Chapter 10 #2
Alexander's jaw tightened. Aoife's hand moved subtly toward something at her waist—a makeshift weapon perhaps? How resourceful.
"I thought you might want to know that my hunters will be breaching your little haven whenever I give the go ahead.
" I paused, letting the information sink in.
"Unless, of course, you provide me with some entertainment first." She paused. “Oh, and don’t even think of getting out of there. My men have orders to shoot you both on the spot if you do.”
I saw confusion flicker across both their faces, quickly replaced by dawning horror as I continued.
"You see, I've always wondered what Alexander Moore looks like when he's truly lost control.
When that so very well put together, calculating exterior shatters completely.
" My voice dropped lower, becoming more intimate.
"Show me, Alexander. Show me how you fuck her—show me what you've been denying me all this time. "
Aoife's eyes widened, her mouth forming a silent curse. Alexander stood rigid, hands curling into fists at his sides.
"The cottage is surrounded. Every window, every door. My men will be watching, and so will I." I couldn't keep the excitement from my voice then. "Perform for us, and perhaps I'll be merciful. Refuse, and when my hunters come for you, I promise your deaths will be neither quick nor dignified."
I released the button, cutting off communication. On the monitors, I watched Alexander pace like a caged wolf while Aoife stood perfectly still, her aristocratic features arranged in a mask of calculation.
"Madam," one of my hunters spoke through the earpiece. "The teams are ready. Orders?"
"Hold positions. Watch the windows. Record everything."
I felt electric, each thought razor-sharp. In the darkness of Patrick's underground cell, I'd promised myself this moment: when Alexander Moore would understand what it meant to be truly powerless, to have his body turned into a performance for another's pleasure.
"I hear them," the hunter's voice returned. "They appear to be arguing."
"Of course they are," I murmured. "Pride is such a difficult thing to sacrifice."
I switched on the speaker again. "The clock is ticking, my darlings. Fifty minutes remain. Perhaps you need motivation?"
I signalled to Team Alpha, and one of the hunters fired a warning shot through the cottage window. The glass shattered spectacularly. On the monitor, I watched Alexander pull Aoife to the floor, shielding her body with his own in instinctive protection.
How gallant. How predictable.
"Next time," I continued, "the bullet won't miss. And the time after that? Well, I've instructed my men to aim for kneecaps. Such delicate joints, so difficult to repair properly."
I switched off the speaker and waited. This was the moment of truth—would they choose degradation or defiance?
Either way, I won. Either I would get to watch Alexander give himself to another woman under my direction, my control, or I would get to witness their brutal capture when the hunters stormed the cottage.
On the screen, Alexander pulled Aoife close, his lips near her ear. She nodded once, decisively. Then, looking directly at one of the hidden cameras I'd installed—how did she spot it?—she began to unbutton her shirt with deliberate slowness.
My breath caught. They chose performance.
"Commence recording on all devices," I instructed through the comms. "Full perimeter watch maintained."
Alexander's hands moved to Aoife's waist, his movements stiff, unnatural. Even now, he tried to maintain control, to treat this as just another operation. But I knew better. I'd studied him, obsessed over him.
I switched on the speaker once more. "Not like that, Alexander. Not like some reluctant schoolboy. Show me what you really are. Show me the man from the maze—the one who knows how to inflict exquisite pain, who understands the knife-edge between pleasure and suffering."
His head snapped up, eyes searching for the source of my voice. In that moment, I saw it—the flicker of recognition, the realization that I had figured out who he was and what he’d done.
"Yes," I whispered to myself. "I know, Alexander. I know everything."
When he turned back to Aoife, something changed.
His posture shifted, predatory now, the reluctance replaced by something darker.
His hand came up to her throat—not squeezing, just resting there with the implicit threat of pressure.
Through my goggles, I saw her jump a little, eyes wide like saucers.
I leaned forward, unable to look away as Alexander Moore finally transformed into the man I'd been hunting all this time—the one who understood that true power came from controlling pleasure as completely as pain.
