The worst part? This is so far from the main house that there don’t seem to be any cameras around here.
A hushed sound comes from the right and I whirl in that direction, high alertness pulsing in my veins.
But the moment my face turns to the side, something grabs me from behind. By my hair.
The silver strands nearly rip from the roots as he shoves me toward the ground.
I don’t go down peacefully.
I have no idea what’s come over me, but the moment he clutches me, an overpowering aggressiveness floods me.
Usually, I wouldn’t want to be involved in any violent situations, or at least, I would look and see before considering any physical retaliation.
Not this time.
It could be the adrenaline or my need for survival. It could be the suppressed emotions of my helplessness. Whatever it is, I hold onto it and I claw at his fingers that are forcing me forward.
I kick and buck my whole body as an animal-like growl echoes in the air.
It’s mine, I realize as he successfully knocks me to the ground. I try to fall on my hands and knees, but I fail to release his fingers at the last second and I end up flat on my stomach.
The rough dirt smashes my breasts and whooshes the breath from my lungs. I still try to buck so I can turn over and somehow knee him in the balls.
I fight so hard that I forget this scene is my doing.
I fight so hard that I believe every molecule of survival instinct in me. Perhaps it’s because he’s using savage strength to grip me.
He’s not taking it easy.
No, he probably came here without any plans to be soft or politically correct.
He came here to invade and conquer.
This is the real thing. Him, uncut and with the sole purpose of inflicting pain.
His calm, deep breathing reverberates in the air and strikes me across the skin. His merciless grip is a promise, a preview of what he has in store for me.
The more I fight, the tighter he pulls on my hair, until I think he’ll rip it from the roots.
I arch my back, using the remnants of my energy to try and twist.
Then something heavy and unmovable lands on the middle of my back.
His knee.
I catch a glimpse of his black trousers in my peripheral vision, one knee on the ground and the other pushing against my back.
It’s enough to make me pause. The pressure is so strong that I think he’ll break a bone or a few.
Maybe I should’ve said that bodily injury is a hard limit, too, but I thought that was a given.
Perhaps it’s not.
He pins my face to the ground with his crippling grip on my hair. I smell the dirt and taste the small pebbles on my tongue.
Unlike earlier, I remain still, considering the threat of his knee.
My limbs shake as the reality of the situation rushes into me.
This is a lot more intense than what I signed up for. Yes, I wanted the possible freedom this could provide, but the unknown territory, the complete helplessness, claws at my mental strings.
My breathing shatters and each of my inhales choke me with the smell of the earth and him.
Leather.
That’s what he smells like.
He’s a combination of leather and wood. Maybe a hint of bergamot? I’ve never associated these scents with Lan, but I’ve also never heard him speak in that gravelly voice from earlier, so maybe he has a persona for nights like these.
Nights where he sheds his slick, elegant façade and fully embraces the beast inside him.
The brash ruthlessness of his touch, scent, and whole existence flares and ripples in the air around me.
Silence shimmers in the calm. Only my shattered breaths and his deep ones linger.
It’s a minute, no, possibly a second, before everything crashes down.
The sequence of his movements roughens as his free hand pulls on my jeans. He doesn’t undo the buttons—he all but shoves them down, creating a violent friction against my core and thighs.
The chilling air assaults my underwear-covered arse.
Something happens then.
Aside from my gasp and open mouth.
I come to focus on my pussy that’s aching, pulsing, and absolutely shivering with the need for any sort of stimulation.
Did I become turned on just now? Or maybe it started during the marathonic hunt?
I thought I could like this, but I wasn’t ready to actually be so into it that being chased would bring me to this state.
No, it’s not only about being chased.
I had to be caught, too.
The beast at my back must also feel it when he pulls my underwear aside and presses his fingers against my needy core.
A deep groan spills from his throat, and that sound, coupled with his callous fingers against my most intimate part, triggers a bizarre sensation.
My back arches again, but it’s for a completely different reason than a fight. I’m reaching for that raw power flowing from him, but a mere shove of his knee pins me back in place.
He strokes my folds roughly, brutally, until my lower half is floundering, begging, nearly dissolving for more.
But he doesn’t give me more.
His middle finger ghosts near my opening, hovering, flickering, lingering, but never slides inside.
I can feel the warmth emanating off his skin, the reprieve from the cold air, and the promise of forming a shield against it.
The more he touches me everywhere except for where I need it the most, the messier I become.
I don’t recognize the incoherent mix of noises that spill out of me. Every time I buck my hips, he stiffens his grip on my hair, warning me without words to stay in place.
That he’s the one who’s running the show.
The one who’s in control.
The one who can both hurt me and please me if he chooses to.
A shiver goes through me at that thought, but I remember that I have the power, too.
Smoke.
The word has been hovering at the tip of my tongue ever since I made a run for it. If I say it, everything will end.
But I don’t.
Despite the torture, I choose to alternate between breathing through my nose and mouth, then focus on the moment.
