Sunshine and the Stalker

by Dani René

  "You're an animal," I whimper, clawing his skin with my nails, causing his face to light up with satisfaction. He wants me to hurt him the same way he hurts me. I lift my hips, clenching my pussy until he's growling like a bear.

  There's an ache in my chest threatening to burst, and my eyes leak with salty emotion. He feels it too. His eyes bore into mine, watching me as I come apart beneath him. His body, so large and heavy, fucks me into the mattress.

  He leans in, licking the tears from my face, savoring my taste. "Wet my dick, little girl," he murmurs against my lips. Stealing one between his teeth, he bears down, biting hard. I whimper as it shoots a jolt of electricity straight to my clit, and I fly over the edge.

  My slick walls pulse around his length, and he grunts, causing his chest to vibrate against mine. His body locks suddenly, and I half expect him to pull out, but he doesn't. Heat fills me, thick and fast, and I know there's no going back now.

  He's just marked me from the inside out.

  His mouth latches onto my small breast as he sucks my pink bud hard, biting it until I cry out, and another wave rushes over me. When I glance down, there's a slight pink bruise on the porcelain skin of my tit.

  "You're mine now, little girl."

  I meet his eyes but can't find words to respond.

  I want this man.

  I need him to claim me.

  To give me everything I hunger for. To offer me the affection I so clearly crave. My heart thuds as my nails rake down his back. He drives into me, and I feel him soften as he continues to tease my sore pussy.

  He regards me as if I'm one of his expensive paintings, with awe and wonderment. A gentle touch to my cheek ignites the ache in my chest once more. It's a tender moment, one you'd expect from a long-term lover, not a man who'd just fucked you until you're broken and boneless.

  "I—I don't know what this means," I croak, my throat thick with emotion holding my voice hostage.

  "What are you doing to me?" he asks, pained and tormented. There's an honesty in his tone, a brokenness that makes him seem more fragile than I am.

  I reach for his face, cupping his cheek in my small palm, reveling in the rough feeling of his stubble as it tickles my hand. "Are you scared of me?"

  My question jars him, causing him to pull out of my body abruptly, eliciting a painful mewl from my lips. He slides off the bed, his back muscles tensing with the quick movement.

  "Shit," he curses, stalking back and forth around the room, his fingers tangling in his hair. His softened cock is stained crimson with my virginity mixed with arousal. The scent of us in the air is heavy, like a perfume I want to hold onto forever.

  Forever.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I'm not some stupid teenage girl who does this. But I've just done it. I've just offered myself like a sacrifice to Lucifer himself, and the man who's now standing before me is at war with himself. Does he regret what we did? Is he going to throw me out now?

  "I—I . . . I'm sorry," I mumble, pushing off the bed quickly, not realizing my body is still coming down from the most intense orgasms I've ever experienced. My knees give out, and I brace myself for the impact with the carpet. But he's there, my beast, pulling me into his arms.

  "You need to lie down, love," he tells me, his voice gentle and caring. A vast difference from the violent way he swore only moments ago. As if there are two people living inside his head, he leaps from one to the other within a matter of seconds.

  I obey him and my heart rate picks up when he kneels on the bed at my feet.

  "You're not kicking me out now?" I question innocently, ignoring the fact that his fingers are stroking my hips, thighs, and slowly spreading my legs once more. He doesn't look in my eyes. His gaze is glued to my pussy.

  "I could never throw you out," he confesses quietly, flitting his stare to mine, which is drenched in guilt. "I've marked you," he decrees. "You're mine. Do you understand that?"

  "But—"

  "Cerys, I want to keep you. Tell me I can keep you." His words sound pained. As if he's the one cracking beneath the weight of this emotion stealing us from the outer world. I want to be here, inside this hotel room, but I have a life to think of—school, my Dad, who would have a fit if he knew what I just did.

  "How is this going to work?" My voice is timid, scared of what my heart is doing, what it's wanting.