"Perfect," I breathed, my own pulse racing as the show began in earnest.
Alexander Moore
The sound of Beatrice's voice sliced through me like a blade, familiar and alien all at once.
I had heard it before—at Patrick's dinner party, soft and cultured …
and way before then, in the maze during the hunt, breathless and pleading.
But never like this. Commanding, cruel, charged with manic energy.
After Aoife and I had made it in here, I had scanned the cottage interior, quickly identifying three hidden cameras—one above the fireplace, disguised as part of an antique clock, another in the bookshelf, a third built into the old radio on the kitchen counter.
Professional work, covering every angle of the main room.
I should have known they’d close in on us fast. Big mistake—I should have kept us out in the open. The sky was the limit when not confined like this. I was an idiot.
"She's been planning this a long time," I muttered, feeling Aoife's eyes on me.
"Six hunters that I've counted," she whispered, keeping her voice low. "Military training, expensive gear. Not O'Brien's usual thugs."
The warning shot had crashed through the window, sending glass fragments across the wooden floor. I had reacted instinctively, pulling Aoife down, covering her body with mine. Her heart had pounded against my chest, her breath warm against my neck.
When Beatrice's voice had returned, the threat had been explicit. Kneecaps first. Then worse.
I pulled Aoife closer, my lips brushing her ear. "Listen carefully," I whispered, my voice too low for the microphones to capture. "We need to convince them, but I'll get us out of here. Trust me."
Her eyes widened slightly, but she had given an imperceptible nod.
"I know what she wants," I continued, my fingers trailing down her arm as though I couldn't resist touching her. "She wants to see me lose control. We'll give her a show, but when the opportunity comes—be ready."
"I can handle myself," she breathed back, her lips grazing my earlobe in what would have appeared passionate to our watchers.
I pulled back, meeting her gaze directly. "This will get rough. I need to know you understand."
A flash of something—determination, perhaps even dark anticipation—crossed her face. "Do what you have to do, Alexander. Just get us out alive."
When Beatrice demanded we perform, Aoife turned to the camera and began unbuttoning her shirt with deliberate slowness. I watched, momentarily transfixed by her calculated boldness despite our dire circumstances.
But when Beatrice called for the man from the maze, I knew then that this was very personal for Beatrice. She had an axe to grind, and she was out for blood. Mine. Aoife’s.
And now she wanted my darkness unleashed, along with hers. If it was just me, I could deal with it. But the idea that Aoife might get hurt—it suddenly terrified me to the point of no return…
I moved toward Aoife with deliberate steps, no longer Alexander Moore the strategist, the cool and collected second-in-command. I became the man who could bend another's will through pleasure and pain.
My hand found her throat, not squeezing but resting there with implicit threat. Our eyes locked, and I saw understanding in her gaze. This was survival, nothing more. Yet beneath that understanding ran something else—a current of genuine response to the darkness I was channelling.
"I'm going to hurt you," I murmured, loud enough for the microphones but soft enough to seem intimate. Despite the fact that the whole situation was totally fucked up I was hard as a rock, picturing my Irish fox on her knees, choking on my cock. "But I'll make you beg for more."
Apprehension filled her eyes, but also something else, much like anticipation. We both knew she had some kinks and liked to be watched… but perhaps she also liked when others watched her being degraded. "Promises, promises," she taunted, playing her part perfectly.
She was out of her damn mind, and my body and mind wanted her more for it.
Wanted her with a fierceness that scared even me.
I spun her around roughly, pressing her against the wall, my shaft situated right between her legs. My body caged hers as I leaned in close, positioning us for maximum visibility from the cameras while my lips brushed against her ear.
“You’re nuts,” I said, completely as a compliment.
“Hmmmm.” She nibbled on my neck, then looked up into my eyes.
"When I tear your clothes off, grab for support on the shelfing right here," I instructed as I ran my hand over her body and turned her around to face the furniture.
