Don’t You Pucking Dare (The Blackridge Reapers #2)

Chapter 9

I run until the music fades to a dull thrum, my heart pounding against my ribs. The same old panic claws at my throat— the one that always comes when things get too intense, too close.

The side door deposits me into the night air, away from the masked figure guarding the front. Away from what just happened in the house library. Away from hands that touched too much, too fast.

My cello would know what to do with this chaos. Music always has rules, boundaries, perfect mathematical precision. But here, in this world of parties and boys and stolen journals, I'm fumbling in the dark.

I don't even know his name. Mason? Max? It doesn't matter. What matters is that I let him touch me only to run away like always. The same old pattern—get close enough to feel alive, then flee before it consumes me.

The garden appears like a gift, a maze of carefully sculpted hedges rising into the night sky. It seems out of place here, too elegant for a house that hosts these kinds of parties. But maybe that's fitting— I don't belong here either.

The paths draw me deeper into their shadows. At least here, surrounded by walls of green, no one can see me try to put myself back together.

The garden paths twist like sheet music written by a madman, leading everywhere and nowhere. Each turn brings another identical corridor of perfectly trimmed hedges. I should go back, but something pulls me deeper.

Then I feel it.

Not the casual awareness of being watched from the party. This is different— predatory. The air changes, grows heavy with intent. Every horror movie I've ever watched screams at me to run, but isn't that always the fatal mistake?

A rustle behind me. I spin, heart in my throat, but there's only shadows and silence. The path ahead disappears into darkness, and the path behind looks different somehow, twisted.

Another sound— a twig snapping. My skin prickles with awareness. This is real. This is happening. The mysterious invitation, the feeling of being watched all day, and now...

"Hello?" My voice sounds small in the vast garden. I reach for my phone, but of course— I gave it to Kiah because this stupid dress doesn't have pockets. "Damn it."

The curse hangs in the air like a prayer. In the distance, music still pulses from the house, but here in the maze, even that feels wrong. Distorted.

Like something wants me to know how alone I really am.

I huff, pretty pissed that I don’t have my phone. I’m most likely missing Levi’s call tonight.

"Damn what?" The voice behind me is dark honey over gravel.

I freeze. Not the guy from the library. Someone else. Someone worse.

Suddenly a figure is towering over me from behind, his finger traces down my cheek, gathering my hair back to expose the back of my neck. My body betrays me, shivering at the touch despite my intense fear screaming at me to run.

"Hello, Duchess." His breath fans against my ear. "I asked you a question."

"My phone," I whisper, absolutely terrified. "I left it… inside."

His laugh vibrates through me, chest pressed against my back like a wall of heat. "Wandering alone in a Reaper's garden without protection? That's not very smart."

"I wasn't—" I try to turn, but he holds me still.

"Good girls don't lie." His hand slides down my side, possessive. "And they certainly don't let boys touch them in libraries."

My breath catches. The door was closed. How did he—

"Let me show you what you've been missing."

His fingers find the hem of my dress, and I should run, should scream, should do anything but stand here trembling as desire wars with fear. But something in his touch speaks to me–– like the library guy was a joke and this guy… is a real man who knows what he’s doing.

My hand catches his wrist at the last moment as I turn my head to the side. "I don't know you." He’s wearing a mask.

"But you knew him?" Dark amusement colors his voice. "What was his name then, Duchess?"

"M-Matteo?" I curse my stammering voice. I was aiming for confidence.

"Maverick," he corrects, and I can hear his smile. "Now stop pretending you're not curious, Duchess. Let go of my fucking hand, and I’m going to show you something you’ll never forget."

I release his wrist at the tone of his voice. The brick wall appears before me as he spins me around, cool against my heated skin. His mask is black as sin when I finally look up. He’s one of them, maybe the guy who stalked me, slipped the invitation in my bag, and took my music journal.

His fingers glide up my thighs, and I’m scared. I’m frozen, unable to move. I have no idea who this man is, but the one thing I do know is that he’s tall and his hands are huge.

"Were you following me?" I manage between gasps. My entire body is trembling. He keeps gliding his fingers up my thighs until he reaches the barrier of my underwear. He wastes no time rubbing against me.

"I always know where you are." His words sink into my bones. "Always."

I don’t know why I can’t ask him to stop. It must be the intensity of his eye contact, the adrenaline coursing through me, or the quickness of his hands. His touch is like fire on my skin. He pushes my underwear to the side and doesn’t do what the previous guy did, no. He’s not just feeling my pussy and telling me I’m wet. He’s rubbing me into an orgasm, staring at me, pressing his hard dick against my side, and holding my neck with his other hand.

But I can’t lose control. Never all the way. Never completely. But this is terrifying me. His experienced fingers know exactly what they’re doing and the anxiety ripping through me is building a fucking mountain inside of me. And she’s climbing it quickly. He grips my neck tighter.

"Look at me," he demands because he knows the pressure is about to explode. "Fucking look at me."

I dare to look into his eyes as he rubs my clitoris so fucking good.

His eyes are beautiful as I stare into them.

My hips ride his fast fingers as my insides ache for something more.

"That’s a good fucking girl," he groans.

And that makes me lose it. The sweet release has me clawing at his suit, craving more. I shatter from his fingers, his mask the last thing I see before I close my eyes.

But he doesn't stop.

"Good girl," he breathes, and something in his voice reaches straight into my soul.

The only part of his face I can see above the mask is his forehead and dark hair, falling in perfect disarray. "Who are you?"

He doesn't answer, just leans closer until his mask brushes my neck. The scent of expensive cologne mingles with night air as he crowds me against the wall. His body is hard and muscled. Athletic.

I should be terrified. I'm alone in a maze with a masked stranger who seems to know exactly how to break down my carefully constructed walls. Instead, I find myself arching closer, drawn to him.

"Join me," he commands, guiding my hand to follow his movements. Teaching me how to destroy myself.

He inserts my fingers inside of myself as he continues to rub my clit.

Jesus Christ, I don’t want to be doing this, but my body is betraying me because it feels so fucking good.

The question of his identity fades as he works me up again. The smell of cologne and minty breath. He’s overbearingly large, consuming me whole. All I see is him. His eyes are penetrating me. All that matters is this moment, this surrender, this perfect loss of control.

My last coherent thought before ecstasy claims me again: I never knew falling could feel so much like flying.

"I can't—" My voice breaks as stars explode behind my eyes.

"You can," he growls, relentless. "Show me what happens when the perfect girl finally breaks."

And I do. My pussy fucking throbs for something bigger than my fingers as he makes me climb Mount Everest and forces me to keep fucking going. Wave after wave crashes over me until I'm boneless against the wall, destroyed in the best possible way.

"Please," I breathe.

"Please, what?" he asks in complete control. He’s not breathless or fazed.

I inhale, scared. "Tell me who you are."

He presses my clit once more before putting my underwear back over my pussy and removing his hold on me.

He lifts his mask just enough to reveal a cruel smile. The same smile I'd noticed earlier, watching me from across the party. His fingers brush my lips, making me taste myself, before he steps back into shadow.

"Sweet dreams, Duchess." His voice carries on the night air. "Tell your father I said hello."

I still.

What the fuck?