Chapter 64 #2
I squeezed my legs together under his, canting my hips, letting his words serenade me, spur me on.
He increased the pressure on my nipple, and despite not thinking I could come again, I climaxed, screaming into the mattress, my pussy clenching, pulsating around nothing.
I begged him while I orgasmed, begged him to put his fingers, his dick, anything inside my pussy, but he refused, coaching me through it.
“Just like that, Countess. Imagine how good it will feel when I fuck your ass with my dick. I’ll give your pussy my fingers then, or maybe I’ll use my knife like the last time.
Sheath it and let you fuck yourself with it, press it close to your clit, while I’m buried right here.
” He pushed on the plug and then pulled it back before pushing it in again.
I was depleted, but I still wanted more.
The plug moved easily now, my ass fully welcoming the hard metal. “Would you like that?”
Of course, I told him yes, because it’s what I like to say to him most. Yes.
Yes to every thing he wants, because with him, I want them, too.
The way he treats me makes me feel wicked.
Each nasty, filthy thing he say and does makes the sex ten times better.
I realize I enjoy the danger and the degradation.
I turned my face, and his mouth was on mine, his tongue deeply moving, controlling me the way his finger did to my nipples. The way the anal plug did to my ass. It was wild and messy, and I melted into the mattress, letting him dominate me. The memory fades and I sigh.
But it’s not just the sex, the incredible soul-consuming sex. We talk. We talk about things that I didn’t expect him to open up about. Mainly his mother. Her stories. Her life before she lost her memories to dementia. Other topics he’s not so willing to divulge. His PhD is one of them.
“They called you Dr. Hayes. The nurses at your mom’s facility.”
He popped a red cherry candy from the small black tin as he sat in the middle of his bed. The man is obsessed with the red sour candies. He chuckled and moved the candy around in his mouth. “I have a PhD in Forensic Anthropology.”
Despite already knowing the information from King’s research, I lifted a brow, hoping he would elaborate. He looked at me, leaning forward and flicking at my naked breasts. His smile turned cruel. “What, you don’t think I could manage it? Too dumb?”
I rolled my eyes. “Dumb? Don’t even try that bullshit, Stone. I know you’re not dumb. What I want to know is why you’ve never mention it? It feels like you’re hiding it. Does Jace know?”
“Why advertise it?” He countered, leaning back and crossing his big, muscular arms. “I didn’t do it for the prestige. Or as a talking point. I don’t judge people based on what degrees they have or where they work. I did it for me.”
From his tone, I knew he meant it. He truly doesn’t care. He’s not like the men of my acquaintance who measure their dicks based on what university they attended, who they know, or who their father is. “Okay. So why anthropology?”
His cavalier shrug didn’t match the intense look in his eyes. I didn’t look away from him, and he finally relented, telling me. “Because I wanted the knowledge.”
I racked my brain trying to remember what I knew about forensic anthropology. All I could pinpoint was Cold Case Crime episodes I watched with Kingsley. The investigators called in a Forensic Anthropologist to determine the sex of an unidentified body. “Knowledge of what?”
“Death.”
Tension filled the moment. The unspoken things behind that one word were loud.
I understood the subtext. He used his knowledge from his studies to kill, to do what he had done to those men.
I still think about that day in the forest. The day when he fucked me ten feet from those rotted masses of flesh.
He told me why he killed them. He had no problem telling me that he didn’t regret his actions.
Shame hits me because I got turned on that day, too.
And if I’m candid with myself, I still do when I think about how good the sex was that day.
I didn’t care that two dead men were lying on the forest floor while Stone fucked me over a fallen log.
I could smell their decaying flesh, and I still opened my legs wider.
I still felt myself get wetter, craving Stone’s merciless thrusts.
His violence and utter certainty about the reasons why those men had to die are an aphrodisiac to me.
Stefan ‘Stone’ Hayes doesn’t doubt his purpose, and I envy that.
Abruptly, the sounds of his heavy footsteps on the stairs make me sit up.
He’s here.
I feel those heavy treads deep inside. They match the surges inside my pussy.
Slipping out of bed, I walk toward the door, waiting for his knock, but it never comes.
Instead, he unlocks the door and walks right in.
My feet are glued to the floor. Shock ripples through me when he closes my door behind him.
