Chapter 4
FOUR
GRAYSON
“So, has the pretty cinnamon-haired girl turned you into a gooey, cinnamon guy?” Danny needles me over the phone as I’m gearing up to jump into bed. “I saw the surveillance feed at the gym. You completely fucked your reps checking her out.”
I smirk, but my pulse betrays me—too fast, too eager.
“Poetic, don’t you think?” Danny adds. “You just happened to show up at the same time she did?”
“She’s breakable.” The words leave my mouth too quickly, an excuse rather than a truth. “I can’t touch that one. But I can look.”
Danny snorts. “All the best ones are, man. Besides, she works at the hospital; she probably sees fucked up shit all the time and wouldn’t flinch.”
Wouldn’t flinch.
The idea of testing that theory coils in my gut.
“You got an itch to scratch after Friday, hmm?” Danny probes.
Damn right.
Violence is a switch. I don’t flick it lightly, but when I do, I commit. Like last Friday. When Danny and I exited the bar later that night, we found my truck tires slashed and the guys from earlier waiting to corner us into a fight. They deserved my brand of violence, and I fucking delivered.
The flip side of unleashing that side of me? It turns me on. Immensely. That is precisely why I need a special kind of someone who can handle my more… animalistic side.
“So, DystopiaNet?”
I nod to myself. A cat-and-mouse kink-themed chat site seemed like a good place to start.
I log into DystopiaNet, searching for something—or someone—to take the edge off.
Then I see it.
A new applicant. Ten minutes ago.
I freeze, pulse hammering against my ribs. I know that profile picture. I know that handle.
Pipsqueak98.
My jaw clenches as I click. Her preferences, her intro, her boundaries—
“Fuck… is this her?”
The girl from the bar.
The one I labeled fragile. The one I nearly walked away from. The one I thought I couldn’t have.
I was wrong.
I click on the profile pic and bam. There goes all my blood straight to my dick.
Danny’s voice cuts through the static in my head. “Wait—who is it? Local? Do you know ‘em?”
Know her?
My grip tightens around the phone. I fucking taste her name in my mouth.
“It’s her,” I growl.
I react before I can second-guess it. One click. Swipe. Claim.
Danny howls. “Bro, if you haven’t already, you better swipe that and make the claim.”
“Done,” I cut him off and end the call.
Just like that, it’s DystopiaNet official. She is mine. My little pipsqueak to conquer.
I begin typing a message inviting Pip to a private message thread. There’s hesitation as I see the three dots flicker, but she responds and accepts.
She has no idea what she’s invited in.
u/Sn1p3r_HunterX types:
Good Evening, Pipsqueak.
How did a beauty like you stray into a dark place like this?
I waited on bated breath for her reply.
u/Pipsqueak98 types:
I followed the scent of a meal.
I see now I’m not alone.
How clumsy of me…
I huff a laugh. Cute.
u/Sn1p3r_HunterX types:
You’re the gourmet meal, Pipsqueak.
I look forward to taking my first bite!
You’ve walked into a dangerous game.
There’s hesitation. She’s thinking.
I’m already in her head.
u/Pipsqueak98 types:
I’m not sure if I’m scared of you,
or intrigued by you.
u/Sn1p3r_HunterX types:
You should be both.
u/Pipsqueak98 types:
I’m starting to think you want me to run.
u/Sn1p3r_HunterX types:
I definitely do.
Is my little pipsqueak going to be easy to catch?
The incoming message dots flicker.
u/Pipsqueak98 types:
Nothing about me is easy.
I’m a runner and a fighter.
So…catch me if you can.
My eyes darken.
Adrenaline courses through my veins with every heartbeat.
Excellent.
We chat for over an hour. I give her nothing, take everything. Details, hints, patterns. What excites her. What unsettles her.
I can picture it so easily now—her fingers trembling over the keyboard, lips caught between her teeth, trying to decipher my words. Trying to figure out if she should run or stay.
She’ll stay.
I want to hunt her down. I want to see her wavy, long hair bounce over the delicate curves of her spine as she tries to outrun me, wracked with the fear of being caught.
I picture how delicious her tight, plump ass would feel finally in my hands with her long, toned legs wrapped around me as I command her to do my bidding.
What would her pulse, throbbing against my fingers as my hand wrapped around her throat, feel like as her heart rate spikes with excitement and anticipation, filling those gorgeous cheeks with that pretty pink flush I like so much.
And her eyes…
I think about her eyes staring into mine… those crystal baby blues with that unique amber speck. I envision looking into those eyes as I bury my cock inside her, fucking her within an inch of sanity as her perfect tits bounce in rhythm to my thrusts.
It’s not her fear I crave, but her lust. Her trust. Her submission. That moment when fear converts to desire. My need to hunt her down like an apex predator to capture that moment–and reward it. I tried to keep my distance, but she wants this… and I’ll give it to her.
I'll press that factory reset function on my little pipsqueak until she is hard-wired to respond to me and only me. She is mine to manipulate, mold, bend, and break.