Chapter 4
CAUGHT
Seraphina
" G ot you," he growls against my ear, his breath hot. His arms are like steel bands around me, holding me effortlessly despite my struggles.
No, no, no. Fuck!
I twist in his grip, trying to break free, but he's so much stronger than me it's almost laughable.
My feet barely touch the ground as he lifts me against his chest, and I can feel the hard planes of his body through his open shirt.
The tattoos I glimpsed earlier are more visible now—intricate smoke and tree designs that disappear beneath the fabric.
Why me? All I wanted was to go to the office party in this slutty little costume and take someone home with me at the end of the night. Instead, I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere with a masked man at least twice my size, and I didn’t even get fucked.
"Shh," he says, practically dragging me back toward the pumpkin patch like I weigh nothing at all. I fight against him, but it’s no use. "You ran well, night monster. Better than I expected. But you weren’t fast enough."
The fog parts around us as we emerge from the forest, revealing the glowing jack-o'-lanterns scattered throughout the clearing.
Up close, they're even more elaborate than I initially realized—some are true works of art, with intricate patterns carved into their surfaces that throw complex shadows across the ground.
Others are genuinely terrifying, all sharp angles and menacing expressions.
This is insane. All of this is absolutely insane.
He carries me to what I think is the center of the field, where several pathways converge around a particularly large pumpkin. This one isn't carved—instead, it sits whole and perfectly untouched, surrounded by thick vines that sprawl across the ground in tangled patterns.
"Perfect," he says, throwing me down beside the pumpkin. "Absolutely perfect."
Before I can even think about running again, he's grabbing my wrists and stretching them over my head, securing them in a way that spreads me wide. But instead of rope this time, he's using the pumpkin vines themselves, twisting them around my arms and tightening intricate knots. I kick at him as he moves to my feet, pulling my legs apart until they won’t stretch any more. I feel exposed to not only him, but the entire field around us. It’s like each carved pumpkin is watching, grinning as they wait to see what happens next.
Who ties someone up with pumpkin vines of all things?
"They’re stronger than you'd think," he says like he’s reading my mind. "Flexible, but they don't break easily." He leans closer, his voice dropping to that dangerous, spine-tingling whisper again. "I thought you'd appreciate the festivity of it."
The vines are rough against my skin, and their sharp little thorns bite into my wrists as I pull against them, but he’s right. They’re too strong.
"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "I’ve got you right where I want you, and now you can’t run from what you really want."
What I really want?
"You don’t know anything about what I want," I snap at him.
But the truth is, the terror is still there, loud and in my face, but it's mixing with something else now… That something makes my skin feel hypersensitive and my pulse race.
"Your mouth says one thing," he murmurs, kneeling over me. "But your body is telling a very different story."
He's right, and I hate him for it. My body is responding to him and this entire fucked-up situation in ways that make no sense. My breathing is shallow and quick, my skin feels flushed and hot, and there's a growing ache between my thighs.
What is wrong with me?
"Look at you," he growls, reaching out to trace one finger along my collarbone.
His touch burns like fire against my bare skin.
"Your pupils are dilated. Your pulse is racing.
Your skin is flushed." His finger trails lower, following the lace edge of my corset.
"And I bet if I checked, I'd find you're wet for me already. "
Oh god.
"You’re wrong," I whisper, but it comes out breathless and unconvincing.
"Let's find out, shall we?" There’s an amused twinkle in his eyes as he watches me through the mask. Like he already knows what he’ll find.
His hands are on my thighs before I can process what he's doing, sliding up beneath my short skirt at a tortuously slow speed.
I should fight him. I should scream.
Someone might hear me.
I should do anything except lay here trembling while a stranger—a kidnapper —touches me like he fucking owns me.
But that's exactly what I do. I lay here, bound by pumpkin vines and my own traitorous desires, while he begins exploring my body.
" Fuck ," he hisses when his fingers find the lace of my underwear. "You're soaked."
Shame . Hot, burning shame floods through me, followed immediately by arousal so intense it makes my knees quake. How can I be turned on by this? How can my body betray me so completely?
"Please," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm begging him to stop or to continue.
"Please what, night monster?" His fingers trace the outer edge of my panties, not quite touching where I need him most. "Please stop? Please don't?" His voice drops again, throaty and entangled with desire. "Or please don't stop?"
I can't answer. I literally cannot form words while his hands are on me like this, while he's looking at me like I'm his next meal.
"That's what I thought," he says, confirming what I’m too ashamed to say out loud.
He pulls my panties aside and slides one finger inside me, slow and deliberate and undeniably devastating. I arch against the restraints, a sound escaping my throat that's part moan, part sob.
This is wrong. This is so wrong.
But it feels too good to be wrong.
"You're so fucking tight," he groans, adding a second finger and making me cry out. "So perfect. Your pussy was waiting for me, wasn’t it? Look at it," he says as he removes his fingers and shows me how wet they are. “You’re weeping for me, baby.”
His thumb finds my clit at the same time his fingers plunge back inside me, curling at that perfect angle, and suddenly I can't think at all. There's only sensation—heat and pressure and pleasure so intense it walks the line of pain.
"That's it," he says, his voice low and throaty. "Let go. Stop fighting what you want."
I can’t want this. I shouldn’t want this.
But my body is singing under his touch, every nerve ending alive and desperate for more. The vines around my wrists keep me from folding in on myself as he works me with large fingers, bringing me closer and closer to the edge of sanity.
"You're close, aren't you?" He leans in, his lips pressing against my clit as he continues pumping into me. "I can feel your pussy gripping my fingers like a fucking vice. How desperate you are. How much you want this." Each puff of his breath makes me jolt at the overwhelming sensation.
