opportunity.
I cut through a thin alley, catch them a little further up the road, but they don't notice me in the dark.
Even if they did, they'd have no idea how close I am, no idea what I'm going to do.
Larsa tugs Mia's arm and nods over her shoulder like someone's following them.
Like maybe there's another hunter out here in the night.
But I know there isn't.
I know that even if there is, I'm more of a threat than anyone.
They keep moving, and so do I.
They're two blocks away, almost at the flat, laughing like the night is just a big fucking joke.
I'm ready to charge ahead, make my move, make her mine again, but I’m not the only one following them.
They think they're alone.
Think they're untouchable.
I slow, allowing the two men trailing them to take the lead.
They're up the block and out in the open, clumsy amateurs, dicks swaying hard at the promise of fresh pussy.
I hold back, keep to the dark, and wait.
These two fuckers think they have it all figured out, think they're the only game in town.
They don't know I've been doing this longer, better, that I've been inside her and will be again, because even when she shivers in fear, she's mine.
They don't know I'm there, either, don't see me just behind them.
Just a single minded focus.
I wait, let them close in, ready for the moment when I can teach them both what it really means to stalk.
Mia looks over her shoulder .
Larsa does the same, but they don't stop.
Even with these two fucks gaining on them, they just pick up speed and keep going, like they're going to outrun them, like that ever fucking works.
Like they have a chance.
The other two are just a few meters behind, moving faster than they are, just a couple of minutes until they catch them.
If Mia or Larsa notice, they don't show it.
Around another bend and there… they finally caught up to the girls.
They get what they want.
I can almost smell their smugness.
A block behind them, at the other end of the alley, I catch my breath, play the shadow, play it smart, don't let on, don't give it away.
The girls try to walk away, try to escape.
But they can’t.
The scream is Mia's.
A short one, half-swallowed, half-lost before it even reaches my ears.
But it's more than enough.
I sprint like my blood's on fire, like it's the only thing that matters.
Shouldn’t have fucking waited.
I'm there in a second, a fucking hero with the stench of blood already on him.
There before they even have time to figure out what the fuck happened, who the fuck is ruining their little amateur night.
I let them know it with my hands, my fists, my violence.
There in a second, on them in less, before they even have time to put their hands anywhere I don't want them.
I get a hold of the first fucker's collar and yank him off Mia like he's nothing.
Like he's an afterthought, an obstacle, a bug under my shoe.
I want him to feel just how little he is.
I want him to feel it all.
He doesn't have a chance to fight back.
Not this one.
This one gets it right away, gets a knee to his back when I shove him to the ground, gets his ugly head smashed into the concrete before he even knows what he's up against.
I love the rough scrape of his cheek on the ground, the red blossom he leaves behind, the fucking panic of knowing he's in way over his head.
I love it so much, I let him get back up just so I can do it again.
He makes a sound .
Tries to get a word in, a plea, an I'm-sorry-bro-I-didn't-know, but he doesn't.
I stomp down, keep his face to the street, let him taste it, eat it, choke on it.
He's not a fast learner.
Not like Mia.
The other one tries to pull me off.
Thinks maybe he can take me.
But Mia and Larsa are still there.
Still watching, still stunned, still not knowing what the fuck to do.
I turn around, knock him back.
He wasn't expecting that.
Wasn't expecting anything but pussy, anything but conquest, anything but easy.
Thought he was tough shit until he tried me.
Tried to take what's mine.
This time I get his neck, I squeeze until his eyes are bugging out, until he's on his knees.
"Think you can touch my fucking girl, do you?" I'm shouting in his ear.
He manages to throw a punch before he hits the dirt, manages to get me right in the ribs.
Good.
It gives me more reason, gives me more to give him back.
Allows me to make sure he never does this again.
The girls can't even run.
They can't even think.
They're drunk—too drunk to even process what the fuck could have happened to them.
They don't see it coming.
These two dumbass boys who didn't know the first thing about picking the right girl to follow.
Grabbing my gun from behind my back, I hold it in my hand, let it glint under the buzzing streetlight, let it shake in their eyes until they're so full of panic they could drown in it.
I'm generous that way.
I like to make sure my enemies die more than once. "I won't give you another chance. Get the fuck out of here."
And they know that I mean it, because I am the man with nothing to lose and I am the man who gives them one last chance.
They're so scared they don't know what to do.
Don't know whether to crawl or run or give up or beg or die right then and there.
They don’t see that death is knocking at their door.
They scramble like the little shits they are.
Hands and knees, getting up, trying to figure it out, trying to figure out how they're not dead, not splattered, not red on the street.
But they will be, if I see them again .
It's my best threat and my best promise.
The guys disappear into the dark.
The girls get their breath.
“Are you okay, Mia?” I ask, watching as she stares blankly.