Then, I slapped her arse hard and she balked, releasing a moan.
Still, I could feel the tension in her. This was not a normal situation.
Under any other circumstances, I would have enjoyed this immensely, too, but not then.
"I'm going to fuck you hard and fast. We’ll give them something to chew on… and let’s stay alert for any opportunity to get out of this. "
I undid her jeans then pulled them down.
Her arse looked perfectly bare as she was wearing a thin black thong.
Fuck, if only I could get her to myself without these …
complications. As delicious as her arse was, I didn’t like when I couldn’t fully control the situation.
Not when that true blue nutcase Beatrice was watching, holding our lives in the palm of her hand.
I caressed Aoife’s arse, taking in the rounded shape of the globes, inviting me to explore.
She was leaning into the shelving unit like I’d instructed.
Then, unable to wait any longer, I released my rock-hard cock and thrust into her without hesitation, filling her to the brim.
In that single moment, I didn’t care where we were, what we were doing, and who was watching.
She cried out, and I gripped her hips tightly and started pumping into her hard and fast, not giving her a chance to catch her breath.
Her cunt took me all in. Fuck, she felt incredible, better than memory served.
She responded with muffled cries, her body creating delicious friction that threatened to blur the line between performance and reality.
"Christ, you're fucking amazing. Your pussy is taking my cock so well, you slut," I roared, fisting her hair and leaning down as she panted.
"Guy in first window on your right will break protocol.
His face says it all. And when he enters, we take him down.
Get his weapon. His tactical mask. Then we improvise for the rest…
Stick with me." She nodded almost imperceptibly.
My hands slid up her sides, rough enough to leave marks.
I wrenched her shirt open and grabbed her tits, squeezing them tight while I continued to fuck her.
Buttons scattered across the floor as she gasped and then panted loudly, the sound half-feigned, half-genuine. Her pussy squeezed me tight. So tight.
I paused for a second to catch my breath and then left a trail of bites and bruises across her pale skin, marking her as territory claimed.
Each mark was calculated to be visible to our audience, to fulfil Beatrice's perverse fantasy while attempting to get Aoife’s mind off the predicament we were in.
When I reached the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder, I bit down hard enough to leave an impression. Aoife's cry of pain-laced pleasure wasn’t simulated, her body responding to my rough handling.
"Left window now," I breathed against her skin. My cock grew impossibly harder. I wanted to burst my load deep inside her, but there was no time. "He's moving. Can’t see the others."
The bastard was clearly drawn in by our display. Through the window, I had caught a glimpse of him adjusting his tactical pants, his discipline crumbling beneath baser urges.
I kept fucking her with controlled violence, lowering myself down and kissing her creamy skin that I marked with possessive hands.
The door creaked open. The man entered, weapon lowered, attention fixed on Aoife's now nude form as I’d discarded her shirt. From the corner of my eye, I caught him licking his lips. I paused for a moment and glanced at him. His breathing was audible even through his mask.
"Don't stop on my account," he said, voice rough with arousal. "The boss said to watch, but I want a closer view."
I released Aoife, pulled up my boxers and jeans, and pivoted in one smooth motion. Before the hunter could raise his weapon, I was on him. A precise strike to his throat silenced any potential call for backup. My knee connected with his solar plexus as I twisted the gun from his grasp.
Behind me, I heard the crash of breaking glass and I turned to see two more men breach through different windows.
Aoife somehow managed to quickly pull her jeans up and put on her black sports bra.
Her shirt was ruined so pretty much useless.
She moved with surprising grace, clearly not a stranger to combat training.
Driving her elbow into the first attacker's sternum, she followed with a knee to his groin that doubled him over.
As I fended off my opponent, punching him on the side of the head to land him in a momentary daze, the second one rushed Aoife, but she feinted left, then dropped low, sweeping his legs from under him. When he crashed down, I finished him with a temple strike that rendered him unconscious.
She turned to the other one.
Three in here. Three should remain outside. Unless there were more.