And I know exactly what will happen when he decides to take what’s his.
My breath is ragged, chest heaving.
He’s close. I can feel him.
I dart between rows of old graves, weaving left, then right, desperate to break his line of sight even though I know there’s no escape. Not really. This game only ends one way, and that’s with me on my back and him buried deep inside of me.
Callum’s going to ruin me. And I want it. I want him to lose control. Tonight, I want to see what happens when he doesn’t hold back.
I peek around the corner of the mausoleum, but there’s no sign of him again. While I feel a rush of relief that must be my subconscious that hates being scared, I also feel disappointed.
The light from his mask is gone again. I squint into the darkness, but he’s nowhere. The entire graveyard feels still, suspended in time almost. Like there’s not another soul in the world except for me.
And then he’s on me.
Callum tackles me to the ground, but even in the fall, he’s careful. One arm wraps around my waist while the other cushions my shoulder as we roll through the grass. We land with him pinning me gently, completely taking control, but his big hands are gentle as he claims me.
His weight settles over me, and there’s a feeling of absolute glee that fills me. My wrists are caged above my head by just one of his giant hands. The grass tickles my calves, and my chest rises and falls against his. He's doing it again, playing the game too well. I want him to speak. I want him to give me a play-by-play of what he wants to do to me.
I pant. He’s completely still. Silent.
“Callum,” I whisper, but he tilts his head like a predator playing with his prey. Not acknowledging it.
I know how to get under this man’s skin, and this is a game after all, isn’t it? I know exactly what to say to get him talking, to get him worked up at the thought of another man in this very position with me. “Your last name and number are plastered all over your hoodie,” I tell him, and I sound absolutely breathless. “I know it’s you, cowboy.”
Nothing from him, so I pull out my secret weapon when I ask him, “Unless, of course, you want me to imagine someone else under this mask? Someone else pinning me down? Someone else coming inside my pussy?”
That gets him.
He lets go of my wrists and pulls the mask up just enough to show the irritated twist of his mouth. His expression is thunderous, like I offended him in some holy way.
Because I have, and I absolutely adore him when he’s like this.
“Who the fuck else would it be?” he growls at me.
I blink, stunned by the force of his reaction.
He rips the mask off completely and stares down at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“In what universe would I ever allow anyone else to get this close to you, bambi?” he snaps. “Spoiler alert: no such universe exists.”
My heart does a ridiculous little flip.
While he’s still mid-glare, I yank the mask down over his eyes and catch him off guard. He curses, just once, and I take advantage of the moment.
I twist out from under him and bolt.
I’m running again, and I laugh as I go.
“Let the hunt continue, cowboy,” I call out.
The eerie violet glow of the stitched eyes and mouth is the only warning I get before I feel him gaining on me. I glance back, breath ragged in my throat, just in time to catch the glint of the light slicing through the cemetery mist. He’s chasing me now. Not stalking, not circling. He’s hunting me, and he’s good at it.
I let out a startled, breathless laugh, the kind that sounds too close to a moan, and push myself harder, legs aching from the run. I weave around another crumbling tombstone, trying to keep the head start he’s allowed me, knowing in my bones this is the final stretch. He’s had enough of the chase.
And I want to be caught.
A blur of motion.
