I stalked her through the trees, training kicking in like I was made for it.
By the time I caught her in that abandoned shed, I didn’t care about the game anymore.
I just wanted to hear her scream.
When I stripped her, I did it slowly. On purpose.
She let me.
She wanted me to.
Her nipples were already hard before I touched her. Her thighs trembled. Her lips parted like she was begging without a sound.
When I drew the knife, she didn’t flinch.
When I pressed it to her throat, she arched.
When I made the first cut… her eyes rolled back, and she moaned like it was the best thing she’d ever felt.
She was mine in that moment. In every way.
I wanted to ruin her.
Not out of cruelty, out of devotion.
I wanted to fuck her until she forgot Patrick’s name.
Until she forgot her own.
Until the only thing she could remember was the way my blade felt on her skin and my name in her mouth.
She shattered on my fingers.
And then again on my mouth as I drank in her delicious juices, and again and again and again…
And again.
I didn’t stop until she begged me to.
Didn’t come until I felt her body completely give out beneath me.
When I finally let go, I did it inside her.
Messy. Deep. Claiming.
I whispered it into her skin.
“You’re mine.”
Afterward, she passed out in the grime and dirt with a look of pure contentment plastered across her features.
I hold her to me.
Not because I need to, but because I don’t want to let her go.
She looks so fucking peaceful.
Blood drying on her chest. Lips parted. Skin glowing from sweat and pleasure.