CHAPTER SEVEN
I slamthe front doors behind me and twist the locks into place. I’m trembling from the cold, barely able to feel my fingers.
For what feels like the hundredth time in forty-eight hours, my head’s reeling. A thick fog has surrounded me and made it almost impossible to think.
I back away from the door in staggering footsteps, staring at the wooden surface as if I expect him to walk through. Would it really be that farfetched at this point?
He’s basically everywhere.
He’s in the woods and inside the house. After everything that’s happened, he’s even inside my head. When I close my eyes, he materializes—muscles rippling and his animalistic mask more twisted than ever.
My skin still tingles from his touch, my pussy aching from taking his big dick.
But I can’t lie; the ache isn’t one of pain or discomfort. It’s the ache of lust, more damp arousal gathering between my thighs.
All while he’s done nothing but scare the shit out of me for two days straight.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why the fuck am I turned on right now?
I scurry through the rest of the foyer into the living room and collapse on the rug in front of the burning hearth fireplace.
My thoughts are a contradiction of terror and thrill. I want to throw up at the same time I want to cry. Yet it’s also as curiosity swirls inside me and I begin to wonder what if…
…what if I hadn’t escaped into the house? What would’ve come next after that kind of raw, animalistic sex?
This is obviously a game to him. Some sick, twisted game, but a game nonetheless. He gets some type of pleasure from hunting me, chasing me through the woods, then taking me once I’m caught.
Predator and prey.
I scrub both hands over my face, then push my curls back from my forehead, sucking in air shakily as if I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
I can still feel everywhere he touched me. His hands were calloused and abrasive, like a man who had never lived among civilization a day in his life. Yet they felt so… so exhilarating on my skin as he clenched me in his hold and made me gasp in shock from the rough treatment.
It was as if he knew me. As if he sensed that, through all my fear, I still wanted him. On some level, I was horrifyingly turned on.
“This is insane,” I whisper to myself.
I lift my head and glance around the room, suddenly aware of just howwrongit’s been from the start.
The entire situation and job has been off. Everything from the timing to the promptness at which Mr. Taylor arranged for me to fly out.
This was clearly by design. I wasluredhere under the guise of interior decorating for the holidays.
Mr. Taylor saw to it that the estate would be empty. The staff would be gone. He probably knew the weather forecast and after some research, all about how my freelance business has been struggling.
I have social media. I’ve made it no secret I’m single and childfree and often a homebody that never takes risks or goes on adventure.
Over the years I’ve posted many memes poking fun at myself. I’ve recorded TikToks about how I wanted to take a vacation eventually.
Finally do something new and exciting.
I was the perfect mark. The perfect…prey.
And, really, what kind of older man hires someone to decorate a private home for a Christmas party when no guests are expected and the owner himself has vanished?
None of it makes sense, and it hasn’t made sense from the beginning. I merely overlooked so many red flags because I was desperate.
I wanted to believe it was real. Finally, some much-needed luck had come my way.
