Page 9 of Hunted Bride

“You told me you deleted it.” I scoff. “If you did, they would hunt you down. Kill you. Brutally.”

“Why haven’t you told them about me already?” he taunts. “The Morozov bratva could make me stop any time. I think you like the attention you get from me, little mouse.”

I press my lips flat. I’m not confessing to that. Instead, I give him exactly what he asked for. I squeeze my tits at the phone camera. I’m mildly disgusted with myself for the way this turns me on. Sparks of excitement skitter along my skin. Racing up my neck, down my thighs. My breasts turn heavy and hot. I pinch my nipples at him for good measure.

My sister and my mom might call me overweight, but I have great boobs. They’re my best feature.

“That’s right,” he groans into the phone. “Show me how you want me to kiss those beautiful nips.”

For a second, I really do feel attractive. I pinch my nipples hard enough to make myself wince. A flood of pleasure chases the pain.

“If I were there, I’d bite you. Spank your tits.”

“With your cock,” I say, emboldened. Heat rushes to my face. I know I blush easily. I must be as red as a tomato. The pink flush is evident on the tops of my breasts. He can definitely see that.

My stalker chuckles. “I like the way you think. Play with yourself, Mouse. Keep your panties on.”

I move one hand back to my sheer mesh panties. They’re barely one step up from cotton pants, but a bit see-through. He makes a sound that sends a flood of slickness over my fingers as I delve into the folds.

“You’re wet for me,” he growls.

There is no way I’m telling him that every time he contacts me, I soak my panties. It’s weird and wrong. I don’t know how to make him stop contacting me. Blocking him never works for long.

I’m not sure I want him to stop contacting me. Spying, yes. I hate having hidden cameras all over my apartment. But knowing someone is watching over me all the time is, admittedly, a turn-on.

“Show me more,” he says. I imagine that behind the digitally altered voice, his tone is gravelly with desire—for me. Adjusting the camera downward, I give him a close-up shot of my torso. No head.

“Not that close. Back up. I need to see your face.”

Another wave of heat steams my cheeks. “I wish you wouldn’t look at me.”

“You love me watching you.”

I don’t deny it. Nor do I agree with his claim. I dip my fingers through my wet, swollen folds. His breath hitches. I can hear a faint, rhythmic sound in the background.

“Are you beating off to this?” I ask, my voice coming out sultry instead of indignant.

“Yeah.”

At least he’s honest. The idea that he’s jacking off, stroking his cock while watching me touch myself, that only makes me hotter. I wish he were here, pushing his thick cock inside me. He’d be like one of my romance novel heroes. Huge. Endless stamina. He would worship me with his hands and his mouth. I’d come so many times⁠—

He wouldn’t worship you. He’d hunt you down and fuck you senseless.

That dark thought sends me over the edge. I pulse around my own fingers, imagining it. My eyes flutter closed.

“Tell me what you’re thinking when you come, little mouse.”

“I’m thinking you’re an asshole.” For driving away any potential boyfriends I meet. For turning me into this pathetic, needy, animalistic person. For not being here.

He laughs.

I stagger to my feet with rug burns from kneeling on the carpet, wipe my messy hand on my thigh, and throw the phone under a couch cushion. I needed that release. I need the second one I give myself in the shower a few minutes later, with a waterproof vibrator. When I come out, all the stress from the dressing-down my boss gave me at work is gone. I start making dinner and do my classwork while it’s cooking. Only after I’ve eaten do I check my phone again. He’s disconnected and somehow deleted every trace of his existence from my phone.

I block his number again, anyway.

Seconds after I do, I get a text message from yet another new number.

Watch your back, Mouse.