Yes . The word echoes in my head, but I refuse to say it out loud.
"Come for me, night monster," he whispers, and his voice so demanding it sends a new wave of chills through me. "Show me how pretty you are when you come all over my fingers."
His wet tongue flicks against my clit in tandem with the thrust of his fingers, and I shatter.
The orgasm hits me like lightning, tearing through my body with an intensity that makes me scream. My vision goes black, my muscles lock, and for a moment I'm lost to the ecstasy of him .
When I finally come back to myself, I'm shaking and gasping and completely horrified by what just happened.
He's still touching me, still moving his fingers gently inside me, drawing out aftershocks that make me whimper. I want to close my legs to relieve how sensitive and exposed I’m feeling, but the vines stop me.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, finally withdrawing his hand and bringing it to his mouth. "Absolutely fucking beautiful." He opens his mouth, letting his tongue roll over his fingers in a flat, lazy motion. He tastes me. I mean, really tastes me, licking until there’s none of me left on his fingers.
I can't look away from him. I can't believe I just... that I actually…
How is this real?
"Mmm," he moans, reaching for something at his belt. "I’ve had a taste, but I think I need more."
The knife appears in his hand—the same silver blade he used to cut my ropes earlier. The moonlight hits it perfectly, making it gleam brightly against the dark night.
He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me and I just let him?—
I inhale sharply, jamming my eyes shut as he brings it to my cheek. He uses the flat of the blade to trace patterns across my cold skin. The metal is icy against my overheated flesh, making me shiver and arch despite my fear.
"Relax," he says, noting my tension. "I won’t hurt you. Well," his smile turns sinister, "not in any way you won't thoroughly enjoy."
The knife trails down my throat, following the fake blood from my vampire costume. He pauses at my collarbone, using just the tip to trace the edge of my corset.
This is insane. He's insane.
And I’m fucking insane for not hating this.
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" he questions, and I can tell one of his eyebrows is arched by the way his forehead crinkles above his mask.
I shake my head silently.
"I'm going to taste every inch of you," he says, sliding the knife lower.
"I'm going to use my mouth and my tongue and my teeth until you're begging for more.
" The blade catches on a loose thread of my costume, cutting through it effortlessly.
"And then I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. "
Fuck.
The crude words should horrify me, but instead they send heat shooting straight between my legs. My body is already responding again, already wanting more of him.
"But first," he says, cutting my panties off and falling to his knees between my legs, "I want to taste what I've done to you."
His hands are on my thighs again, spreading me wider as he presses them into the dirt, and then his mouth is on me and I'm lost once more.
Lost to him. To this place. To the awakened feeling growing inside my chest.
He doesn't tease this time, and doesn't build slowly.
His tongue finds my clit immediately and works it in firm circles, making me arch and strain against the vines holding me in place.
The feeling is overwhelming—his hot mouth, the rough texture of his beard against my inner thighs, the cool October air hitting the most sensitive parts of me.
I try to hold back, try to maintain some shred of dignity, but it's useless. Within seconds, I'm grinding against his mouth out of desperation, chasing another orgasm that I shouldn't want but need more than air.
"That's it," he growls against me, the vibration of his voice making me cry out. "Don't fight it. Give me what I want."
He slides two fingers back inside me while his mouth continues its assault on my clit, occasionally dipping between my folds, and the sensation is too much. I come again, even harder this time, my whole body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.
This is wrong. This is so wrong, but it feels so…
When he finally pulls away, I'm hanging limp in my restraints, completely spent. My legs feel like jelly. I let my head fall back, collapsing into the dirt below me.
I watch him through hooded eyes as he rises to his full height, eyes never leaving my body. "Absolutely perfect."
He picks up the knife again, and he cuts through the vines holding me in place. They fall away, and I immediately scramble backwards, my legs too weak to hold me.
He stops me before I collide with the giant pumpkin, and his hands are surprisingly gentle.
"Easy," he says, his eyes shockingly kind. "This is only the beginning. Don’t quit on me now."
I stare up at him in confusion, taking in the sharp angles of his face in the moonlight. The devil mask is still there, but it’s easy to see how devastatingly handsome he is. His green eyes are bright with satisfaction, and what looks almost like... fondness?
That can't be right.
"I don't understand," I whisper, my voice hoarse from screaming through my orgasms. "What do you want from me?"
His smile is dark and predatory. "I want you to run again."
What?
"Run again?" I stare at him like he's lost his mind. "You just... and now you want me to..."
"Run," he says again, stepping back and giving me space, but his voice goes cold. "The night is young. We're just getting started. Now run ."
I look around the field, trying to process what just happened. My body is still humming with the aftereffects of two orgasms, my mind reeling with confusion and shame and fear.
He could have done anything to me just now. He could have…
But he didn't. He pleasured me until I cried out for him, then cut me free and told me to run again.
What kind of monster is he?
"Why?" I ask, daring to question him.
"Because the chase is only half the fun," he says, his voice rich with dark promise. "And because I'm not nearly done with you yet."
I look toward the forest, then back toward the pumpkin patch. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to run toward the trees, to try to escape into the darkness and find help. But another part of me is curious about what will happen if I stay. If I play his game.
"Choose quickly," he says, and there's a spark of amusement in his voice now. "I'm going to start counting again in about ten seconds, and this time I won't be quite so... gentle when I catch you."
Gentle ? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Nothing about what just happened was gentle.
But looking at him now, at the predatory gleam in his eyes and the way he's watching me like a cat watching a mouse, I realize he's probably right.
Run .
I break into a full sprint, willing my legs to hold me upright.
Behind me, I hear his low chuckle echo through the fog.
And then the hunt begins again.