Chapter 10
I heard it before I saw it—laughter echoing sharp and high, broken by a scream that wasn’t terror. It was pleasure. The sound ricocheted across the dark canopy overhead, bouncing off steel and stone and thick palm fronds like a challenge.
A woman had been caught.
Another followed. Then another.
Not all at once. Not close together. But the cries kept coming—staggered and breathless and wild. I imagined their bodies pinned to walls or cages or cool stone, their thighs shaking, their mouths gasping as someone—some man—took what they’d come here for.
And I knew then: it was happening all around me.
Women being hunted. Taken. Worshiped and ruined in ways they’d craved so deeply.
But I wasn’t ready to be caught yet.
Not until I’d earned it.
Until I’d teased Ronan like he’d teased me.
I crept into a clearing near the Africa exhibit, where the enclosures stretched wide and dimly lit for the animals that roamed even now—zebra, giraffe, kudu, antelope.
Their shapes moved through moonlight with a kind of elegant detachment, untouchable and unbothered, like they didn’t care who watched.
I watched them, though.
Watched the way they moved. Silent. Observant. Still until the moment called for motion.
There was something in it. Something I could use.
I ducked through a break in the landscaping and followed a narrow maintenance path that curved behind the lion habitat. My pulse quickened as I passed it—the knowledge that something more powerful than me prowled just beyond the fence added a delicious edge to the night.
And then I saw it. A perfect spot.
A grove of dense palms near a viewing platform, elevated enough to give me a full view of the path but shadowed enough to keep me hidden. I slid into position, crouching low, every sense burning.
Now I was the predator.
Footsteps passed—twice.
Two different men, neither of them Ronan. One was tall and broad with long strides and a military posture, his face hard and unsmiling. The other looked younger. Cockier. Smirking as he scanned the trees.
Both were hunting. But neither for me.
Then came the third.
I knew it was him before I saw his face.
My body knew.
My blood recognized the gravity of his presence. The air thickened, charged. The hair on my arms rose.
Ronan.
He moved like night itself—quiet and precise, all dark fabric and measured strength. His gaze was sharp, sweeping the perimeter with calm confidence, like he already knew I was there. Like he just wanted me to believe he didn’t.
I waited until he was directly in front of me.
For a single, suspended moment, I let myself feel it.
The pulse in my throat.
The electric hum beneath my skin.
The wild, burning truth of what this was.
Everything about him—about this—was wrong in all the ways that made it feel so impossibly right.
I’d never been more alive. Never been more aware of every nerve, every shallow breath, every slick throb of anticipation between my thighs.
My body was taut with it. Strung tight and trembling, like the pause before a thunderclap.
I had no idea what would happen next.
And that was the most thrilling part of all.
Not knowing if he’d pin me down or pull me close.
Not knowing if I’d beg or bite.
Not knowing if this moment would break me open or finally make me whole.
He was the storm, and I was the girl who had run headfirst into it.
Not because I wanted to be saved.
But because I wanted to feel the wind tear through me.
Because I wanted to burn.
This wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just a game.
It was surrender wrapped in power.
Worship disguised as war.
I could feel it in the way my body coiled, aching to collide with his. In the way my breath caught at the sight of him, as if I’d been drowning and only now remembered how to breathe.
He was my fear and my freedom .
And tonight—I got to choose both.
Then I pounced.
I launched myself from the palms and tackled him with enough force to send us both tumbling into the grass. But it wasn’t violent. It was breathless. Sensual. Intentional.
I landed on top of him, straddling his hips, my thighs snug against his sides, hands pressed flat against the hard planes of his chest. He grunted, low and rough, one hand catching my waist.
“Zara.”
His voice was molten.
And I smiled.
“Thought I’d try being the hunter for once.”
He didn’t speak. Just stared at me like he wanted to devour every inch.
So I rocked my hips, slow and sinful, grinding against the thick ridge of his cock beneath the fabric.
His eyes flared.
“I’m not the only one who’s been running,” I whispered.
He gripped my hips harder. “You think you’ve caught me?”
“No,” I said, leaning down until my mouth was at his ear. “But I can make you wish I had.”
I kissed him—hard and deep. My tongue swept into his mouth like a challenge, and he groaned, hips lifting, already losing the war he’d come here to win.
I felt how badly he wanted me.
And for a heartbeat, I didn’t care who won.