  James doesn't respond. Instead, he leans in, planting soft kisses on my inner thighs. He runs his nose along the smooth skin, causing goosebumps to dot my flesh. When he reaches the apex between my legs, he inhales me as if I'm a perfume. A fresh flower to be plucked from the wild, hidden in a glass cage for him to admire.

  "James," I whimper when he slowly laps at my core. Everything south of my belly button tightens, coils like a serpent ready to attack, but I can't move because his hands have my hips pinned to his large bed.

  He continues to lick and nibble on my bare lips, suckling on my clit. His teeth bite down, sending sparks through my veins, heating my blood once more.

  "We . . . We . . . Oh God," I cry out when he eases two fingers deep into me. The sounds my body makes from the juices dripping down to my ass makes me blush as he takes me higher and higher with every movement.

  Pleasure grips me, and I fist the blanket below me to keep from tearing his hair out to pull him closer. My toes curl when he releases my hips to taunt my pussy and my ass. One finger teases the tight hole, which makes me tense.

  "Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs against my flesh. "I'm not taking this hole tonight, but soon my fat cock will stretch it wide." There's no doubt in his tone. His ministrations turn me into a molten puddle as he works my body like a fine-tuned instrument, and I'm flying apart in seconds as I'm filled in both holes by his expert fingers.

  As I come down from the high, James moves from between my legs to spoon behind me. His thick cock pressed between my thighs, his arm wrapped around me possessively, and I can't help but melt into the heat of him.

  "Sleep now, little girl. Tomorrow we'll talk," he whispers as my heavy eyelids fall closed.

  9

  James

  I pace in front of the windows, confused and overwhelmed. My entire home is saturated in her scent, and she’s barely been here eight hours. While she fell right to sleep last night, I laid awake thinking about everything.

  And I do mean everything.

  My brain is a maddening mess of thoughts.

  No stone gets unturned.

  I contemplate every possible outcome of my perfect problem sleeping in my bed. She’s most definitely a problem though. Little, beautiful, no-longer-a-virgin Cerys has infected my mind. It was a weak place to begin with. Slivered and cracked from an abusive childhood. A small child can only take so many beat downs by vile adults before they start retreating into themselves. Before they start imagining new realities for themselves. Before they start planning futures that may never exist. By the time I turned eighteen and hit the ground running, my mind was already fragmented into a not-so-beautiful kaleidoscope of insanity. It’s taken everything in me to keep it all on a tight leash. And admittedly, the past year, it’s been running away from me like an abused animal who can’t stand his owner. The irony is not lost on me.

  But now?

  Now, the madness is off the leash and running rampant.

  Gone. Gone. Gone.

  I have a meeting with an Italian businessman later this morning, and I can’t find it in me to care. It’s the biggest potential deal in my entire career. If he wants to sell me a beautiful piece of property in Venice, Darden Hotels could be looking to expand there in the near future. It’s a dream come true.

  And yet . . .

  My dreams are fuzzy clouds of nothingness.

  A fog of pretend.

  Something a child dreams up.

  Reality snores—yes, she snores—in the other room, and for once, I want to stay rooted in the moment. Live in the realness of life and not the possibilities. But with living in the pres
ent and not focusing solely on what’s out in front of me, who the fuck am I anymore? James Darden is a conqueror. A planner. A goal smasher. James Darden reaches for what he can’t have and he makes it his.

  Always reaching and reaching and reaching.

  What happens when I have it in my grasp?

  I don’t know what to fucking do with it, that’s what.

  The toilet flushes in the other room, and I freeze. My gaze is locked outside where I can stare straight ahead at the building across the street. Above where I’ve figured is Cerys’s apartment, the curtains are pulled open, and Olivia prances around looking blonde and tall and uninteresting. I’m baffled how in less than twenty-four hours I can go from obsessing over taking that woman out to fucking the virginity out of her future stepdaughter.

  I’ll get bored of Cerys.

  The thought causes an ache to form in my chest.

