No answer.
Of course no answer.
And that threat? What the fuck? Did we not just have a moment? Because to me, it felt like a moment. He kissed me, talked sweet to me, helped me.
And he abandoned you, Scarletta. Just like all the rest.
I press my back against the tree trunk and try to breathe. What is happening.
It's a challenge, obviously. I didn't fail the first one, the punishment—which was good, and hard, and still stings but in the most delicious way—was a set up from the preparation room.
I was meant to fail.
But this is different.
He doesn't want me to fail this challenge because if he did, he would've left me up here before walking the plank, not after helping me across.
Which means…
Still pressing my back against the tree, I lean over a little, trying to see the other side of the tree.
Sure enough, there's a platform. And nailed to the platform is an envelope.
Challenge two.
I need to move. It's literally like eighteen inches to the other side of the tree, but it's a really long way down. I look. I can't help it. I think I see a net. In fact, I'm pretty sure I do see a net, which makes sense because this place seems to be set up like acorporate retreat challenge exercise. If those came with naked women and gyno-tubs.
This is a professional set up. A real place that does business. Probably not corporate team-building, but something for billionaires. Like the auction.
Fake enough to keep you from dying, real enough to scare the fuck out of you.
The point of the hunt—which doesn't quite fit so far. He's not hunting me, so I don't get it. But anyway, the point of this is to trust him. He made that perfectly clear. He got me across the plank. Now I need to step up and show him that Idotrust him. That every single thing he asks me to do here issafe.
Because he set it up, because he's watching.
It's a good story. Slightly twisted. Maybe too twisted for my readers. They like a good subplot, but only if it's attached to spice.
And this subplot certainly is.
God, the way he licked me.
Last time I missed most of that. I get that it happened—intellectually, I know his mouth was on me, his tongue working me over—but I don'trememberfeeling it. Not really. The whole experience exists in fragments, disjointed snapshots that don't quite connect into a coherent memory.
This time, though… this time I definitely felt it. Every single second of it.
I bet he puts his whole mouth across my pussy. Not just his tongue—his entire mouth. Seals it over me andsucks, pulling at my clit while his tongue flicks and presses and explores.
And that beard stubble of his… holy shit. I can still feel the ghost of it scratching the inside of my thighs, rubbing them raw in the best possible way. The slight burn mixing with the wet heat of his mouth, the contrast making everything sharper, more intense.
I let out a long, shaky breath, my pussy throbbing hard just picturing his mouth between my legs again. His grey eyes looking up at me while he devours me, watching my face while he tears me apart with that skilled, relentless tongue.
"All right, Scarletta," I mutter to myself, trying to shake off the heat building between my legs. "If you want his big, hard cock in your sopping wet pussy again—exceed his expectations."
I snicker at my own ridiculous internal pep talk.
But yeah. I'll do it.
Whatever it takes.
