Chapter 38 #3
Then he grabs me by the waist and pulls me flush against him—his cock hard and thick against the curve of my ass.
“That tight little hole you’ve been saving? It’s mine tonight,” he growls. “I’m going to bury my cock in it until you can’t tell if it hurts or you’ve never been fucked better in your life.”
I gasp—because part of me is afraid. But fear isn’t stopping me.
It’s fueling me.
With Bastien, I always expected this day to come.
I twist in his grip, smiling up at him. “Catch me if you can.”
His answering growl is pure fucking menace. He releases me and steps back.
“You have sixty seconds. Run!”
My heart slams against my ribs, and I take off out of the bunker room, up the narrow stairs. My feet barely touch the steps. My lungs burn with something that isn’t fear.
It’s anticipation. Hunger. Thrill.
I slam through the back door into the night. Rain hits me, and soaks my clothes in seconds. It plasters my hair to my skin and turns the grass slick underfoot as I sprint across the yard, lungs burning and heart drumming inside my chest.
The woods loom ahead, black and waiting. Branches claw at the sky, and the ground dips unevenly.
I don’t stop. He’ll be behind me soon.
Every step I take, he’s already calculated two ahead. He’s not chasing me blindly. He’s hunting.
I hit the edge of the woods and keep moving. Twigs snap beneath my feet, and leaves smack my face. The wet slap of mud gives way to the slick pull of soft earth. My breath comes in gasps now, every inhale ragged, every exhale a curse and a prayer.
I glance back once—stupid mistake. My foot slips.
Mud gives way, and I go down hard. My knees hit first, then my palms. I slide in the muck, cold and filthy, heart tripping over itself in panic. But I scramble up again—fast, wild, and alive.
I’m not running to win. I’m running to be caught.
And when he does… he’ll take me down in the dirt, pin me to the forest floor, shove his cock into my ass the way he promised. He’ll fuck me until I’m shaking and crying from the stretch, the shame, the sick, beautiful relief of giving him everything. That’s when he’ll own me.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
Forever.
But not yet. Not quite. So I run.
Trees blur past, and the wind howls low through the canopy. Rain slicks every surface and turns the ground to treachery.
My thighs ache. My skin’s scraped raw from thorns I don’t see. Every breath is a scream. And still, I don’t stop. Because part of me wants to see how far I’ll make it before he claims what he’s already decided is his.
My ass clenches at the thought—at the filthy, brutal promise of what’s coming. Every branch that snaps behind me tightens the coil in my belly. Every footfall I don’t hear is another second I know I’m losing.
He’s close. I can feel it. And I know he’s watching me right now. He’s smiling and lining up the ultimate move. Preparing to strike.
And when he does… I won’t beg him not to. I’ll beg him not to stop.
A branch snaps behind me, louder than the rest.
Closer.
Too close.
I twist, legs slipping again in the mud—and that’s when I see him. He steps out of the dark like something conjured, not born.
The black mask glistens with rain, white bone etched into a grinning skull. Hollow eyes flash as he moves through the trees. A nightmare made flesh.
And every step he takes makes my pulse throb with want. My breath rips out of me.
Water streams down the sharp planes of his shoulders, and clings to every hard-cut line beneath soaked fabric. He’s silent. Unhurried. Certain.
Predators don’t rush the hunt.
Something inside me goes liquid. Because seeing that mask in the dark, seeing him this way, doesn’t make me want to scream. It makes me want to be caught.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.
I turn to run, but it’s too late.
Bastien grips me—arms wrapping around my waist, dragging me down into the soaked forest floor with an animalistic growl.
I scream. Not in fear. In need.
He flips me over and shoves me down into the earth. My knees skid in the wet leaves, hands digging into the dirt. My breath explodes from my lungs, every part of me thrashing, writhing—not to escape, but to give him the fight he wants.
“You remember what I told you I was going to do to you?” he snarls, dragging my soaked pants down my thighs.
I moan, shivering. “Yes.”
That fat cock grinds between my ass cheeks—hard, thick and relentless.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back hard enough to make my spine bow. My gasp is half pain, half want, swallowed by the rain and the slap of mud under my knees.
“Say it.”
He lets go of my hair and uses both hands to spread my cheeks apart. Then he spits—hot, filthy and wet—letting it drip down over the hole he’s about to ruin. The act is obscene and perfect.
“Say it. Tell me what I’m about to do to you.” His voice breaks open with need.
I look back at him over my shoulder. “You said you were going to fuck me in my ass.”
He groans, the words wrecking him. His fingers dig in tighter.