“You have a key?!” I shout before marching to him and pointing to the pocket where the key just disappeared. “I never gave you a key, Stone”.
“Hmmm.”
“Hmmm? What does that mean? Where did you get it?”
“I made it.”
I shake my head to clear what I must have misheard. “I’m sorry, what?” My mind boggles. “You made it?”
“Yes. I made a key to your apartment, Countess. I have a pair for your car as well.”
The hits keep coming. I’m mute, trying to comprehend that not only does he have a key to my apartment, but he also has one for my car.
He steps closer, gripping me by the waistband of my sleep shorts.
I fall into his chest, and he kisses my slack lips.
The tingles in my core start. I turn away from his kiss. “Wait a minute!”
“No.” He grabs my chin and turns me back, sucking on my bottom lip.
I push at his chest. “Stone! I’m serious. Explain!”
“Maybe. After I fuck you a few times.”
His kisses get stronger, and as usual, common sense starts to fade, but I force myself to concentrate. “No. Now.” I step back, pulling out of his arms. I can’t focus when he’s touching me. “Explain why the hell you have keys to my car and apartment!”
He doesn’t answer, but stalks me. “I said later.”
“And I said now!” I step back again and cross my arms, waiting, refusing to budge. His cock may be magical, but I need answers. My brain is screaming at me. All the weird instances make sense now. The slightly opened drawers. The faint smell of his cigarette.
“I wanted access to your place. I wanted access to you.”
His statements are said without any contrition.
He’s not sorry about what he did. Memories jumble around in my brain.
The times I felt like I was being followed.
The way my car seat was extended back. To accommodate his long frame, I realize.
Other things click into place. “The studio! The paint! That was you?!” The truth is all over his face. “Why?”
“I want to know where you are.”
My brain computes the odd phrasing. “A key to my apartment won’t tell you that.
” He’s been following me. There’s anger, but damn him, there’s also intrigue.
A level of excitement that I can’t shake.
He’s been watching me. “How do you know where I am, Stone?” I step closer, wanting him to say it.
He examines my face. That laser-sharp focus I’ve grown accustomed to is amplified.
Everything about him feels menacing, and I should be scared.
“You’re right, a key won’t tell me where you are, but the cameras will. The voice recordings will. The tracker will.”
Cameras? Voice recordings? Tracker? My mind explodes. “You’re kidding right?”
Stone calmly walks to my bookshelf and removes a small camera, no bigger than my thumb, from between two of my books.
Next, he moves to my purse, opening an inner pocket like he’s done it before, and I realize he has.
He’s been inside my purse. Then he moves to my closet and takes out my satchel, flipping it open.
He lifts out an AirTag. I study him, the comfortable way he is in the apartment.
He heads to my tiny kitchen and reaches above the door jamb, pulling down another small item.
“What is that?” My body feels cold and hot all at once. He doesn’t stop there and walks to the bedroom door, and my rage explodes. As much as I can see the appeal of being watched during sex, that he was listening while I was in my bedroom doesn’t feel so titillating anymore.
He must have heard the times over the last months that I’ve cried over my father’s hatred while lying on my pallet.
The many verbal monologues I had while pacing the my living room feeling like a failure.
Oh god! The day he ate me out! I cried in my room, sobs of embarrassment.
And he heard! I didn’t want anyone to be privy to that weakness.
I follow him, slowly, and watch as he lifts another small device from behind the small stand I use next to my bed. I never would have found it. Horrified, I curl my fingers into a fist. “My bedroom! You son of a bitch! Remove them! I want them gone.”
“No.” He puts all of them back in his pocket. “They stay. They’ll have a new location, but they will be here.”
Enraged, I stomp toward him and point in his face. “I’m going to find every last one and destroy them. How dare you!?”
He grabs me by the wrist, yanking up to my toes so his hot breath fans my face. “I dare whatever the fuck I want, Camryn.”
I slap him, hitting him in the chest. “You’ve been spying on me like it’s some sort of game! It’s not cool! It’s weird! It’s what psychopaths do!”
“And that’s exactly what I am!” Stone shouts, throwing his head back and laughing. “What don’t you understand?”
His loud voice bounces off the walls of my apartment. The violence on his face, the lethal grip of his hand around my wrist, should make me rethink my rage, but being angry at him is nothing new. Right now I don’t give a shit about his wrath.