I inch my way around the tree trunk, keeping my back pressed against the rough bark. The platform is exactly what I thought it would be—a small wooden ledge that feels stable enough under my bare feet.
I exhale hard, my heart still racing, but slowing down now that I'm not actively terrified of plummeting to my death.
"See? You did it," I whisper to myself.
And I actually did. Without him holding my hand this time. Without his mouth distracting me or his voice guiding me.
I kind of want him to acknowledge that. To tell me I did good.
But he's not here, so I bend down and pick up the envelope that's nailed to the platform.
The paper feels expensive between my fingers. Heavy card stock, the kind you'd use for wedding invitations. I break the wax seal—because of course there's a wax seal—and pull out the card.
My filthy little Valentine wants to earn my cock,
Square your shoulders, set your jaw, and prepare yourself for shock.
Zip down the line to station 2, trust gravity and steel?—
At the end you'll get your chance to be fucked with something real.
Spread wide upon the cross you'll wait, exposed for all to see,
Then maybe if you're very good, I'll let you come for me.
I read it twice.
Then a third time because my brain is struggling to process the words "exposed for all to see."
Who'sall? Who the fuck is watching this besides him?
I glance up at the harness suspended from the zip line. It's professional grade—thick nylon straps, metal carabiners, the kind of equipment rock climbers use. Not some sketchy DIY project that's going to snap halfway through.
He wouldn't let me fall. I know that now.
The plank proved it. He walked me across. Kissed me between steps. Made it feel like the most natural thing in the world to trust him sixty feet in the air.
And the way he touched my face after. Gentle. Almost reverent.
That wasn't part of the plan. I don't think it was, anyway. The kiss felt spontaneous. Like he wanted to do it and just… did.
Like maybe he actually likes me.
Not just my body, or my stories, or the way I submit to him. Butme.
Which is insane. I know it's insane. He's a literal murderer who's been stalking me for six months and orchestrated an entire fake auction just to own me.
But he also killed Derek. For me. Because Derek hurt me.
And he memorized my stories. Not just read them—memorizedthem. Quoted them back to me word for word.
He thinks I'm exceptional.
I look at the harness again, studying how it's designed. Two leg loops, a waist belt, and a chest strap. The attachment point connects to a pulley system on the zip line cable.
This is just like the corporate team-building courses I've seen in movies. Except those people wear clothes and don't have "spread wide upon the cross" waiting for them at the end.
My pussy clenches at the thought.
