Page 68 of Christmas With The Kings
“Ninety-eight… ninety-seven…”
Each number wrapped around me. A promise and a warning all mixed into the careful counting of my beloved. My hunter for the evening. The night swallowed me whole, but I didn’t stop running. And something beautiful happened.
The forest came alive around me. Every sound—the whisper of wind through bare branches, the brittle crack of a twig underfoot. Everything seemed sharper, louder, as if the night itself were holding its breath.
Run.
The word tumbled over and over in my head like a love song. Something about the chase had me feeling so alive. I didn’t dare look back. Darkness clung thick to the air, and the moon was little more than a sliver behind a bank of clouds. My lungs burned, every inhale a frosty sting, but I kept going, the hem of my dress brushing against my thighs as I ran.
A laugh bubbled out of me—half fear, half thrill. This was madness. Beautiful, reckless madness. Somewhere behind me, I heard him counting still, his voice getting further and further away as I put distance between us.
My heart lurched. He really was giving me a true head start. There were no heavy footsteps or boots thudding on the ground. It probably helped that he knew this area like the back of his hand. Isabella had told me how the boys used to have sleepovers at the cottage when they were younger.
Him not feeling a need to rush sent a shiver straight through me.
“Sixty-two,” his voice floated through the trees.
My pulse kicked harder. I veered left, down a small dip where the ground turned soft with fallen leaves. My hand brushed against the rough bark of a tree as I tried to slow, but momentum pulled me forward. My heart was a drumbeat in my ears—pounding, wild, alive.
Before long, I heard him call out. “When I catch you, little love. I’m going to destroy that pretty little pussy.”
The toy jolted between my legs; the vibration buckled my knees, and I hit the ground. Damn him. I was torn between yanking the damned panties off and leaving them right there or grinding my needy, throbbing clit into them. I bit back a loud moan and did the latter.
Then, the sound of his boots crunching reached my ears. I pushed to my feet. The noise was coming from behind me, unhurried and way tooconfident.
He is hunting you.
And God help me, I wanted to be found. But the chase amplified my arousal to heights not yet discovered.
“Santa’s checked his list, not once but twice.”
I froze. His voice was closer. Much closer. The sound threaded through the night, smooth and dangerous, and every cell in my body came alive in response.
“Unsurprisingly, your name wasn’t listed under nice.”
Fuck.
I darted right, my boots slipping on damp leaves as I bolted through the trees. My breath came in short bursts, the cold air biting at my lungs. Branches snagged at my dress, the hem catching and tearing as I stumbled over a fallen log. Somewhere behind me, I heard him laugh—low, dark, and full of promise.
The worst part was every second I thought I’d put some distance between us; I’d hear him again—boots on the earth, steady as could be. The sound of a man in full control. I pressed myself against a trunk, trying to quiet my breathing.
Then I heard it. A whisper of movement. The soft crunch of leaves right behind me. My pulse jumped. I turned to run, but before I could take a step, an arm looped around my waist.
A startled cry caught in my throat as he pulled me back against him, my spine meeting the solid heat of his chest. His other hand caught my wrist, pinning it easily against my body.
How the hell had he been that close to me?
“Found you,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear.
I struggled against him, fighting, and managed to slip free. All the self-defence classes I’d been taking paid off. I took off once more, but didn’t get far.
A weight slammed into me, powerful and fast. We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, and I yelped. The air whooshed out of my lungs as my back met the earth. He growled against my ear, his voice rough and triumphant.
I tried to twist away, but he caught my wrists, pinning them above my head. His body pressed into mine, solid and unyielding, his breath hotagainst my cheek. My pussy clenched in response to the feral beast straddling me. I tried to wriggle free, but his grip only tightened in a punishing way.
“A for motherfucking effort,” he hissed, the faintest hint of amusement curling through the words.
With fluttering eyes, I looked up at him, lust building inside to the point of no control. It was like he was a drug, and I’d taken a hit entirely too big for my body to take. Leaning down, he audibly inhaled me, breathing me in like a savage animal catching its meal after days of hunger. My little whore body hummed for him.
