Page 51 of Silent Stalker
Istare at Silas, my heart pounding against my ribs. Each measured breath pulls his shirt tighter across his muscles, and my fingers itch to trace the dangerous landscape beneath. The room feels electric with tension. A voice in my head screams that I should run, call James, and end this madness. But I can’t move. Don’t want to move.
“Please,” I whisper, reaching out to touch his arm. “Choose me instead.”
Those lethal blue eyes claim mine with the intensity of a shark scenting blood. “You know what I am now.”
“I’ve always known, deep down.” The confession tears from my throat. “Ever since that first body, something felt familiar. Like the Songbird murders when I was young.”
Silas steps closer, his heat enveloping me. “Those murders shaped you. Made you fascinated with killers like me.”
“Yes.” My voice breaks. “I should be terrified. Should turn you in. But I...” I trail off, unable to voice the twisted truth.
“But you want me.” His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Even knowing what I’ve done. What I’m capable of.”
I lean into his touch, shame, and desire warring inside me. “I’m insane.”
“No.” His grip tightens. “You’re perfect. Every kill was for you, Clara. To draw you out. Show you who you are.”
“Then stop.” I clutch his shirt. “You don’t need to kill anymore. You have me.”
Silas’s breath catches. His other hand wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. “If that’s what you want. But right now...” His voice drops to a growl. “I need you.”
“Yes,” I breathe, already melting into him, my body betraying any last shred of sanity.
Silas's hands are on me, tearing at my clothes, and I'm not stopping him. The heat in his eyes leaves no room for doubt: he wants me right here. My body betrays any sense of self-preservation I have left, craving his touch, his possession.
My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in my desperation to feel his skin against mine. Each revealed inch of his inked chest makes me burn hotter, hungrier. When I can't undo them fast enough, I grab both sides and pull, sending buttons scattering across the floor. The sound of their tiny impacts is lost in our heavy breathing.
My dress is gone in an instant, tossed aside like discarded prey. I push his shirt off his shoulders, needing to feel more of him, to mark him as he marks me. He grabs my hips, pulling me back towards the kitchen counter, the cool granite a stark contrast to our fevered bodies. Our lips crash together, tongues tangling in a savage dance, skin against skin, heat against heat.
I feel his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my entrance. “You want this, Clara?” he growls. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“Yes.” The word is a plea, a declaration of surrender. “Please, Silas. I need you.”
He thrusts into me, filling me in one smooth stroke. I cry out, pleasure and pain mixing as he stretches me around his length. His hands grip my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my flesh.
"You crave this helplessness, don't you?" he breathes against my ear. "Being at the mercy of someone who could destroy you."
The truth tears from my throat. "Yes... I need it."
He withdraws completely before filling me again. "Your cunt weeps for me. For the violence, for the darkness?"
"Everything about you," I confess. "Everything we share."
He laughs is pure darkness. “My devoted little slut. Always so eager to please.”
I come apart at his words, my body shaking as pleasure crashes over me. Silas doesn’t stop, pounding into me relentlessly, his grunts mixing with my frantic cries.
Silas pounds into me, his thrusts relentless, merciless. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he claims my body with fierce possession. I can feel the intensity of his desire, the force of his need in each brutal stroke. His words are filthy, whispered against my ear, making my core clench around him.
“You’re a fucking whore for the darkness, Clara,” he growls. “And I love you for it. I’ll always give you what you need. I’ll always be the one to take you there.”
Hearing him say those words—that he loves me—while he takes me with such raw, animalistic hunger sends me careening over the edge. My release crashes through me, leaving me trembling and boneless against the counter. I’m overwhelmed, not just by the intensity of the orgasm, but by the depth of my feelings for this man.
Every psychological principle I’ve ever studied condemns this feeling, yet I am drowning in desire for a man who paints his love letters in blood and bodies. After only eight days of knowing him, is it possible to feel this way?
But Silas has known me longer. Weeks of following me, studying me, peeling back every layer of my psyche. He recognized the darkness I tried to hide even from myself, saw past my carefully constructed walls to the twisted desires beneath.
"Look how beautiful you are when you stop fighting it," he growls, his voice thick with triumph. "Every defense stripped away, every pretense shattered. I knew from the first moment what you could become."