  Right?

  I get bored of everything.

  It’s an inevitability. A known future. Storms of feelings that will eventually break land and obliterate us both.

  I’m doing this.

  Me.

  Ruining it all because I can. Because I will. Because it’s the Darden way.

  “You’re probably not even mine,” he sneers. “Your mother always was a whore.”

  The voice, so harsh and cruel from my past, leaves me shaking and my heart racing.

  Not real. Not real. Not real.

  My past sometimes haunts me when I’m feeling stressed out. Right now, I’m feeling really fucking stressed out.

  “Hey,” a sweet voice croaks, shoving all hateful ghosts back into their box and slamming the lid closed. “I wondered where you went.”

  I turn my laser-sharp focus on her and track her with my intense stare. She’s put back on her black dress, but her messy hair is a fright. My fingers twitch to force her to kneel before me so I can run my fingers through each tangle and smooth them out for her. Instead, I fist my hands.

  I’ll break her.

  I’ll break her heart so it matches my mind.

  I’m going to do it, and I can’t stop myself.

  “Hey,” I reply, my voice harsh and hateful, not unlike the one of my father. My chest aches further to the point I don’t know how much more I can take.

  “I could make you breakfast,” she squeaks out, nervously biting on her bottom lip.

  She’s a gorgeous mess. I should have stayed in bed. I should have carried her into the shower with me. I should have claimed her again and again and again.

  “I don’t eat breakfast.”

  She winces at my words and looks past me at the heavily falling snow. “Okay,” she breathes out and walks over to the windows. “Would you like to come over and have lunch later? I make a mean grilled cheese.”

  Yes, Cerys. I would love to have a motherfucking grilled cheese.

  “I have a meeting,” I bark out.

  Her chin lifts, and she points at the windows where Olivia chatters on her cell phone. “What a great view,” she says softly, all sarcasm gone.

  Where did you go, Cerys?

  Did I accidentally shove you into the box too?

  I rub at the tension on the back of my neck and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll have one of the bellhops see to it that you make it home okay.”

  She jerks her head my way and regards me with watery eyes. “Just like that, huh?”

  My nostrils flare because her scent is intoxicating. It makes me want to forget my responsibilities, let down my guard, and slide into bed with her. Take the time to stroke the tangles from her hair. Take all day to remind her how beautiful and funny and interesting she is to me.

  “Not all of us are children who live with their daddies. Some of us have work to do.” I close my eyes, hating how my words sound. I’m cruel. Just like him.

  When I reopen my eyes, she’s gone. Seconds later, she has her coat and shoes on. As she retreats in her yellow coat and messy hair, I can’t help but follow. I wonder if it’ll always be this way. She’s running away from me because I’m a fucking psycho and me following because I’m a fucking psycho.

  She turns the knob, but I slam my hand on the door above her and lean my body against hers. I inhale her hair and run my fingers through the ends.

  “Cerys,” I murmur, begging for her to find me in my inner darkness and shine a goddamned light on me. God, how I need her light.

  “I’m leaving.” Her voice cracks, and I can hear the emotion in it.

  Suddenly, panicked and fearful of her not within my sight, I clutch onto her hips. I nuzzle my nose in her hair and nip at her shoulder through the strands. She lets out a surprised gasp, and then laments, “James.”

  So desperate, like the way my head is chanting her name on repeat in my head.

  So sad.

  “I’m a fucked-up man.” That’s my only explanation. It’s the only bone I’ve ever offered anyone. I don’t know how to explain myself. This is me trying with every fiber of my being to do so. I can feel her slipping from me, and I don’t know what to do.

  “No shit?” Her sarcastic, almost amused tone, has me eager to rekindle what we had last night.

  I slide an arm around her waist and haul her over to the couch. The need to have this woman—to show her with my body how much I physically need her—is overpowering.

  “I don’t understand you,” she proclaims, her voice tearful and confused. “I don’t understand you, James.”

