I could hide under the desk, but that's too obvious.
I keep moving, deeper into the maze.
Another door—a supply closet, too small.
Another—a conference room with a long table.
I crawl underneath, pulling chairs to hide myself better.
I hear him in the distance, counting down: "Five... four... three... two... one. Ready or not, little lamb."
I can hear him moving methodically through the area.
Doors opening, closing.
His footsteps unhurried.
He knows I can't escape.
This is his domain.
"I can smell you," he calls out. "Your fear. Your arousal. You're dripping for me, aren't you?"
I am.
The terror and excitement mix into something intoxicating.
I press further under the table, trying to control my breathing.
His footsteps get closer.
Pause outside my door.
The handle turns.
He enters, and I hold my breath.
Through the chairs, I can see his expensive shoes moving around the room.
He stops at the table.
"I know you're here," he says softly. "I can hear your heart racing."
I burst from under the table, trying to dodge past him, but he catches me easily, spinning me against the wall.
His body pins mine, and I can feel how hard he is.
"Caught you."
"Please—"
"Fight me."
So I do.
I struggle against his hold, try to knee him, claw at him.
But he's stronger, bigger, and he uses my struggles against me, forcing my legs apart with his knee.
