i-Spy | A Stalker Romance

Chapter 37: His Salvation [M]

(Trigger warning: More treat for you guys because I couldn't leave you all half hanging like that. It would go against my own twisted ethics.) 

Stella's P.O.V.

I thought Kairo was done with me for the day, but right after the conversation, he pulled me into another kiss. This time, I surrendered mindlessly, my body responding to the unspoken command in his touch. Clearly, I wasn't done with him either. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the raw strength in his muscles as he carried me to the bed and dropped me onto it.

In one swift, practiced motion, he stripped the T-shirt from my body, leaving me bare before him once more. His eyes roved over me, dark with desire and a hint of possessiveness that sent a shiver through me.

"And who said you were allowed to cover yourself up?" he murmured, his voice a seductive growl that made my pulse race.

Before I could respond, he was on me again, his mouth claiming mine with a fierce hunger. His hands explored my body with relentless intensity, each touch igniting a fire that burned through my veins. I arched into him, a soft moan escaping my lips as his fingers traced the sensitive curves of my skin.

I couldn't help but let my eyes wander over him, taking in every detail of his powerful form. His arms, tattooed above the elbows, flexed with each movement, the inked designs adding to his dangerous allure. Strong, veiny hands moved over me, their touch both rough and gentle, a perfect balance that drove me wild.

"Like what you see, darling?" he smirked.

"There's hardly anything to see," I teased, though my own mouth twitched in anticipation.

"Fair enough, let me give your eyes something to feast on."

With a swift movement, Kairo reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his muscular chest.

Holy fuck he was.... art incarnate. 

His muscular chest, also adorned with intricate tattoos, was a masterpiece of strength and craft. The inked lines traced across his skin, accentuating the hard planes of his body. As he moved, the tattoos seemed to come to life, a mesmerizing dance of dark shapes and shadows, each design telling a story of power and peril. I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight before me.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to touch you like this," he murmured, his voice a low growl that made me quiver. "All the things I imagined I'd do to you..."

He leaned in, his hands sliding down my sides, making my breath hitch. His touch was electrifying, a mix of rough and gentle that left me craving more. He moved his mouth to my ear, the breath hot and tantalizing.

"I've thought about this moment every night," he continued, his voice filled with a dark stake. "All the ways I'd make you mine, over and over again."

His hands roamed my body, exploring every curve and dip, leaving a trail of burning desire in their wake. I arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping my lips as he traced the sensitive skin along my collarbone.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his lips brushing against my neck. "Tell me you're ready for everything I've imagined."

I traced his tattoos with my fingers, feeling the ridges and contours beneath the ink. Each design told a story of battles fought and victories won, a canvas of scars turned into art. He took in a sharp breath, and I wondered if beneath those tattoos lay deeper, more painful truths—scars he had buried under ink, reminders of a past he couldn't fully escape.

They were more than just ink; they were his war imprints, a visual representation of the hell he had survived. Each mark was a badge of honor, a sign of the pain and struggle he had endured. They were the proof of his battles, the visible remnants of a life marked by hardship and survival.