  Hell, I don’t understand me.

  “I know,” I grind out. “I’m sorry.” I am, but I don’t know what to do about it.

  I bend her over the back of the couch and shove her dress up. Her panties get yanked down her thighs as I simultaneously free my cock from my slacks. I slap at her cunt from behind with my cock, and I can tell she’s not wet for me. Gently, I finger her sensitive clit. I hardly know her, but I already know exactly what her body likes. As though my fingers were created to pleasure this part of her. And much to my delight, she rocks her hips and gives me the sounds that indicate she’s enjoying my touches. It doesn’t take long before her legs are quivering and she’s crying out my name.

  James.

  It crawls from her lips like a question.

  As though she’s asking, “Why are we doing this? What are we doing?”

  I have no answers because I don’t know. I just know I need her more than anything I’ve ever needed. Gripping my throbbing cock, I slide the tip along her now wet entrance and drive all the way into her with one quick thrust. She screams—fuck, I know she’s still sore—and fists the cushions on the couch.

  “Tell me to stop,” I choke out. Tell me to be a better man.

  But she does nothing of the sort.

  “Please,” she begs. So many words hang thick in the air. She wants more than a brutal fucking over a couch.

  She wants everything.

  And I don’t know how to give it to her.

  I fist her dress in one hand under her coat and dig my fingers into her fleshy hip with the other. Pound after pound, I try to fuck into her my feelings. My thoughts. My desires. But wordless proclamations mean nothing.

  “Cerys,” I hiss.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  She’s driven me to utter insanity.

  There’s no coming back.

  “I know,” she sobs. “I feel it too.”

  With her sad words, I groan out my release. I can’t be the man she needs. I’ll never be. Which is exactly why I need to get my dick out of her fertile cunt. But I can’t. I drain myself inside of her. Wishing and hoping and praying for futures I’ll never have. And when I’ve had her completely, I pull out and stagger away.

  On shaky legs, she stands and turns her teary eyes my way. I stuff my wet cock back into my slacks as she pulls her panties back up into place. Her eyes plead with mine. Beg me to crawl out of my head and into her arms.

  “I could cook you dinner,” she murmurs, her last attempt to save me from myself.

  I reach my hand f
orward. My fisted hand because I’m so fucking furious at what an asshole I am. She grips my fist and kisses my middle knuckle. Her fingers uncurl my own and guide me to cup her jaw.

  “James, say yes,” she pleads, her tears leaking out and soaking my flesh.

  My thumb swipes one of her tears. “We’ll see.”

  She swallows and nods.

  I watch her leave, and this time, I don’t follow.

  “I want you to cook me all my meals,” I mutter long after she’s gone from my home. "Even breakfast. I'd eat breakfast for you."

  Turning, I wait for her. Soon, in the middle of the snowstorm, a flash of yellow dances across the street. And before she walks into her building, she turns to look up. I doubt she can even see me from down there. Regardless, I palm the glass with one hand and rest my forehead to it.

  “I want you to come back. I want you to stay.”

  But my words go unheard.

  10

  Cerys

  As soon as I step inside the apartment, I shrug off my drenched coat, hanging it against the door to dry. Shoving off my shoes, I leave them at the entrance. Silence greets me. It's more stifling today than it ever was before. Dad isn't home. Nobody is here for me to come home to.

  For five years since Mom died, he's been gone. Hidden away in his office or in Olivia's bed. He gave up on me a long time ago. But it's not that which now causes tears to sting my eyes. No, this time it's the man across the street.

  James.

  Even his name sends a pain so acute straight to my heart. As if a needle is prodding at the thudding muscle in my chest. Swallowing the emotion balled up in my throat, I pad over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I stare at the contents.

  My mind flits back to moments ago when I looked into his eyes, seeing the agony so clear in his gaze only solidified my want of him. I want to fix him. It's impossible to change someone. There's no guarantee that once they're healed they'll stay with you, but something shifted between us last night.