Chapter 2 #2
Maybe she was wondering whether this had all been a mistake?
I struggled with the monster inside me that wanted to take her now.
I waited for someone, an unknown man, to rescue me from my baser impulses, but time dragged on, and he didn’t show, leaving my sweet little dove out in the middle of nowhere in growing danger from me.
Anyone could just grab her from the grassy area where she stood now, overlooking the river.
Some sicko might rip the almost-sheer dress from her vulnerable body, pressing her face down in the dirt as he took what she so brazenly offered, leaving her used and dripping, or maybe choking her until the light left her eyes—or stabbing her and leaving her to die in this lonely, desolate place.
How could any gentleman leave his play partner out here, exposed like this?
The longer I waited, the more she would let her guard down.
I smiled at that. My subconscious was playing head games with her, and with me. I hadn’t brought any gear because doing that said I was definitely going to take her.
I found myself running through the items I could use to restrain her, just as a mental exercise.
The tie in the glove compartment for one. My belt. The belt from her trench coat. The weightlifting tape in the gym bag in the trunk—it was similar to bondage tape. When I started thinking about how to use it as a blindfold, then imagining the fear in her eyes, I knew I was getting in deep.
Time passed, the tightness in my groin arguing with my conscience, trying to take control.
Emme pulled out her phone again, the bluish light from the screen casting across her face.
She must be freezing even with a coat. It was too dark to see her reactions, but the wind was rustling past the car and flipping at her dress.
She squeezed her arms over her breasts, hugging herself, then pulled the coat in tighter.
I smiled. It’s just me out here.
If I wait longer, she might give up. Did I want that? Does she? No, to both.
The wind picked up, shaking the tree above, rustling the grasses, and pushing pieces of litter along the road.
She’d glanced my way several times as though hoping I was the one coming to get her, but then she had written me off—likely forgotten about me—or my car, at least. It had become part of this forbidding landscape.
Her coat flailed about in the wind. Although she tried to keep it in check, the wind flung the coat higher, almost to her waist. Her legs were in dark stockings but at the top, I glimpsed the paleness of her thighs and also a garter belt. Cute and exposed.
Her, naked and under me, squeaking as my mouth closed on her flesh. Biting her, leaving marks, tasting her, fucking her hard…that fantasy was looking more and more achievable.
She looked fragile, innocent. She wasn’t a girl who went to gyms and made her body hard. She was waiting for someone to come and take her away from her monotonous life, and I was exactly the right man to give it to her.
Hard.
Fuck waiting. I’m not a kind man. Besides, assholes have more fun.
I was taking her. She was mine.
If anyone else showed up and tried to claim her now, I’d slit his fucking throat.
I took the tie from my glove compartment, folded it, and put it in my coat pocket.
While the wind was still high, I left my car, leaving the door ajar so I wouldn’t alert her to my presence. I slipped closer, ready to bolt if an audience happened to show.
Were goose bumps rising on her arms?
Did she know a man was hunting her?
The wind muffled the sound of my steps as I moved closer, and the gothic, feral animal I usually kept shoved down deep in my psyche—and my pants—it tore loose and grabbed the controls. I tried to fight it, to make this a pristine and calculated stalking, but my base instincts dominated.
Take. Fuck. Hurt.
I wanted to feel her soft flesh in my hands—feel her struggle, hear her squeal.
This was too easy.
I didn’t enjoy easy.
I loudly cleared my throat, and she gasped and whipped around. Her next gasp ended in a high pitch and was steeped in fear.
She leapt away, running like a young creature with a lion after her, all gangly legs going fast and awkward, and she was making mistakes. She fell, tripping over something, then hauled herself up again and sprinted.
I followed, casually jogging.
The girl ran a few more paces, heels wobbling, catching, and scraping on rocks. I kept coming, slow and sure, toying with her. She wasn’t very fast, though I could tell fear was spurring her to make a legitimate effort.
A low moan of fear. A sob that caught in her throat.
I smiled and committed her sounds of distress to memory. They almost killed the last bits of my self-control.
I chuckled low.
“No, no, please!”
For a second I was tempted to repeat her words. Do anything to me, even if I scream no.
The roar of my desires eventually proved too much to resist, and I grabbed her coat and pulled. She fell backward, but I caught her and let her spin to the ground, careful to stop her from face-planting into that gravel.
Her hair flew about, tossed by wind and momentum, and she was shrieking.
No glass was visible. No large rocks. I didn’t want her cut…or not here or now, and definitely not her face.
Getting this done fast hindered my need to watch her reactions. My fist trapped enough of her hair to force her to flatten onto the ground, then I straddled her and landed a knee on her back.
She spluttered out, “Are you him?”
I looked around, amused she’d forgotten she wanted a stranger. The only occupants of the night-darkened road were the howling wind, the skitter of a few bits of paper, dust, and us. Half a mile of nobody at all watching.
She tried to claw me, but her nails were puny weapons and didn’t connect with anything except cloth. Not giving up? Good. I pressed one scrabbling hand under my knee while the other I thrust to the dirt beside her head. Her slim fingers splayed in the dirt. I stared. Fuck. I had her.
I’d fucking done it.
A shard of glass shone near her face, and I shifted her to the right. It felt odd to be rudely taking her down then doing this.
With most of my weight on her back, she must be hurting. I leaned down and licked her ear, tasting her for the first time. My nostrils flared at the scent, as if I were drinking a vintage Cabernet Sauvignon—one laid down for a decade and waiting for me to feel it wash across my tongue.
“Who are you? Tell me!”
I let a shuddering thrill dissipate before I spoke. The rasp in my voice was unexpected. “I’m Hannibal Lector.” I let that sink in. “Who do you think I fucking am?”
“Asshole,” she spat.
Asshole? Exactly.
How far could I take this in a week? How low, how dirty? I rummaged in the murky, forbidden parts of my mind. There were things I’d never dared to do. Not even on a willing sub.
Deliberately, I transferred more of my weight to my knee while I found and shook out the tie. After a pained gasp, and a writhe of her lower body as she attempted to rise, her mouth stayed wide.
She wanted real?
This was real.