“Yeah…” she slurs. “Just need to get home. W-what are you doing here?”
“I was out clearing my head. Come now, I’ll take you both.” I don’t give them time to object, walking them the rest of the way to their flat.
It’s close, but they need help, drunk as they are.
She fumbles with the key before I take it and open it for her.
She stumbles inside and I know I have to help her.
I follow them in, closing the door behind us.
They look at each other, then back at me.
There's no protest, but why would there be?
They're wasted, more than I thought.
We reach the landing. “Which one’s your room?”
Larsa points a shaky finger to the left.
She stumbles when I let her go but manages to get to the door.
I watch as she collapses onto the bed, shoes flying off, already stripping.
Her body isn’t beautiful like Mia’s.
I lose interest and go to their kitchen, finding some ibuprofen and water and putting them beside her bed before heading towards Mia’s room.
I open Mia’s door, close it behind me.
There will be no interruptions, no distractions.
I slip off my coat and put down the water and ibuprofen.
I put on my mask and wait.
She's on the bed, hair a wild flame around her face, eyes almost shut but not enough to miss the way I hover over her.
Not enough to miss seeing me when I'm close again.
I flip up the bottom of my mask and nestle between her legs, taste her heat until she starts to wriggle awake.
Until her eyes fly open, and I hear her go, "Wait...what?"
She starts to hit me, but I grab her neck, come up with a wicked grin and a heavily thick British accent. "I told you I'd find you, Toy."
Her eyes are wide with disbelief, green fire blazing out from under heavy lids.
Drunk or sober?
It’s hard to tell.
But she knows it’s me—the man who stalks her.
"How...how did you..." Her voice is ragged, catching on each breath as I hold her down, keeping her pinned beneath me like that first time I pinned her against the wall .
The fight leaves her quicker than I’d like.
Not even a struggle.
Not even a whisper of it.
She craves it.
Wants it.
I go back to work, mouth on her pussy, getting her to squirm more and more, until I know she's feeling every inch of my claim on her.
I slide a finger inside, then another.
Pushing, driving, making sure she knows exactly how deep I can go.
Her breath is coming fast now, fast and wild, and she's moaning before she even realizes it.
Before she even cares that it's my name spilling from her lips. "Oh god..."
I go harder, deeper.
Pushing on that spot inside her, the one that will have her seeing stars.
"You are mine," I say, fingers working as I take a breath. "You are mine, Toy. You understand? You belong to me, and I'll come for you whenever I please."
She gasps for air, nods hard and desperate.
"I'll come for you whenever I please," I tell her.
And then she's there again, coming apart under me, around me, because of me.
Because I want her to.
Because it's never been any other way.
I keep at it, getting every last shudder out of her until she's spread on the sheets.
She swallows hard, ragged and breathless. "O-okay."
I get up on my knees, pull out my cock.
She’s open for me, her pussy wet, dripping down onto the bed.
I grab her legs, haul them onto my shoulders. “Such a pretty pussy.”
She nods, eyes squeezed shut.
She acts like she’s ready, but she’s not.
Not ready for me at all.
Not for the way I’m going to stretch her out.
But that's how she wants it.
How she always wants it.
I line up and push inside, bury myself inside her until she’s taking all of me.
I see that moment when she starts to come apart again, the way her eyes fly open as I fill her, the way her breath catches in her throat.
That’s what I’m here for.
That moment right there.
I pound into her, feel the way she tightens around me with every thrust, hear the way she sobs and gasps and whimpers my name.
“Please,” she’s begging now. “Please…”
Please what?
Please stop ?
Please go harder?
It doesn’t matter; it never matters, because both mean the same thing for us.
I won’t stop, even if she asked all pretty.
I pull back for a moment to look down at her, pinned beneath me in a tangle of limbs and sheets and need.
Her face is red, except where her scars formed.
They’re like art against her skin.
“Say it,” I tell her, voice low and rough with lust.
With everything I want from her.
“I’m yours.” She moans, spasming around my cock, milking me as my balls draw up tight and release inside her.
When I'm finished, I pull out, go to the side of the bed, and force my cock into her mouth.
"Taste us, Toy," I growl as she takes me in deep. "Taste how bloody good we are together."
She gags but doesn’t fight it.
Takes it again, and again.
She sucks and licks while I fuck her mouth.
It’s as if I’m a teenager again.
I still have more to give as I force myself down her throat.
And she takes it, like the perfect toy she is, until I’m satisfied and dripping down her chin.
"You see?" I ask, wiping myself on the wrecked sheets before tucking myself away. "So perfect."
Her eyes are glazed over with lust and liquor and something else that looks like surrender.
My broken beauty.
My perfect toy.
"Go to sleep. I'll come back soon."