Olivia
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I finally catch up to him, catching a glimpse right before he enters one of the bedrooms. I open the door a moment after it has closed behind him, caught by surprise when I find him on the other side sitting on a bed.
I am more than sure that this bed wasn’t here before.
The room seems to be clean, with new furniture and freshly painted walls.
What the fuck? Is someone actually living in this house?
I still can’t see much of his face; the mask remains on it, covering half of it and only exposing his lips and firm jawline.
The material seems to be some type of leather; it has a light beige color and brown shading, making it look like a rotting animal skull.
Now that I am seeing it up close, it matches his outfit perfectly—even more so than I thought when I first saw him downstairs.
Fuck, you can tell he is hot even with his face half covered.
Maybe even more so. He looks dangerous, but there's something familiar about him.
I feel safe with him, like I already know him.
I am not the type of woman to get scared that easily.
I can fight if I need to. I don’t really belong in this life; I am not the rich girl who got popular because she was entitled to it.
I am the one who comes from the trailer park but fought for her status.
I made everyone respect me; I earned every bit of the envy and popularity I got.
Ryker was a sacrifice for my cause, but one I barely regretted back then.
Until the night he burned my car, and I saw how bad my manipulation had gotten.
"I knew you would follow."
He breaks the silence between us, and I am surprised. His voice is not familiar at all. The cozy sensation of false familiarity I felt when I saw him is gone now. I am positive I don’t know this man.
"Did you, now?" I answer with a sarcastic tone, and my lips curl into a smirk. He is not impressed. He seems cold and distant, but at the same time so damn hot and inviting.
He gets up, walks my way, and grabs me by my neck.
My feet barely touch the ground now, and I can't breathe as his grip on my neck gets tighter.
I should be terrified, but I am not. I try to talk, but nothing close to words comes out—only a little desperate sound, almost like a moan.
He laughs, a deep laugh with a hint of a growl underneath it that makes my pussy wet.
"You can leave if you wish; I will let you go. But if you stay, it means you are consenting, and I would love to play with you tonight."
I nod to the best of my ability, and I see his lips form a devilish smile. The grip around my neck gets tighter as he continues.
"Good. Here are the rules. If you want to stop, you say red. If it gets to be too much, then yellow is your color. But if you want me to continue, you say green."
I nod again.
"If you have any limits, you need to tell me now. If you don’t say anything, I will have free rein, and I must warn you, I like to play rough."
He releases my neck, giving me the ability to breathe and talk again. My fingers curl around my throat, trying to ease the sudden pain his grip has left me with. I am trying to catch my breath, noticing he is patiently waiting. He steps back, allowing me some room to ground myself.
"No limits," I manage to say. Before I can say anything else, the grip around my throat returns, and now he is pushing me harder against the closed door.
"I was hoping you would say that," he whispers in my ear, his voice low and deep, full of promises.
I am starting to wonder what I got myself into, but instead of fear, my body fills with excitement and lust.