CHAPTER EIGHT #2
I flutter my lashes at the glowing mask and bite my bottom lip as I trail a finger down his torso, slow and deliberate, drifting lower.
He pulls away before I can keep going and pushes me up against the gazebo.
Then his leather glove clamps over my mouth.
“What did I say, princess? Don’t fucking do that again.
” He pauses, the silence stretching like he’s weighing his next move.
His voice dips lower, almost amused. “Hmm… maybe I should punish you.”
Oh shit… Please.
His gaze drops to my chest, watching it rise and fall with each rapid breath. I’m no longer cold; my entire body is burning, hot and ready for him. “Wait a second… are you turned on?” he teases, and I can almost hear the smirk in his voice. I pause, unsure of what to say.
Do I admit it?
I seize his hand from my mouth, boldness surging through me as I push him back against the maze wall. My lips hover near the cold surface of his mask, breath brushing between us. My palms rest on his chest, right over his heart, which is pounding like it’s trying to break free.
“I think you’re the one who’s turned on,” I whisper, letting a smirk tug at my lips.
“Your heart’s practically trying to escape your chest.” My hands trail lower, slowly, deliberately, until they reach the length straining against his expensive pants.
My hand molds to his bulge as I firmly feel the hard erection, and I audibly gasp…
He’s huge. What am I doing? This isn’t me.
“It looks like I was right… Beck.”
He doesn’t correct me. Doesn’t say yes. Doesn’t say no. Just stares. He doesn’t respond when I say his name, but something shifts in the air. Something unreadable.
Did I say the wrong thing? Is this not Beck?
His fist clenches at his side, knuckles straining beneath his glove.
Then slowly, he exhales and releases. His fingers wrap around mine, the one still resting against his hard cock.
He guides my hand upward, controlled and slow, until the back of it meets the cool surface of his mask, as if he is kissing it.
"My turn to treat you like a princess," he murmurs. But something has shifted. The words land cold. Icy. There’s no warmth in them. No softness in his tone. His body tells me more than his voice ever could. The way he stands, the tension in his jaw. It feels like I’ve just declared war without meaning to…
and he’s already planning his revenge. But maybe I’m overthinking it.
Maybe he was just shocked that I figured out who he was before he had the chance to tell me.
He peels off a glove, each movement dripping with seduction. His bare hand, rough yet devastatingly perfect, grazes down the front of my corset. He pauses just before our skin connects, like he’s emotionally struggling with himself.
“Why did you stop?” I whisper, breathless. Then his hand returns. And the second our skin touches, it’s like I’ve won the maze. Fireworks explode inside me, sparking through every nerve, igniting something wild and electric that I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.
I want this man. Not just the mask man but whoever he is underneath it.
His fingers slip beneath the layers of my skirt, trailing fire until they find the delicate lace of my panties. I should pull away. But I don’t.
I don’t want this man to stop touching me… Like ever .
His fingers slip beneath the fabric and into my wetness. “Damn, you’re soaked,” he murmurs, his voice smooth as silk, even through the modulator.
A soft moan escapes me. “Mmmmhmm.” I tilt my head back, lips parted as heat floods my veins.
His fingers move with maddening control, like he’s learning my body with a purpose.
When he finds my clit, he doesn’t rush. He moves in slow circles, coaxing, teasing, dragging me closer to the edge with every stroke.
“Oh God,” I breathe, unable to hold it in.
No one has ever touched me like this. No one has ever made me feel like this. And the fact that it’s him makes it even more perfect.
“Shit, princess,” he groans, like he’s barely holding himself together.
But I don’t close my eyes. I want to see him.
Memorize every detail. His touch. His breath.
The rhythm of his hand. The way the moonlight hits his shoulders.
I want to burn it all into my memory. He moves his finger from my clit to my entrance, slipping inside of me with deliberate pressure.
My knees nearly giving out as I almost collapse in his arms.
I steady myself against him, clutching his suit like a lifeline. If I could see his eyes, I know they’d be locked on mine, reading every pathetic part of me. Knowing damn well, I’m practically a virgin.
He goes still. His voice lowers, unreadable. “Are you a virgin...?” I cut him off.
“No,” I whisper, breathless and aching. It’s not a lie. I have been with someone. One time. But it never felt like this. “So please… just touch me.”
