Because I’m not.
I feel him watching me.
It’s the same feeling I used to get on the ice when I’d be practicing alone and I’d feel eyes on me. I wouldn’t see him. But I’d know. My body would know.
My heart skitters in my chest when I take another step and I finally see him.
He steps out from behind a mausoleum, and I notice his hood is up, but I can see the glow of his mask. Purple X’s over his eyes. A stitched purple grin where his mouth should be. Callum is completely still. Silent. Just watching.
He tilts his head, just once, like a predator sizing up prey.
My body knows it’s him. My brain does, too. But my instinct doesn’t care.
My breath catches roughly and I take off running.
I don’t think, I just move, my hair flying behind me as shoes hit the soft earth. I don’t scream, but I gasp, my chest tight as Idart behind a row of graves. I glance back over my shoulder and he’s right there.
Callum doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. He’s not running. He’s just stalking, and I realize that the chase isn’t the best part of this for him. He wants to watch me at every stage of this game.
When he does start moving, it’s not at an urgent pace. He’s got a fast, steady walking stride that says he knows exactly where I’ll go. That I can run all I want, but he’ll still catch me.
And God help me, I want him to, but I want to make this good for him.
The headstones blur in the corner of my vision as I race past them, and I realize that I’m weaving through the cemetery like prey in a forest. Cold air brushes my thighs, and my skirt rides up around my thighs with every jerky movement that I make. I duck behind a crooked mausoleum, my breath catching as I lean against the stone. He’s wearing me out, and he’s barely moved.
God, this is exactly what I wanted.
My pulse buzzes with anticipation low in my belly, radiating out through my limbs. I know what’s coming. I know what he’s going to do to me when he catches me, and the very thought makes my mouth go dry and my thighs clench. He’ll be rough. Possessive. Unrelenting. And I want that. I wanthimunhinged like that.
I wore this little light purple sweater with the dainty buttons just for him. It clings to me the way he likes, hugging my chest in a way that always makes his gaze drop. The white skirt I chose is soft and girly, patterned with tiny purple flowers and green leaves.
I want to be his fantasy. I want to bebetterthan his fantasy.
The graveyard is haunting at night, and the statues, the moss-covered angels and cherubs made of cracked stone, all look like they’re watching me. I feel him again.
I take a slow breath and peek around the edge of the mausoleum, searching for the purple glow of his mask.
Nothing.
The graveyard is still and oh, so quiet.
My breath catches again, but this time not from exertion. I tiptoe forward, scanning the rows of stones, stepping carefully so I don’t make too much noise. Every hair on my body is standing up. That same buzzing energy crawls up my spine.
He’s close.
I feel it.
I take another careful step and crash into something hard.
I don’t even have time to scream before I register the warmth, the size, the scent. Cedar. Smoke. Him. Callum Grey. My fucking cowboy.
My scream rips out anyway. Not because I’m afraid, but because he startled me.
I whirl and run, a breathless laugh escaping my lips as I bolt. I hear him this time and the thud of his boots on damp grass.
He’s letting me run.
That knowledge pulses through me like lightning. I’m only ahead because he wants me to be.
