Page 21 of Stalked By Raiden

A muscle jumps in my jaw. “Elodie.”

“I thought he’d eventually stop.”

“He won’t.” The words come out harsher than I intend.

She lowers her eyes. “I know.”

I walk in with her, taking in the chaos of the apartment. “Pack a bag,” I order. “You’re staying with me.”

She blinks. “I don’t want to impose. I can stay with Sarah,” she suggests.

I take one step toward her. “Freckles.”

She looks up.

“You’re not spending another night here,” I say, in a voice that brooks no argument.

Twenty minutes later, we’re back at my apartment. Her overnight bag hangs off my shoulder as I lead her into the bedroom. The one we shared all weekend. I set her bag beside the dresser.

When I turn around, she’s standing in the doorway. Still trying to be brave.

I walk toward her, pulling her into my arms. “I’ve told you before, Freckles. You’re mine. No one can hurt you. Not even Drake.”

“I’m scared he’ll do something drastic,” she whispers.

I bend my head and take her lips, kissing her softly. A soft moan leaves her mouth as I end it. “Drake is nothing, baby. Stop thinking about him,” I murmur.

Her grip tightens around me. “I can’t stop thinking about him, Raiden,” she says, her voice still shaking from everything, from the violation of her space, from the fear that won’t quite loosen its grip on her throat.

I need to burn this out of her. No one should take over her mind but me. I need to replace the fear with something so intense she forgets everything but my name.

“I’ll fuck every fear and thought of that asshole out of you,” I say, and I let my voice drop to that register I know makes her knees weak.

I find the hem of her shirt and lift it slowly because slow is worse for her than fast. Her jeans follow, dragged down her legs until she’s standing in nothing but her bra and panties. I remove those too, taking my time with each piece, giving her the whole length of every second to think about what’s coming until she’s bare before me while I’m still fully dressed.

The power imbalance rolls through her visibly, makes her acutely aware of her vulnerability, her exposure. I watch her nipples tighten, watch the flush spread across her chest. Mine.

“On the bed,” I command. “Bend over the edge.”

She obeys, positioning herself so her stomach rests on the mattress, her feet on the floor, her body angled to present herself to me. The position is obscene, embarrassing, and I see her growing wet from it, from the anticipation of what I’ll do. My cock strains against my zipper.

My hand comes down on her ass without warning, sharp and stinging, and she gasps, her fingers clutching the sheets. “Who owns you?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous.

“You,” she manages, her voice barely above a whisper.

Another spank, harder this time, the sound cracking through the room. “I didn’t hear you.”

“You!” she cries out, and the word dissolves into a moan as my hand comes down again, and again, building a rhythm that has her squirming, her ass burning, her pussy soaked. “Raiden, please…please…”

“Please what?” I don’t stop, my hand falling in steady, measured blows that turn her skin hot and sensitive. I halt for a moment, rubbing my hand over the heat radiating off her pinkened ass.

“Tell me who owns this.” My fingers slide between her legs, finding her embarrassingly wet, and I groan. “This wet, desperate little pussy. Who does it belong to?”

“You,” she gasps, pushing back into my touch. “Only you, Raiden, p-please.”

I spank her again, then again, until she’s panting. Until the pain has blurred into something else entirely. Until she’s dripping down her thighs and mindless with need. My fingers plunge inside her without warning, three of them, no easing her into it. On Friday, she could barely take two. I want her to feel the difference in herself. She screams into the mattress.

“Whose woman are you?” I demand, my fingers working her ruthlessly, driving her higher and higher. “Say it loud enough for Drake to hear if he were standing outside that door. Say it like you mean it.”