Page 14 of Pounded in the Patch
He carries me to what I think is the center of the field, where several pathways converge around a particularly large pumpkin. This one isn't carved—instead, it sits whole and perfectly untouched, surrounded by thick vines that sprawl across the ground in tangled patterns.
"Perfect," he says, throwing me down beside the pumpkin. "Absolutely perfect."
Before I can even think about running again, he's grabbing my wrists and stretching them over my head, securing them in a way that spreads me wide. But instead of rope this time, he's using the pumpkin vines themselves, twisting them around my arms and tightening intricate knots. I kick at him as he moves to my feet, pulling my legs apart until they won’t stretch any more. I feel exposed to not only him, but the entire field around us. It’s like each carved pumpkin is watching, grinning as they wait to see what happens next.
Who ties someone up withpumpkin vinesof all things?
"They’re stronger than you'd think," he says like he’s reading my mind. "Flexible, but they don't break easily." He leans closer, hisvoice dropping to that dangerous, spine-tingling whisper again. "I thought you'd appreciate the festivity of it."
The vines are rough against my skin, and their sharp little thorns bite into my wrists as I pull against them, but he’s right. They’re too strong.
"There," he says, stepping back to admire his work. "I’ve got you right where I want you, and now you can’t run from what you really want."
What I really want?
"You don’t know anything about what I want," I snap at him.
But the truth is, the terror is still there, loud and in my face, but it's mixing with something else now… That something makes my skin feel hypersensitive and my pulse race.
"Your mouth says one thing," he murmurs, kneeling over me. "But your body is telling a very different story."
He's right, and I hate him for it. My body is responding to him and this entire fucked-up situation in ways that make no sense. My breathing is shallow and quick, my skin feels flushed and hot, and there's a growing ache between my thighs.
What is wrong with me?
"Look at you," he growls, reaching out to trace one finger along my collarbone. His touch burns like fire against my bare skin. "Your pupils are dilated. Your pulse is racing. Your skin is flushed." His finger trails lower, following the lace edge of my corset. "And I bet if I checked, I'd find you're wet for me already."
Oh god.
"You’re wrong," I whisper, but it comes out breathless and unconvincing.
"Let's find out, shall we?" There’s an amused twinkle in his eyes as he watches me through the mask. Like he already knows what he’ll find.
His hands are on my thighs before I can process what he's doing, sliding up beneath my short skirt at a tortuously slow speed.
I should fight him. I should scream.
Someone might hear me.
I should do anything except lay here trembling while a stranger—akidnapper—touches me like he fucking owns me.
But that's exactly what I do. I lay here, bound by pumpkin vines and my own traitorous desires, while he begins exploring my body.
"Fuck," he hisses when his fingers find the lace of my underwear. "You're soaked."
Shame. Hot, burning shame floods through me, followed immediately by arousal so intense it makes my knees quake. How can I be turned on by this? How can my body betray me so completely?
"Please," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm begging him to stop or to continue.
"Please what, night monster?" His fingers trace the outer edge of my panties, not quite touching where I need him most. "Please stop? Please don't?" His voice drops again, throaty and entangled with desire. "Or please don't stop?"
I can't answer. I literally cannot form words while his hands are on me like this, while he's looking at me like I'm his next meal.
"That's what I thought," he says, confirming what I’m too ashamed to say out loud.
He pulls my panties aside and slides one finger inside me, slow and deliberate and undeniably devastating. I arch against the restraints, a sound escaping my throat that's part moan, part sob.
This is wrong. This is so wrong.
