For a million reasons.
I shouldn’t let this man fuck me. Not only because he’s dangerous, but because I know no one else would ever compare afterwards.
Half running through the living room, I find myself on the far side, where I know there’s a half bathroom and the mudroom that leads to his garage. Maybe the bathroom is a good idea. Private.
What if someone sees me running in a towel through his house?
He’s stopped counting aloud, so I have no idea how much time I have, but Idonotice that before he started this little game, he made sure every single window was closed.
He planned this out as soon as I went upstairs.
He’s not joking about fucking me on the floor wherever he catches me.
“9,” his voice comes from the top of the stairs.
Maybe I should let him catch me in the kitchen.
I don’t want tolet himcatch me at all.
If he’s going to, like he’s so sure, he should have no problem doing it. I don’t need to help him.
Pantry.
As quietly as I can, I slip into the little closet in the kitchen, holding my breath as he counts down, “3. 2. 1.”
Thennothing. Absolute silence.
I am so fucked.
I can’t move nearly as silently as he can.
I won’t even know I’m about to be caught until it’s too late and he’s got his hands on me.
I keep track in my head of how many seconds have passed, just trying to center myself and think somewhat clearly.
After 24 seconds of complete and utter silence, I dare to peek out of the pantry, catching a glimpse of him just as he disappears into the far hallway near the bathroom.
As quietly as I can, I slink out of the pantry, not daring to open the door any further than I absolutely have to to squeeze through.
With an awkward, quick tiptoe, I inch toward the stairs.
The creak of a floorboard beneath me leaves my blood cold.
Less than a second later, Cormac’s manic eyes meet mine across the living room, and I have to give up any hope of being quiet, choosing speed as I run towards the stairs.
But I’m no match for the silent killer everyone is afraid of.
He leaps over the fucking coffee table, bounds over a couch, and wraps an arm around my waist when he catches me two steps up the stairs.
Both of our bodies collide with the wall, his front against my back, his hard cock pressing against my ass, making me gasp.
With all the tenderness of a fucking mountain lion, he rips the towel from me, throwing it onto the floor with a growl.
“Oh, fuck,” I whine, feeling his hot body, the pounding of his heart against my bare back, and my tits pressed against the cold wall.
He groans, grinding his cock against me, sinking one hand roughly into my hair to jerk my head back. His other hand wastes notime, slipping between my thighs. His deft fingers spread me open, dragging one finger through my drenched center, pulling a pained whimper from my throat.
His hum of approval fills my ear, feral and panting, before he removes his fingers without giving me any relief at all.
