I take a sip of my latte, slowly licking my lips savoring the flavor as I place the mug back down. Running my finger around the rim, I gather some froth onto my digit and place it directly onto my tongue,closing my lips around it to suck my finger clean with a satisfyingpop.
Unknown:
Such a good girl.
Does this excite you?
Show me.
Reach down and touch yourself.
Without a thought, my hand begins to travel under the table. My attention is abruptly jolted back to the present with the loud crash from a plate falling and shattering nearby. I whip my head around, realizing exactly where I am and what I was about to do.
God dammit. Nope. No. This is not working! I slam my laptop and textbook closed and collect my notes, shoving them all into my backpack. I approached the counter to pay only to be refused - payment had already been made.
When? How the hell did I miss that?
I walk fast, turning down the waterfront path, the cold breeze barely touching the heat still crawling under my skin.
Everyone I pass is a suspect. Is it that guy leaning on a wall? Or that woman eyeing me as she jumps into a cab?
I hoped when I signed up that my hunter would be Grayson. I needed it to be Grayson.
The thought of him catching me and doing sinful things to me. Fucking the last thread of intelligence right out of me. The mental image of my body intertwined with his makes my mouth water. He’s the embodiment of a tranquil oasis in a hot desert. My unhinged thirst begs to be satiated by the life giving gift only his kind of water can provide.
What would he feel like in real life? What would his mouth taste like against mine? Would he be rough? Gentle? An exhilarating mix of both?
Would I be scared? Should I be?
Or am I just delusional?
What if Grayson turned out to be a depraved psychopath concealing a darker side I’m yet to meet? And why, for the love of all things green on this fucking Earth, do I want to meet it?
Jesus fucking Christ, what if it’s not him at all?
I feel so conflicted. I should be angry. I should feel violated. I have been stripped of control.
Instead, I feel hunted.
And worse?
I’m excited.
Iwantto be caught.
SIX
GRAYSON
She’s flustered. Irritated. Completely off her game.
And I fucking love it. Watching her walk away from the café, her hair swaying like a metronome, her fingers curled tight around her bag strap, is pure fucking gold. She’s trying to keep herself in control.
She has no idea how much control she’s already lost.
After all, she asked for this.
Knowing exactly where she is headed, I jump on my motorbike–a premeditated decision to use, given she already knows my truck–to get a head start for the waterfront.
