I glance back, he’s gaining.
“Shit,” I whisper, giddy.
I’m being hunted by a masked monster with a knife and a raging hard-on, and I’ve never felt more alive. Moreme.
But fate is a fucking sadist.
My foot catches on a root. I go down. Hard.
“Fuck!” I hiss, pain splintering through my shin. “Seriously? You dumb bitch, you’ve seen this movie a hundred times.”
I groan, rolling onto my back.
And then I hear it.
Boots.
Crunching. Nearing.
He’s here.
I look up, and I smile.
Because I don’t want to be saved.
I want to betaken.
"Need a hand, sweetheart?" The voice is smooth, dark velvet laced with mischief, echoing from behind the Guy Fawkes mask.
I look up, breathless, filthy, sore in all the right ways, and still aching for more. His gloved hand extends toward me like temptation itself.
I take it.
"Thank you," I murmur, chest rising as my naked body brushes his. A delicious pulse sparks in the space between us.
His voice dips low. “You have no idea how fucking perfect you look like this… skin flushed, pussy wet, begging for a cock. I want to ruin that mouth with my kiss, but…”
He leans in close, and even through the mask, I feel the heat of his restraint.
“…we’re still playing the game. And I want toearnmy prize.”
"Who says you'll catch me?" I tease, lips brushing the edge of his mask. “And what's with you all calling me a prize?”
“Youareone,” he growls. “A wet, reckless, feral little gift from the gods. And judging by that limp? I won’t have to chase long.”
I should be embarrassed. But his words crawl over my skin like silk-tipped knives, and I let them pierce.
"Maybe I could hobble a few feet before you throw me down and make me yours again."
His cock hardens against me, thick and unmistakable through his pants.
"Give you a head start?"
“Define head start.” I smirk, already stepping backward.
"You just said ‘lol’ out loud, didn’t you?" His tone darkens with amusement. “What the fuck.”
“I’m not like everyone else.” I shrug. “Get used to it.”
