Because I want him to catch me.
The thought crashes through me with such force that I stumble against a tree, bark scraping my already raw palms. What kind of sick person am I? He’s a killer. He drugged me. He’s hunting me through these woods like an animal, and yet?—
My body hums with anticipation.
“This isn’t normal,” I whisper to the darkness, but the words dissolve into the night air, meaningless against the truth pulsing between my legs.
I take three more steps, then pause. Listen. The forest has gone quiet, as if holding its breath. He’s out there,watching, tracking. The thought sends another inappropriate rush of heat through me.
Is this what my art has been trying to tell me all along? The violent strokes, the raw intimacy, the darkness I’ve always channeled onto canvas instead of acknowledging in myself.
My torn blouse flutters open in the breeze. I don’t bother closing it anymore.
I slide down against a tree trunk, sitting in the cold dirt, suddenly exhausted by the pretense. The game we’re playing isn’t what it appears. I’m not running to escape. Each step I take is neither too fast nor too direct. I’m leaving a trail. Pausing too long in clearings where moonlight illuminates my body.
I want to be caught.
The realization doesn’t shock me as much as it should. Something has always been broken in me—the part that drives my obsessive art, that drew me to Gabe in the first place.
I stand up, leaves and pine needles clinging to my skin. I turn in a slow circle, scanning the shadows.
“I know you’re there,” I call out, my voice stronger than expected. “Come and get me.”
24
GABE
My breath catches as her voice rings through the trees, those four words striking me like lightning.
“Come and get me.”
Blood rushes to my cock, already straining painfully against my pants since the moment she bolted from the cabin. The thrill of pursuit has always stirred something dark within me, but this—watching Amelia flee barefoot through the forest, her torn blouse exposing flashes of pale skin in the moonlight—transcends every fantasy.
I move silently between trees, tracking her by sound and glimpses of movement. She isn’t running anymore. The realization makes me growl low in my throat, the sound distorted behind my mask.
She wants this.
My fingers flex and curl against my palms, imagining the feel of her flesh beneath them. How long has it been since I’ve claimed her? Too fucking long.
Through a gap in the pines, I spot her—standing defiantly in a small clearing, chest heaving,torn blouse hanging open. The moonlight paints her skin silver. She’s scanning the darkness, seeking me out even as she pretends to hide.
Little liar. Beautiful little liar.
I circle around, approaching from behind. My boots make no sound on the carpet of pine needles. Years of hunting have taught me patience and to savor this moment before the strike.
Her scent reaches me—her usual scent mixed with arousal. The combination sends a jolt straight to my groin. I know that smell. Her body betrays what her mind might deny.
Twenty feet.
Ten feet.
Five.
I can see the goosebumps rising on her exposed skin, the slight tremor in her shoulders. Not just from the cold.
“Did you really think you could hide from me?” I whisper, close enough for my breath to disturb the hair at the nape of her neck.
She stiffens but doesn’t scream, doesn’t run. Instead, she turns slowly to face me, moonlight catching the wild challenge in her eyes.
