Page 95 of Imprisoned

My senses sharpen to knife points. In prison, I was caged. Here, I’m unleashed. The forest embraces me like an old friend as I move silently between shadows.

I hear her ahead—her breathing, rapid and shallow. She’s trying to be quiet, but her city-bred instincts do not match mine. I slow my pace, stalking now rather than running.

Let her think she’s lost me. Let the anticipation build.

I circle her position, purposely stepping on twigs to heighten her fear. The snap of breaking branches sends her scrambling deeper into the forest. Perfect. I live for this: the hunt, the chase, the inevitable capture.

Quick, shallow gasps punctuate the night. I could end this game now, but where’s the fun in that? I want her heart pounding against her ribs, want the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“I can smell your fear, little doctor,” I call out, my voice echoing between the trees.

She freezes—a fatal mistake. I catch a glimpse of blonde hair glinting in a patch of moonlight. She realizes her error and bolts, but it’s too late.

I’m on her in three long strides, tackling her to the forest floor. Leaves and dirt cushion our fall as I pin her beneath me, my weight pressing her into the earth. Her chest heaves against mine.

“Caught you,” I purr, teeth grazing her neck.

“No, please,” she whimpers, struggling against my grip.

I flip her onto her stomach, one hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. With my free hand, I grab the collar of her thin blouse and rip it down the middle, the sound of tearing fabric sharp in the night air.

“Stop it,” she protests, bucking beneath me. “Let me go.”

But she doesn’t say “Babylon.” The word that would halt everything remains unspoken.

I tear away her skirt next, leaving it in shreds around her thighs. My fingers dig into her hips hard enough to leave marks.

“You like playing the victim, don’t you?” I question. “Pretending you don’t want this.”

Her lips press together to suppress a moan as my hand slides between her legs, finding her wet and ready despite her protests.

“Your body can’t lie to me,” I growl, flipping her over to face me. “Not ever.”

Her eyes meet mine, defiant even in submission. She struggles against my grip, playing her part beautifully as I pin her wrists above her head.

I tear her underwear away with a single rough motion, exposing her completely to the night air. The moonlight filters through the canopy above, painting her skin in silver and shadow. Beautiful. Mine.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes wide with anticipation. This is what I’ve always craved—not just the sex, but this raw power dynamic. The struggle. The surrender.

“You ran from me,” I growl, pressing my body against hers. “Nobody runs from me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, still playing her part perfectly.

I grip her jaw, forcing her to meet my gaze. “No, you’re not. You wanted this. Wanted me to catch you. To take you. To show you exactly what happens when you provoke a monster.”

I hold her in place, feeling her struggle beneath me. It’s all for show—this game we’re playing—but the power surging throughmy veins is real. The forest floor is our stage, moonlight our spotlight.

“You think anyone can hear you out here?” I pin her wrists tighter above her head. “There’s no one to save you.”

“Please,” she begs, eyes wide with mock fear. “Don’t do this.”

I lean closer, my face inches from hers. “You shouldn’t have run. Running only makes a hunter want to chase.”

She turns her head away, perfectly playing the reluctant captive. I grab her chin, forcing her eyes to lock with mine. Her resistance sends electricity through my body—even knowing it’s fake, the act ignites something primal in me.

“I want to see your eyes on me when I’m saying this,” I command.

Willow tries to twist away, putting up just enough of a fight to make it interesting without using our safe word. I’ve learned to read her so well—the difference between her discomfort and this theatrical reluctance.

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