Page 13 of Stalker

Daniels can wait. Just for this moment.

Maryse strides into the bedroom, her university jumpsuit crisp and new. A silken scarf loops around her neck - navy blue with silver threads that catch the light. My marks peek from beneath the fabric when she turns her head.

"What do you think?" She twirls, the standard-issue coverall somehow transformed into something graceful on her curves. "Had to raid my closet for this scarf. Someone got a bit enthusiastic last night."

The playful tone doesn't mask my failure. A proper lover wouldn't mark his mate like some untrained pup. My fingers curl into fists at my sides.

"Hey." She steps closer, touching my arm. "I'm not complaining."

I grab her waist, pulling her against me. The scent of her soap mingles with something deeper, more primal - us, together.

"What are you doing?"

The zipper of her coverall slides down smoothly. I brush aside the scarf, exposing the constellation of bruises I left on her pale skin. Purple and red marks mar her throat, a testament to my lack of control.

My mouth finds her pulse point. The subtle salt of her skin floods my tongue as I let my healing saliva do its work. The bruises fade beneath my lips, angry colors dissolving into cream.

She shivers against me, hands gripping my shoulders. "That tingles."

I move to the next mark, erasing each reminder of my roughness. Her breath catches with each touch of my tongue. The scent of her arousal spikes, sharp and sweet in the recycled station air.

The last bruise vanishes under my ministrations. I pull back to examine my work, satisfaction rumbling in my chest at her unmarked skin.

Her eyes flutter half-closed, pupils blown wide with desire. Each breath comes quick and shallow, her chest rising and falling against my palm. The sweet scent of her arousal fills my nostrils, making my mouth water.

My fingers trail across her breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks before tucking them back into her jumpsuit. The fabric does nothing to hide how hard her nipples are, pressing against the material like little diamonds.

"You're going to be late," I murmur against her throat.

"Don't care."

The zipper inches up slowly as I savor each newly covered inch of skin. My hand slides lower, cupping her through the jumpsuit. The heat of her core burns against my palm.

Her moan echoes off the station walls when I claim her mouth. My tongue sweeps inside, tasting mint toothpaste and something uniquely Maryse. She melts against me, soft and pliant.

The sharp crack of my palm against her ass makes her jump.

"Get to class, little human."

"But-"

Another smack, harder this time. "Now."

She bites her lip, cheeks flushed pink.

"Yes, Sir."

Those hips sway with deliberate intent as Maryse heads for the door. The navy fabric of her jumpsuit hugs every curve, a tempting reminder of what lies beneath. My fingers itch to grab her, drag her back to bed, and damn the consequences.

The door hisses shut. Her scent lingers - jasmine and vanilla mixed with the musk of our coupling. My bone spurs ache with the need to mark her again, to claim her properly this time.

Mate.

The word echoes in my skull, primitive and demanding. The urge to hunt for her, to provide, to protect burns throughmy veins like molten steel. To hell with Daniels. To hell with revenge. I could build a life here, with her.

My mother's face flashes before my eyes. Blood pools beneath her broken body as Daniels' men step over her corpse. Just another casualty in their botched raid.

The rage returns, familiar as breathing. How dare I consider abandoning my purpose? How dare I dream of happiness while her killer walks free?