On his assertive touch.
He’s a man who takes what he wants and there’s something arousing about that.
Just when I think the torment will never end, two of his fingers thrust inside me. At the same time. All the way to the knuckles.
I shriek, the sound permeating our silent surroundings.
Despite being soaking wet and needy for more, I wasn’t ready for this. My core clenches around his fingers as he drives them in and out of my heat in a long, controlled rhythm.
Each thrust picks up in speed methodically, too in tune with my body’s reaction until they’re ruthless and merciless.
My toes curl and a whole-body shudder grips me. This is so different from the tentative, almost shy way I touch myself.
There’s nothing shy about his touch.
It’s a command, a force that can’t be stopped or derailed.
A disaster of my own making.
He’s here to take, and take, and take some more.
And I can only give.
My hips slam against the ground with how much they buck.
He drives in a third finger. Pleasure mixes with pain as I’m stretched to my full capacity.
It’s impossible to breathe properly, but I force myself to relax, to take it, even if he’s ripping me from the inside out.
His rhythm grows in intensity and I gasp with each in and out, the sound animalistic in nature.
Usually, I hide my face in the pillow or any surface to muffle the sounds of pleasure.
Now, I only have the dirt.
I don’t get to focus on that when a sharp flood rushes through me.
It’s a flicker of pleasure at first, but then it mounts, inflates, and intensifies until tremors cover my skin fully.
I’ve never experienced this type of pleasure before.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I’d be on the edge of blacking out due to an orgasm.
Hell, I didn’t think orgasms could feel this way.
The ones I give myself are always soft, pleasurable, and make me sigh in content once I’m done.
This one?
All I can do is scream at the collision. In my attempts to mute some of the carnal pleasure, I nearly eat the dirt.
A low, gruff sound comes from the devil looming over me, watching, sporting a dark halo that I’ve never seen on Lan before.
But then again, I’ve never been introduced to this side of him before.
“So this is how good girls like you get off. Does being used in the middle of the night like a worthless fuckable hole turn you on, Lisichka?”
I choke on my inhale and everything pauses.
The air. My heart. My brain.
But not him. He definitely doesn’t pause.
He, as in, the guy who certainly didn’t sound like Landon.
At all.
Unless Lan picked up an American accent, a different intonation, and has decided to mess with me.
The worst part is that he sounds familiar.
Waytoo familiar.
“L-Lan?” I whisper in a barely audible voice.
“Try again.” His voice has roughened, sounding absolutely terrifying.
Oh, God.
Oh, no.
Please, no.
The only reason I went against my character, my moral code of conduct, and did this is because I thought it would be with Landon.
So why isn’t it…? I clearly picked him through the app.
No one else could match his physical traits.
The beast—literally and figuratively—curls his fingers inside me, stroking a part of me no one has touched before. “You look plain and innocent, but deep down, you’re nothing but a dirty little slut. You’re ready to do anything to get rid of this barrier, no? You asked for it last night, begged for it, even.”
My body must be going through a shock, because the moment realization rushes back to me, it’s like someone has kicked me in the stomach and crushed my rib cage.
He’s Orange Mask.
“L-let me go! S-stop it!”
An unruly chuckle stabs through my ear. “You think I give a fuck about whatever little game you had with Landon?”
I go still, my heart nearly spilling on the ground.
I’m in that position where it’s life-threatening again, where my reckless decisions and impulsive actions might lead to my demise.
He can hurt me.
No, he will hurt me.
“I might consider letting you go if you answer the question you ran away from last night, Cecily.” He pounds his fingers inside me, rekindling the power he holds over my arousal.
My nails sink in the dirt as bursts of the earlier pleasure pulse and throb, tighten and clench.
My body still hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re in survival mode right now.
“Why were you at the initiation?” There’s a raspy, blunt quality to his voice, an authoritativeness that bleeds out with every word.
I purse my lips.
“I could and I would fuck your virgin cunt all night long. Then, when I’m bored, I’d stuff my thick cock into your ass and use your blood as lube. I suggest you answer the question before I get to that point.”
My muscles lock as I get a glimpse of his face. It’s only a fraction of it, but it’s enough for recognition to kick in.
It is Jeremy.
I suspected that he was Orange Mask at the initiation, then ignored it, decimated that thought, and chose to delude my mind.
However, there’s no escaping the facts now.
Not only is it his face, but the tone gives him away, too. It’s that cold, emotionless, and absolutely loathsome voice.
If there’s anything I’ve learned about the Jeremy Volkov, it’s that you should stay out of his path. Avoid him. Change direction upon seeing him.
Do whatever it takes to not be noticed by him. Or worse, be threatened by him.
Everyone on this island knows not to cross him, which is why I have no doubt that he’ll do as he’s promised. If I don’t give in and offer what he asked, I’m in for the lesson of my life.
So I calm my breathing, despite the pleasure he’s ignited at my core, and try to speak as neutrally as possible.
“I just… I just wanted to see what it was like.”