Chapter 5 Landon
LANDON
The blue glow of my laptop screen illuminates my living room as I sip whiskey, watching her.
Sadie Reynolds. For someone who works in cybersecurity, she’s surprisingly careless about her own digital footprint.
I expected more resistance, more sophisticated safeguards.
They are there, but they’re not as difficult to crack as I’d expect considering how advanced she is in her skill set.
Three days of research, two YouTube tutorials, and one dark web forum later, I had everything I needed.
Her Google Home system was embarrassingly easy to access.
A few scripts, some basic redirects, and I was in.
Not my area of expertise—I prefer my surveillance analog when possible—but I’m a quick study when motivated.
And Sadie Reynolds motivates me like no one else.
I take another sip, watching as she enters her bedroom. Her hair is damp from the shower, wrapped in a towel that barely covers the curves. She hums a tune—I turn up the volume to catch the melody. Sounds like that band she mentioned in her last text to Jolene, the one she claimed was underrated.
My eyes follow her movements as she drops the towel, revealing smooth skin I’ve yet to touch. A familiar tightness builds in my pants as I lean closer to the screen. I palm myself through my jeans like a fucking pubescent teen.
Her bedroom is as I had imagined—minimalist, yet with carefully chosen personal touches. A vintage robot collection on her bookshelf. A framed abstract print above her bed. Three potted succulents lined up evenly on her windowsill.
She pulls on a faded university T-shirt, and I find myself strangely fascinated by this mundane ritual. Every movement, every gesture—they’re pieces of a puzzle I’m assembling. Who is Sadie Reynolds when no one is watching?
Except I’m watching. Always watching.
The Hunt is still ten days away, but patience has never been my strong suit, not with her.
She reaches for her nightstand, pulling a book from the top drawer. Even through the grainy feed, I recognize the cover—one of those dark erotic romance novels with a bare-chested man covered in ink on the front. My cock hardens instantly. I know what this means.
“Fuck,” I whisper, setting my glass down.
I’ve observed this ritual twice before. The way she settles against her pillows, how she thumbs through the pages until she finds a specific section. My breathing quickens as she shifts, her oversized shirt riding up her thighs.
No panties. Just like I suspected.
I lean closer, transfixed. She licks her finger before turning another page, and a primitive urge stirs inside me. Her lips part as she reads, and I find myself mirroring the gesture.
She’s twenty minutes in when her hand drifts downward, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her inner thigh. The book tilts in her other hand as her focus shifts. I adjust myself, uncomfortably hard now.
Her legs part wider, the shirt bunching around her waist. I can see everything—her fingers circling, then sliding inside. The book is forgotten beside her.
I’ve memorized her routine, how she starts slowly, builds rhythm, and occasionally pauses to extend the sensation. My hand moves to my belt buckle.
I unzip my pants and free my cock, already hard and throbbing. The image of Sadie touching herself shatters my control, and I grip myself tight, starting with slow, deliberate strokes.
“Mine,” I whisper to the empty room. “You don’t know it yet, but you’re already mine.”
Pre-cum beads at the tip as I watch her arch her back. I imagine my hands around her throat and her fingers clawing at my hand. The thought of her struggling beneath me—not out of fear but from the overwhelming pleasure I’d force upon her—makes me groan.
I pump faster, harder, imagining all the ways I’ll break her during the Hunt.
Not just her body, but that exquisite mind of hers.
I want to see the little nerd shatter under the weight of sensation’s she has never experienced before.
I want to push her past rational thought until she’s nothing but raw nerves and desperate need.
“I’ll have you begging,” I mutter, my voice rough. “Crying. Screaming.”
The fantasy shifts—Sadie blindfolded, her wrists bound above her head with the silk ties hanging in my closet.
Her body marked with my bites, my fingerprints bruised into her hips.
The vision of her struggling against the restraints, her voice hoarse from screaming my name, makes my cock pulse in my hand.
But it’s not just about fucking her. It’s about owning her. Possessing every fragment of her being. I want to crawl inside her head the way I’ve crawled into her home security system. I want to permeate every thought, every fear, every desire. Until all she sees is me. All she craves is me.
The pressure builds as I stroke faster, my breathing ragged. Sadie’s fingers grow more frantic, her body tensing. The synchronicity feels like destiny—like she’s already responding to me across the digital divide.
“You think you’re choosing this,” I growl, “but I chose you long before you knew I existed.”
Her back arches off the bed. I match her pace, my hand moving fast up and down my cock as I watch her chase her release.
“Come for me,” I whisper, though she can’t hear me. “Show me what you look like when you fall apart for me.”
Her breathing turns ragged, her chest heaving with each gasp. I’m close too, teetering on the edge as I watch her come apart. Her head presses back into the pillow, her lips parting as pleasure overwhelms her.
And then—
“Landon!”
My hand stops mid-stroke. The world stutters to a halt.
My name. My fucking name on her lips as she comes.
For a moment, I can’t breathe, can’t think. She’s thinking of me. While touching herself. While making herself come.
A roar tears from my throat as pleasure rips through my body without warning. I come violently, spurting hot and thick cum all over my hand, my pants, and even hitting the edge of my laptop.
“Fuck,” I hiss, staring at the mess I’ve made. I hate mess. I despise disorder. Yet she’s reduced me to this—a man who can’t even maintain control over his own bodily functions.
On screen, Sadie’s coming down from her high, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she whispers my name again, softer this time.
She’s thinking about me, too.
This changes everything. And nothing.
She was always going to be mine at the Hunt. The moment I selected her, her fate was sealed. But knowing she wants me too—that’s unexpected leverage to hold over her when I finally have her beneath me.
When she finally catches her breath, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and pads to her bathroom. The camera angle shifts as I toggle to the hallway feed, catching glimpses of her washing her hands.
She returns to her bedroom, placing the book back in her nightstand drawer—hiding her little secret as if it’s shameful. There’s a slight flush coloring her cheeks as she climbs back into bed and opens her laptop.
Like clockwork, she pulls up that ridiculous medical soap opera she watches every night before sleep. She curls onto her side, knees tucked up, looking so fucking vulnerable it makes my chest ache. Her hair fans across the pillow.
I should clean up. The cooling mess on my hand and my pants is uncomfortable. But I can’t move. I’m transfixed by the sight of her, so close yet untouchable for now. My body is humming with the need to be inside her.
Ten more days. Ten days until the Hunt. Ten days until I make her mine in every way that matters.
I drag my thumb across the screen, tracing the outline of her face through the digital barrier.
“Soon,” I whisper. “Soon you won’t have to imagine me. I’ll be deep inside of you, breaking you apart, making you understand the true meaning of pleasure.”
It’s a declaration and a vow. No matter what method I have to take to make it a reality, Sadie Reynolds will never think of another man again—not after I’m done with her.