His breath was ragged when I pulled back, our lips wet, the taste of him still on my tongue.
He stared up at me, chest rising beneath my palms, pupils blown wide in the shadows. “You’re dangerous,” he said quietly.
I smiled. “You like that.”
His hands skimmed up my thighs, slow and reverent. But instead of pulling me closer, he stilled them at my hips. His eyes lifted to mine, darker now. Steel-hard. The predator returned.
“I want you,” he said. “So badly I can’t fucking think.”
The words slammed into me like a drug.
“But when I take you, it won’t be here. Not rushed. Not sloppy. It’ll be deliberate. It’ll wreck you. And you’ll never want anyone else again."
I was trembling, aching, undone.
And still he didn’t move.
Didn’t give in.
Didn’t fuck me in the grass the way I wanted.
Because he needed control.
And somehow—I needed that, too.
He pushed up, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing—like I was already his to carry.
We rose together in the dark, tangled in breath and heat, our bodies brushing in ways that only stoked the fire still pulsing beneath my skin.
His hand curled around the nape of my neck, thumb sweeping along my jaw with aching reverence as he kissed me again.
Softer this time.
Slower.
Like he wanted to memorize the shape of my mouth.
It didn’t matter that we were still outside, that the night hummed around us with distant life. That kiss stripped me bare in a way no amount of undressing ever could. It wasn’t a demand. It was a promise. And it undid me completely .
Then, with a quiet breath against my lips, he murmured, “Let’s go.”
Before I could move, he slipped his arms around me—one beneath my knees, the other cradling my back—and lifted me off the ground in one smooth, unhurried motion. I gasped, my arms flying around his neck, my heart hammering against his chest.
“Ronan,” I whispered, startled by the sheer intimacy of it.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and certain.
And I believed him.
Not just that he could carry me.
But that he would.
Through anything.
His steps were steady, deliberate, the rhythm of his body soothing against mine as he moved through the shadows with me in his arms. The scent of him wrapped around me, grounding me even as everything else floated.
I let my head rest against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the sounds of the zoo faded behind us—rustling leaves, the soft rustle of wings, the distant call of something wild. A fantasy unraveling, thread by golden thread, until all that remained was him.
Us.
Each step he took felt like it carried more than just my weight—it carried meaning. Devotion. The kind of silent worship no one ever taught me to expect. The kind I’d stopped believing was real.
His grip was firm but tender, protective without ever caging me. I felt powerful in his arms, not small. Desired, not claimed. And with every breath I took, I ached for more.
Of this .
Of him.
Of whatever this thing was between us that burned hotter and hotter.
By the time we reached the gate, I wasn’t thinking about the games we’d played or the rules we’d broken. I was thinking about the way he held me like he never wanted to let go.
And how much I already didn’t want him to.
Inside the locker room, my clothes were waiting, neatly folded, untouched.
Except—
There was a dress.
Not mine.
The one from the Marketplace. Green silk. Backless. Short and thin as breath. A high slit that would tease with every step. I stared at it, lips parting.
“You bought this?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
Because, of course, he had.
But what startled me more—what sent a pulse of heat through me that had nothing to do with the fabric—was that he’d followed me into the locker room without hesitation. No apology. No pause. He didn’t ask if he could. He just did.
He was in the women’s space like it belonged to him. Like I did.
And that certainty, that unapologetic boldness, sent a thrill through me I couldn’t explain.
He moved like he could go anywhere.
And worse—like no one would stop him even if they tried.
“I didn’t see you buy it,” I said.
“You weren’t supposed to.”
A shiver danced down my spine .
He came up behind me, fingers brushing the hanger. “No bra. No panties. You wear this. Only this.”
I inhaled, slow and deep, already imagining the feel of it against my bare skin. The way it would cling. The way every man would look, and know they couldn’t have me.
Because I belonged to Ronan.
I nodded.
He watched me dress, eyes devouring every inch as I peeled off the bodysuit and slipped into the silk. I felt bolder under his gaze. Unapologetic. Wild.
When I turned to him fully dressed, his nostrils flared. “You look like a fucking reward.”
And then he took my hand again.
The driver was waiting in the SUV, engine humming low. We stepped into the cool leather interior without a word.
I turned for one last glance at the zoo.
At the trees. The enclosures. The shadows that had made me feel more alive than any place ever had.