Page 13 of Don't Run
“Whatever you let me give you,” he answers without pause, like he’d been anticipating my question.
My jaw flexes with the desire to form a witty comeback, but all I do is stare at him.
“You wanna have some fun with me, pet?”
“You wanna fuck me?”
“I wanna do more than fuck you.” His head drops to the right. “I wanna hunt your pretty ass and make you come until you tell me to stop.”
Hunt me?
He wants to give me what I’ve been fantasizing about for the past two months, and I didn’t even have to ask for it.
“I want you scared.” His hand follows the sensitive path from my collarbone down to my waist, every touch of his fingertips landing like a sensual caress. “Something about this perfect face makes me wanna see you panting and hopeless.”
In the wake of those words, his fingers sink into my soft waist, gripping me like he’s done it before.
“I need to see what happens when the line blurs between scared and turned on.”
The steadying pressure of his hand disappears as he folds his arms across his chest again.
“You wanna help me experience that, pet?”
Leaning down, he gets close enough to stare into my soul. “I promise to make it good for you.”
I’m nodding before I can protest, overwhelmed and understimulated in the same breath. I want whatever he plans to give me. So much I’m damn near vibrating from the thought. “Yes.”
One word. But it comes out clearer and steadier than anything I’ve said up until this point.
“Then let’s play a game.”
Blinking up at him, I wait for more.
“I want you to run from me. The only rule is that when I catch you, I get to give you an orgasm for every minute I spent looking for you.”
PLOTS AND BACKSHOTS
Running isn’t my ministry.
I was the kid in gym class who walked the whole mile during the presidential fitness test. Then I turned into the freshman in college who took thewalkportion of my Walk, Jog, Run class seriously.
But when the stony voice on the other side of that mask uttered, “Run,” I took off like someone fired a starter’s pistol.
I don’t know what’s worse, the way my thighs are chafing or the relentless burn in my lungs.
Honestly, the fact that I can’t see in front of me or behind me is worse than all of that.
Total darkness descended the moment I reached the perimeter of the graveyard behind the manor, so the stars twinkling against the inky sky are my only hope for light.
I don’t know where the man chasing me is or if he’s made it out this far. And I’m not going to stop running long enough to listen for his footsteps either.
There are no woods. Just vacant, desolate land with the random tree here or there breaking up the monotony that stretches farther than my eyes can see.
When he said he wanted to chase me, I never asked if he meant outside or through the house. I just flung the back door open and sprinted down the steps like I knew what the fuck I was doing.
Now I can’t breathe, and every crunch of dead leaves beneath my shoes sounds like approaching footfalls.
I’m so keyed up the sound of my own ragged breathing is spooking the hell outta me.
