Even if it brings about my destruction.
I’m ready to deal with whatever comes my way. I rang the bell; I sought him out.
A stick snaps, closer than it should be, but I don’t risk looking back. My breath puffs out of me, half-sob and half-gasp for more air.
The cold has come to mean nothing. I’m practically naked in near subzero temperatures. My brown skin is icy cold and my nipples are achingly hard and every breath burns. But it’s all part of the game. It’s part of the hunt this deep in the woods, so late at night.
The sky is an inked black, void of any stars or moon. The snow itself is stark and white, falling thicker and harder as I push through the woods and lead him on.
I take a hard left, hoping to dodge him, but the snow is deeper here. My foot sinks past my ankle and throws me off.
For a second, I’m scrambling, arms pinwheeling for balance. Branches whip into my curly hair, tugging and stinging my scalp, but I barely register it.
I’m so high off the hunt. So consumed by the adrenaline rushing me.
In the distance behind me, his footsteps grow louder, matching my speed and then easily outpacing it.
His gaze becomes a feeling, tracking me in the dark through the gaps in the trees.
Never letting me go. Not for a second letting me out of his sight.
My heart flips inside my chest, spurring my legs to pump even faster. It’s like I know what happens next, yet I want to try to outrun him anyway. I want to make it as hard as possible for him as he hunts me in the dark woods.
If he’s going to catch me and dominate me like he’s done before, then he should have to work for it.
He should really have to earn it.
I flit between the trees, strategic in how I move and where I go. Every step is a move that can buy me a little more time or ultimately lead to my demise.
He’s on my tail, undoubtedly waiting for mistakes.
The ground dips without warning under freshly fallen snow. My boot catches on a hidden root and suddenly I’m pitching forward, reaching out with numb fingers to break my fall.
The world tilts at a hard angle.
One second, the sky is above me and the snow is below me. The next, it feels like the opposite as I leave the ground and take a spin.
I land upside down in the snow, limbs punching and kicking to right myself. I’m barely back up on my feet before the world is whipping past me again.
An arm has caught me by the waist, solid and unyielding as I’m sent flying face first into the snow.
I don’t even try to push myself back up at first. The impact from the fall steals the air from my lungs and makes me grunt. I’ve crashed into the ground, immediately pinned down by a heavier, stronger weight that anchors me.
He’s done it; he’s caught me like I inevitably sensed he would.
He flops me over onto my back, his disturbing horned mask stark against the black sky and white snow.
I react off instinct, instantly lobbing punches at him, missing all except one. My fist lands in his sternum, and he grunts as he takes it, then he slams my wrist at the side of my head, rendering it useless.
Then he’s tearing at my clothes like he’d done the last time. The lace lingerie is shredded, breaking at the seams as he grips it with his rounded fist and pulls hard. The sound of the fabric tearing is so sharp I gasp and writhe under him.
As if I wasn’t exposed enough already.
But that’s just it—it’s the barbarism that turns him off. The primal, abrupt, animalistic nature of these encounters that he’s clearly seeking and I’m getting off on as easily.
I struggle fruitlessly from underneath him as he clamps a large hand shut on my right breast and squeezes.
A scream travels up my throat as I tip my head back and my dazed vision lands on the dark plum sky. His grip is so harsh and rough that it hurts.
