Page 18

Sweetheart, I was obsessed with you before. Now this was something worse, much fucking worse.

The screams coming from the maze outside swallowed yours so perfectly that I started laughing, because apparently we had stumbled into the most appropriate place on earth for this. People were running through dark corridors screaming because strangers in masks were chasing them. Meanwhile, behind one of the walls, you were bent over a workbench getting fucked senseless by the actual stalker you had dared to catch you.

That is so beautifully fucked up I may never recover.

Then your body tightened around me.

Fuck.

I felt it before the scream left you, your pussy squeezing my cock while your whole body went rigid beneath my hands, and I kept thrusting through it because I had spent too fucking long imagining what it would feel like to make you come this way to stop the second I finally got it.

You screamed.

Properly fucking screamed.

No swallowing it and no worrying whether anybody could hear you.

I held you exactly where I wanted you, fist still buried in your hair and my other hand locked around your hip while the orgasm tore through you and the way you kept squeezing around me finally ripped the last scrap of control straight out of my fucking hands.

I came hard enough that for a few seconds there was nothing in my head except you, and the completely deranged satisfaction of finally losing myself inside the woman I'd spent months obsessing over.

And sweetheart, I have never been so fucking proud of anything in my life as I was of you in that moment. You'd gone from hiding your own pleasure in an empty bedroom to screaming while your stalker fucked you behind the walls of a Halloween maze.

Look at you. Look what the fuck you did. Look what you've done to me.

Because I thought fucking you might take the edge off.

That is genuinely hilarious now, because it made me worse.

Now I know exactly how fucking good you taste. I know what your thighs feel like tightening around my head and how your pussy squeezes my cock when you come. I know what your body feels like when I manhandle you into the position I want and you fucking melt into it because it's exactly what you wanted too.

I know how loud you get when you stop caring. I know how you feel when you push back into my thrusts because apparently even when I'm fucking you as hard as you asked, some greedy part of you still wants to be closer.

How the fuck was knowing all that supposed to make me less obsessed?

I want more now.

So much fucking more that the version of me who only wanted to watch you through windows suddenly seems almost well adjusted.

When I finally let you straighten, your legs were trembling badly enough that I wrapped an arm around you and kept you against me while I kissed your shoulder and your throat. You stayed there catching your breath for a few seconds before apparently remembering the true crime committed tonight.

"You stole my underwear again."

I kissed the corner of your mouth and said the only responsible thing in that moment. "I'll buy you some new ones."

That made you laugh against my mouth, and fuck, sweetheart, I could become seriously addicted to that sound.

I almost bent you straight back over the workbench.

I wanted another hour with my mouth buried between your thighs, wanted to feel you squeeze around my cock again and wanted to hear exactly how loud I could make you if neither of us had anywhere else to be.

Apparently getting to fuck you once didn't satisfy anything, it just gave my obsession better fucking material.

By the time we eventually left that room, your dress was wrinkled, your lipstick was completely fucked and your hair looked considerably less tidy than it had when I found you. But you looked happy.

Not embarrassed and not wondering whether you'd done something stupid.

Happy.