“And what does that mean?”
I pant, nails clawing the dirt, soaked and shaking. “It means you own me. I’m yours.”
He leans forward and kisses the side of my face. “Fucking right you are.”
The blunt head of his cock is at my entrance, pushing and pressing. I’m not ready for this.
But I also am. Fuck, I need it—his cock inside me.
He thrusts and I scream, body arching and stretching around him. Pain lances white-hot through me, tearing a scream from my throat.
Fuck, it burns. Despite that, I push back. Because this is what I want. What I crave.
He growls something I don’t quite catch, both hands grabbing my hips, holding me in place as he drives deeper, grinding into me with raw, punishing intent.
“You’re mine. Every part of you belongs to me. Even this. Especially this. Say it, Laurette.”
He slams into me again, and this time the pain sharpens into pleasure and need.
I choke on a moan.
“Yes, I’m yours. Every part of me. Every hole.”
His pace turns savage.
Wet skin slaps. Rain drowns out the stars. My ass burns, stretched wide around him, body rocked forward with every thrust. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I’m nothing but need, gutted open, filled with him until I don’t know where I end and he begins.
And when I break, when the sobs turn to whimpers, when my body goes limp beneath him, he doesn’t stop. He owns. And I’ve never been so fucking free.
He delivers another brutal thrust, and I scream. My body locks up, stretched wide around the thick, unforgiving intrusion of his cock in my ass. It’s too much, too perfect. It’s everything he promised and more.
“Fuck, yes,” Bastien snarls behind me, voice wrecked. “You take it so fucking well. Your hole’s been waiting for me to ruin it.”
He slams into me again, harder, deeper, grinding in with a filthy groan.
“Look at that. So fucking tight, clenching around me. Your ass knows who owns it.”
Every stroke punches a cry from my throat, a broken moan swallowed by the forest. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. He’s everywhere—inside me, over me, around me—body pounding into mine like he wants to fuck me through the ground.
“Is this what you secretly want? To be hunted? Caught? Claimed? Fucked like an animal?”
“Yes!” Fuck, yes.
My body seizes. Pleasure detonates low and brutal and deep. I shatter—mouth open in a silent scream, ass clenching hard around him as I come, shaking so hard I almost collapse. But he keeps going.
“Oh, fuck, yes. That’s it, my good little girl. Milk my cock, baby. Let me feel you gripping it.”
He slams in one last time, buried to the hilt, and his body locks behind me with a raw, brutal curse.
“Take it. Every fucking drop.”
He groans, violent and devoted, ramming deep, holding me in place, impaled and undone. Thick, possessive cum floods me.
We stay that way a while longer while the rain comes down on us. His weight settles over me—not crushing, but covering. A barrier, a claim, a truth no one else gets to see.
Mud coats my thighs, and leaves cling to my knees. There’s dirt under my nails—and spit and cum slick in the crack of my ass, seeping slow as proof of what he did to me. What I let him do. What I begged for him to do.
It should be degrading. But it’s not.
It feels more like being worshipped.
Eventually, he pulls out and his thumb drags through the slick mess he left between my cheeks. His signature. There’s a quiet tenderness in the act, almost reverent.
Then he pulls my pants up for me, rough hands steady against my trembling hips. Not because I’m weak. Because this is who he is. He ruins me and then puts me back together.
He helps me up and we walk back to the house—silent, soaked, and spent. The rain lets up halfway through, leaving behind the scent of wet pine and sex.
Inside, we don’t stop. We go straight to the shower.
He strips me slowly, fingers lingering over every bruise, every scrape, every place he left his mark. There’s no performance now. No predator and prey. Just skin, heat, and us.
The water’s hot. The silence heavier.
We don’t speak as we scrub the dirt from each other’s bodies. He washes my hair, and I trace the ridges of old scars and tattoos across his chest.
By the time we step out—skin flushed, wrapped in towels, breath steady again—the edge has softened.
I stand at the counter while he brushes out my hair. His eyes stay on his task, his hands gentle.
“What if I asked you to end Evan Lemaire?”
Bastien doesn’t hesitate or blink. Doesn’t even look up. “I’d do anything for you, my love.”
It’s a promise few men would dare to make. I smile—not because it’s sweet, but because it’s proof of how he feels about me. Because we both know what that says about us.
I used to think I was standing at the edge of darkness. One foot in, one foot out. Still clean. Still untouched by the worst of it.
But now? I’m not afraid. Because I’m not at the edge anymore.
I’m already inside the darkness… with my eyes wide open.