Page 66 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
The contact is electric, a spark that ignites the tension that's been building for weeks. She makes a sound against my mouth—protest or surrender, I can't tell—and then her hands are fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
She tastes like wine and desperation. I drink her in, one hand tangling in her hair, the other sliding down her spine to press her body against mine. She's trembling—or maybe I am. It's impossible to tell where she ends and I begin.
"Gabriel." My name on her lips is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "Gabriel—"
I swallow whatever she was going to say with another kiss, deeper this time, more demanding. I'm done with words. Done with waiting. I've been patient for weeks, and my patience has finally run out.
I walk her backward, guiding her through the entrance hall, down the corridor, toward the stairs. She stumbles once, and I catch her, lifting her against me. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, her dress riding up to expose the smooth skin of her thighs.
The feel of her wrapped around me nearly undoes me. I press her against the wall at the base of the stairs, grinding against her, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. She gasps, her head falling back, and I take advantage of her exposed throat—kissing, biting, marking her as mine.
"Upstairs," I growl against her skin. "Now."
I carry her up the stairs, her legs still locked around me, her fingers digging into my shoulders. She's kissing my neck, my jaw, anywhere she can reach, and each touch of her lips sends fire racing through my veins.
My bedroom is at the end of the hall. I kick the door open and carry her inside, not bothering with lights. The moon is bright enough, streaming through the tall windows, painting everything in silver and shadow.
I set her down beside the bed and step back to look at her. Her dress is askew, her hair wild, her lips swollen from my kisses. She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, and her eyes—
Her eyes are dark with want. The fear is still there, underneath, but the desire has overtaken it. She's looking at me like she wants to devour me whole.
Good.
"Take off your dress."
She doesn't hesitate. Her hands move to the zipper at her side, and then the blue fabric is sliding down her body, pooling at her feet. Underneath, she's wearing simple black underwear—nothing designed to seduce, and yet the sight of her nearly brings me to my knees.
She's perfect. Small breasts, narrow waist, the curve of her hips leading down to long, slim legs. Pale skin glowing in the moonlight. A body I've been dreaming about for weeks, finally here, finally mine.
"Your turn," she says, and there's a challenge in her voice that makes something dark and hungry stir in my chest.
I unbutton my shirt slowly, watching her watch me. Her eyes trace the planes of my chest, the ridges of my stomach, the dark trail of hair leading down below my waistband. When I reach for my belt, I see her swallow hard.
I slide the belt free from its loops, letting the leather whisper through my fingers. Her eyes follow the movement, and I see something flicker in her expression—curiosity, nervousness, desire.
"Turn around," I tell her.
She hesitates, just for a moment. Then she turns, presenting me with the elegant curve of her spine, the soft swell of her ass barely covered by black lace.
I step close behind her, close enough that she can feel my breath on her neck. I loop the belt around her wrists—not tight enough to hurt, just enough to restrain.
I can feel her trembling, and it's not from fear.
I pull the belt snug, binding her wrists behind her back. She tests the restraint instinctively, a small tug that goes nowhere. The sight of her—bound, vulnerable, waiting—makes my cock throb painfully against my trousers.
"On the bed," I command. "Face down."
She moves awkwardly, her balance compromised by her bound hands. I help her onto the mattress, positioning her with her face pressed into the pillows, her ass raised in the air. I hook my fingers in her underwear and drag them down her legs, baring her completely.
She's glistening. Even in the dim light, I can see the moisture coating her inner thighs, the evidence of how much she wants this despite everything she's said.
"Look at you." I trail my fingers along the curve of her ass, down between her thighs, through the slick heat of her arousal. "So wet. So ready. All for the monster you claim to hate."
"Gabriel—"
I bring my hand down on her ass with a sharp crack.
She cries out—in surprise more than pain, though a pink mark is already blooming on her pale skin. I rub the spot gently, soothing the sting, then strike again. Harder this time.
