I think Iwanthim to catch me again.
The thought surfaces unbidden, and I nearly trip over my own feet. What the fuck is happening to me? What kind of person wants to be hunted and caught, tied up and used by a stranger in the dark?
The kind of person I apparently am.
I shake the thought away and focus on moving, on putting distance between us. The vineyard seems different now—darker, more menacing. The black balloons that had seemed ominous before now feel like markers, like signposts pointing toward something I can't yet see.
And then I do see it.
A building emerges from the darkness ahead. Stone walls covered in ivy, barely visible in the dim glow of the lights. A heavy wooden door set into an archway. It looks old, solid, like something that's been here for decades.
The wine cellar.
Hope flares in my chest. Maybe there's a phone inside. Maybe there's another exit, a way out of this vineyard that doesn't involve running until my captor decides to catch me again.
I change direction, heading for the building.
Behind me, the footsteps have started again. Unhurried. Patient. Once more, he's not chasing—he's stalking, like a predator who knows exactly where his prey is going to end up.
I don't care. I need shelter. I need walls between us, even if only for a moment.
I need to think.
The cellar door is closer now, maybe fifty feet ahead. I push myself harder, ignoring the pain in my feet, the trembling in my legs, the way my body still hums with the aftereffects of what he did to me against that post.
Forty feet. Thirty. Twenty.
I reach the door and grab the iron handle, half-expecting it to be locked. But it turns easily, the heavy wood swinging inward to reveal darkness beyond.
I slip inside and pull the door shut behind me.
CHAPTER 4
LUKE
The cellar door swings shut behind her, and I smile.
She thinks she's found refuge. A place to hide, to catch her breath, to figure out her next move. She has no idea that she just walked into the heart of my trap.
I bring my fingers to my lips—the same fingers that were buried inside her no more than a few minutes ago—and taste her again. Rich and sweet, with that edge of salt from her sweat. The flavor goes straight to my fucking cock, making it strain until it’s almost painful.
Patience. I need patience.
But fuck, it's hard to be patient when I can still hear the echo of her scream as she came. When I can still feel the way her pussy clenched around my fingers like it never wanted to let go. When I know exactly what's waiting for both of us in that cellar.
I circle around the building, moving through the rows of vines toward the back entrance. The cellar is built into a hillside, the main door facing the vineyard while a service entrance opens onto a small courtyard hidden behind a stone wall. She'd never find it unless she knew to look.
And she doesn't know to look.
The night has grown colder, the February air biting at the exposed skin of my forearms where I've pushed up my sleeves. I barely feel it. My blood is running too hot, my entire body focused on one thing: her.
I think about what I left in the cellar this morning. The candles—hundreds of them, arranged throughout the space to create a warm, flickering glow. The red velvet chaise lounge I had delivered from an antique dealer in Napa, positioned in the center of the room like a throne. The wine, carefully selected from my private collection. The grapes and dark chocolates arranged on silver platters.
And the black heart balloons, of course. Clusters of them in every corner, tied to wine barrels and draped across old wooden beams. They're the thread that connects every part of tonight's experience—a dark Valentine scattered throughout my hunting ground.
She's probably seeing it all right now. Standing in the doorway with her eyes wide, trying to make sense of what I've created for her.
The thought makes me move faster.
