Page 17 of Stalked By Raiden

“River, Roman, Royal, and I worked in different tattoo shops while we were studying.”

“You all met in college?”

He nods. “We kept saying that one day we’d open our own place. Now, we have.” Something crosses his face and is gone before I can read it. “Sharpe, by the way. Since you never asked.”

“I did wonder.”

“I know.”

His gaze lingers on me for a moment. “What about you?”

“I always wanted to teach.” I smile. “My parents were teachers. I loved how they’d talk about their love for teaching, so I decided that I’d go the same route as them. And I’m glad they were alive to see me get admitted into college.”

He nods slowly, his gaze intent on me. “What happened?”

I take a slow breath. “A drunk driver hit them on their way home from a movie. They died on impact.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s fine. I miss them, but I can’t live my whole life feeling sad. That’s why I let Sarah talk me into getting the tattoo. It’s a way of me taking back my life,” I explain.

Raiden nods without saying a word. His silence offers me more comfort than anything. He asks me something else, and I answer, but I couldn’t repeat it back to you. My mind has narrowed to the way the lamplight catches the paleness of his blue eyes, the shadows pooling in the hollow of his throat, the ink curling up from beneath his collar.

He’s beautiful in a way that hurts, dangerous in a way that should terrify me, and I want him with an intensity that makes my insides tremble.

“Freckles.” His voice has gone low, rough, and my gaze snaps to his eyes. They’re dark now, blown wide with something that makes my breath catch. “You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to own you.” He sets his glass down, the movement deliberate, controlled, and leans forward. “I know you’ve never done this before. And I’m telling you now—if you don’t want to be fucked hard, you need to stop looking at me with those eyes.”

My face flames. I should be embarrassed, should retreat into my shell, but I’ve had a taste of what Raiden can do to my body, and it feels like I’m in perpetual heat around him.

“I want you,” I say, and my voice barely shakes. “I’m not afraid.”

He stares at me, unblinking, and the silence stretches until I can hear my own heartbeat, until the air between us feels charged. Electric. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he says finally, each word measured and deliberate.

“If I start, there’s no going back. Do you understand? You’ll be mine. To own. To use. To keep.”

A tremor runs through me, a full-body shudder that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the image his words conjure. Me, owned and his to use. “I don’t want to go home,” I whisper.

He holds my gaze for what feels like forever, saying nothing, letting the tension build until it’s all I can think about, all I can breathe. My skin feels too tight, my clothes too heavy, and I’m aching, desperate for him to touch me.

“Come here,” he commands.

The words pulse through me like a physical blow, and I feel it between my legs, a pulse of heat and wetness that makes me gasp. I’m shocked by my own reaction, by how my body responds to his voice, his commands. But I’m already moving, crossing the small space between us on unsteady legs until I’m standing between his knees.

He doesn’t touch me. Not yet.

“Kiss me,” he orders.

I lean down, tentative, soft, pressing my lips to his with a gentleness that comes from naivety. For a moment, he lets me explore the shape of his mouth, the cool metal of the barbell through his tongue. Then his hand comes up to grip my hair tightly, and he takes over.

The kiss is ravenous, consuming, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to claim every inch. I whimper, swaying, and his other hand catches my hip, steadying me, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against him, feeling how hard he is through his jeans. He devours me like he’s been starving, like he’ll never get enough, and when he finally breaks away, we’re both breathing hard.

“You’re mine now,” he growls, and then he’s lifting me, standing in one fluid motion, carrying me like I weigh nothing.

I cling to his shoulders as he moves through the apartment, past the small kitchen, into a bedroom that’s all shadows and clean sheets and the smell of him. He sets me down with surprising gentleness, and then his hands are on me, stripping my clothes away piece by piece until I’m bare before him, exposed and trembling.