A low chuckle rumbles from behind the mask. “Well… since you said please,” I swear he's smiling under there.
His finger begins to move, slow and deep. In. Out. Rhythmically. He slips in another one. My head tips back against the gazebo as I surrender to the pleasure. I don’t just feel him inside me… I feel seen in a way I never have before.
“Yes, right there. Don’t stop,” I groan, my voice thick with need. But suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of me and grabs my wrist with a firm grip, spinning me around and pressing me against the gazebo.
What the hell?
One gloved hand pins me in place, the other, wrapping around my wrist, holding me still. His plastic lips hover near my ear, his voice low and commanding. “Looks like I’ve caught you, Princess… and now you’re mine.”
With a smooth shift, he gathers both of my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head.
He really waited until I was about to finish… What an asshole!
With his other hand, he grabs something out of his pocket.
Shit. Shit. Shit. The zip ties.
The restraints around my wrists bite into my skin as he locks my arms behind my back. “You’re a dick!” I snap. “You could’ve at least let me finish first!” He doesn’t speak. “Are you mad that I figured out who you are?”
Still nothing. But his hands tighten the restraint again. I guess that’s a yes. “Ouch—that hurts!” I hiss. But then... a strange sensation pulses through me. It hurts. And yet... I like it.
God, what is wrong with me? I should be furious. I should spit in his face and run away. But instead, I’m still craving more of him. He’s an asshole. A mystery. A menace. And somehow, I still want him.
He doesn’t respond. He’s already leading me out of the gazebo with firm, silent steps.
His grip on my arm is tight but not cruel.
My heart is hammering. He leads us through the maze with unsettling confidence, like he knows every twist and turn by heart.
For a moment, guilt tugs at me. What I’m about to do isn’t exactly fair… But I don’t care.
This is for my mom.
“So… are you mad at me, or is this your version of foreplay?” I ask, my voice edged with frustration. He says nothing. Just keeps walking. Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
He probably feels pretty damn good right now, like he’s already won this twisted game. But what he doesn’t know is that I came prepared.
When I ran into Clint right after the taser incident, I made a decision.
If I got caught, I knew I wouldn’t win with strength alone.
I’m smaller than these men. So I’d have to outsmart them.
Use what Aster stashed in my purse to my advantage, and it might be my only shot.
And now… It’s time to play my cards. But I have to play this perfectly.
It’s dark. I can’t see shit. But I hear voices. Music. We’re close. I feel it.
The bass rumbles through the ground, shaking up through my muddy, bare feet. His grip clamps tighter around my left arm as he walks beside me. But luckily, my right hand is free, perfectly positioned to reach the pocketknife hooked to my thong.
God bless Aster. I’ve never used a weapon in my life. But right now? This little knife might be my only chance at freedom. My mom’s freedom from cancer.
I look up at him, and he slowly turns his head to look at me as we freeze. His body language is off, like he has something on his mind.
He’s distracted… I must do it now.
“Beck, please forgive me for what I am about to do… and please hire me after all of this.”A thrill buzzes through my veins, sparking adrenaline, and I yank my arm from his grip and take off in a sprint, weaving through twisting paths.
A few guests rush past me, their laughter and urgency mirroring my own as we all weave through the maze, desperate to find the exit.
The fireworks haven’t gone off yet, so the game isn’t over.
The knife is still tucked in place. With trembling fingers, I pull it free from my waistband and angle the blade. One quick slice, and the plastic around my wrists gives way with a sharp snap. I’m free. No hesitation, I take off in a full sprint, and I don’t dare look back.
My breath is gone, and I’m pretty sure I have frostbite, but after two rights and one left, a sign greets me above the exit. Blood red letters read:
YOU MADE IT, BUT AT WHAT COST?
Umm. Okay? That’s freaking creepy.
I step through, and fireworks crack overhead.
The song “Every Breath You Take” by The Police echoes through the night, but it’s not the regular tempo.
It drags, low and haunting, like a funeral march.
The Red Mask is nowhere to be seen, but God, I feel him.
In the stillness. In the shadows. In every ragged breath I can’t seem to catch.
He isn’t gone. He is waiting. Watching and letting the game unfold. And somehow I know the real hunt hasn’t even begun.