A scream tears from my throat, and my foot slips, then snags. A root, or a stone, or something I wasn’t paying attention to as I gave into the temptation to check where the predator behind me was, sends me flying.
I shriek and throw my hands forwards to catch myself. My eyes slam shut as the forest floor whooshes up to meet me and I brace myself, legs already scrambling to get to my feet again and keep going.
But just as my fingertips touch the grass, I’m yanked back and to the side.
The man in the mask has me against his chest, and there’s a thump as his shoulder hits the ground. But I fall right on top of him, his solid torso cushioning me, and his hands at my waist. The air is knocked out of me anyway, and my head hits the top of his chest. My legs end up tangled with his.
“I’ve got you, lapochka,” he pants, nowhere near as out of breath as I am.
I’m exhausted. For a second, I give in.
But then I remember.
He hasn’t claimed a kiss. I can still win.
I throw myself into a roll to the side. The scent of the damp earth fills my nostrils. The leaves are soft beneath me and the morning light dances over my clawing fingers.
I drag myself a foot away before he realises what I’m doing. On my elbows and knees, I scrabble forwards. I’m maybe the width of a street from the wall. I have to get to my feet and run, or maybe I can reach it inch by inch.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he says hoarsely, and suddenly he’s over me, his huge body pinning me down. I keep trying to drag myself away, instinct telling me to continue fleeing, as though I could escape with his weight on me. He’s practically a tree.
I struggle and dig my fingers into the soil and the grass, fingernails grasping and desperation in my heart.
It’s almost animal-like, this fight.
He shifts, and for a second fear explodes in me as the bleak darkness and glow of his mask block everything out and I wriggle, pushing against him.
But there’s something worse there too as his big hands span my waist and hold me down effortlessly. Warm tingles down my spine.
Then his hand grips my hair, and his chest holds me down. I can’t move, and my brain stutters as I recognise that the heated bar right between the cheeks of my bottom is his cock.
Hard. Huge.
He has an erection from our chase. Liquid heat gushes between my legs and my nipples pucker. He rips his mask off with the other hand, and twists my hair so it goes tight and a shock of pleasure-pain flares over my scalp.
I let out an inarticulate cry.
My head is force around, and his face is there. Just as I remember last night. Part shadow, part highlighted. Square jaw and defined cheek bones. A nose with a kink from being broken many times, and a generous mouth, with lips hooked into a cruel smile of triumph.
Grey eyes that are almost inhuman. Wolf-like. His black eyelashes are excessively long.
He’s a machine, all stark lines, but also warm, human muscle.
His lips crash onto mine. My mouth falls open in a gasp and he takes. His tongue thrusts, and he demands my participation with a bite to my inner lip only a second later.
It’s punishing, this kiss, and god but I never ever thought it could be like this. He takes without words, and I submit, melting into letting this happen. Whatever he wants, I’ll give.
He grips my waist and glides his lips over my cheek to my ear, tickling me with his warm breath and the sandpaper of his stubble sending another shiver down my spine.
“First favour, Tess. Take it.” It’s a deep command, and I stop scrabbling.
But I’m still trembling.
And I’m hot between the legs. My breasts feel bigger than usual, the scrape of the ground on the sensitive peaks of my nipples is exquisite torture.
He makes a purring sound from deep in his throat, and in a second he’s flipped me onto my back and covered my body with his.
His shoulders are impossibly wide, and I don’t know why I find that detail so hot.
