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He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was as much a declaration of war as it was a promise of pleasure. It was a kiss full of lust and power, a kiss that claimed ownership over her very soul. And despite herself, she kissed him back, her hands finding their way to his chest, her nails digging into his skin.

He groaned, deepening the kiss, his hand sliding down to her waist, then lower, cupping her ass and lifting her against him. She gasped against his mouth, her body betraying her fear as it responded to his touch. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck as he carried her to the bed.

They fell onto the velvet coverings, their mouths never parting. His kisses were bruising, his hands possessive as they roamed over her body. Ivy felt the heat of his desire, the strength of his need, and she knew she had to use it against him. Ivy broke the kiss.

“Now, I want to play a little game,” Ivy purred, her eyes gleaming with an unspoken challenge. The air crackled with tension. It wasn’t just the words themselves, the way she said them, the subtle lift of her chin, the predatory glint in her eyes. This wasn’t an invitation; it was a gauntlet thrown.

Vice raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, his curiosity piqued. “What kind of game?” His voice a low growl. “Ivy, you know I’m not much for games, unless there on my terms,” he said, his voice gruff with a hint of curiosity.

“Well, that’s too bad,” she said as her lips brushed against his. “Because this one’s not.” She ran her hand over his rock-hard cock, coming to rest on the waistband of his pants. “Please, play with me?” She whimpers into his ear. As she lickedand nibbled his earlobe. His body shivered at her touch. She felt his cock throb as she felt him get harder.

The heat between them was palpable. She leaned back against the headboard, a challenging glint in her eyes. He was too close; his weight pressed down on her. With a teasing smirk, she used her foot against his chest, pushing him away just enough to create space, but not enough to break the tension crackling in the air.

“It’s simple,” Ivy said, with a mischievous smile, “I want you to hunt me, but you can’t use you're powers.” She winked at him, the fire in her eyes danced with excitement.

Vice raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes as he considered her proposal. He wasn’t naïve; he knew perfectly well the undercurrent of seduction humming beneath her words, the subtle curve of her lips, and the deliberate way she held his gaze. Something was different. It wasn’t just the allure, the promise of a fleeting pleasure. There was an intelligence there, a spark of ambition that resonated with his own cynical worldview. She’d managed to pique his curiosity.

Without waiting for his response, Ivy slid off the bed and sprinted out of the room. Her bare feet slapped against the cold, stone floors of the castle as she laughed, the echoes of her joy bounced off the cold, unforgiving walls. The corridors stretch before her like a maze, each one promising a new opportunity to outwit her pursuer. Her heart beats a wild rhythm—half fear, half thrill.

Behind her, she heard the echo of his wicked laugh, the heavy thud of his boots that grew louder as he pursues her. The air was thick with anticipation, the candles flickering ominouslyon the walls. Ivy’s mind races as she weaves through the castle’s labyrinth, her breath came in quick gasps. She can feel his presence, like a predator closing in on its prey. The thrill of the game is real, a head rush that fueled her desire to win.

Her thoughts lead her to the library; a vast chamber filled with towering bookshelves and the sweet scent of aged parchment. She knows it’s a bold move, but she can’t resist the allure of the countless hiding spots it offers. The room whispers with the secrets of a thousand tales, each book a potential ally or trap. She darts between the shelves, her fingertips brushing the dusty spines as she searches for the perfect place to disappear.

Panic lending her speed, she darts behind a particularly tall shelf. It was laden with dusty tomes and forgotten artifacts, its imposing height offering the best chance of concealment in the cluttered space. She presses her back against the cold, hard wood, the grain rough and unforgiving against her skin. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, a frantic, rhythmic counterpoint to the steadily approaching footsteps. The sound was growing closer, echoing through the otherwise quiet room.

Each footstep was heavy and deliberate, sending a shiver of dread down her spine. She closed her eyes, focusing on controlling her breathing, willing herself to become invisible, a part of the shelf itself. The scent of old paper and aged wood filled her nostrils, a strange and unwelcome comfort in the face of impending discovery.

Vice’s eyes scanned the room, a meticulous search that leaves no corner untouched. “You think you can hide from me?” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “There is no escape from me; this little game of yours is over.” He calls out to her. His gaze, sharp and predatory, pierces the shadowsas if they were paper-thin veils, easily torn away to reveal their secrets. He moved swiftly and silently, a master of controlled power. His eyes narrow, focusing on the spot where she had been moments before, the lingering scent of her perfume a tantalizing clue. Frustration flickers across his face—he was so close. Then something caught his eye. He stalks towards it, his hand reaching for the cluttered shelf, anticipation tightening its grip. Whatever she was trying to conceal was about to be uncovered.

Ivy’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her sternum, each beat echoing the anticipation that thrummed through her veins. She pressed deeper into the shadows behind the towering bookshelf. Vice was coming. The thrill of the chase was over whelming.

This charade, this carefully orchestrated dance of flirtation and seduction was far from over. She’d been toying with him, leading him on this chase, and now he was closing in on her.

Vice stepped just feet from her. They locked eyes, what she saw wasn’t the familiar anger she expected to see in Vice’s eyes. Instead, she was met with a look that sent a shiver down her spine. It was a predator’s gaze, sharp and assessing, but laced with something more. Amusement flickered at the corners of his lips, a silent acknowledgement of her game. But beneath that, a raw, undeniable hunger burned in his eyes. He was enjoying this, the hunt, the nearness. She could practically taste the desire radiating from him, a tangible force pressing against her.

The air crackled with unspoken tension. For what felt like an eternity, neither one of them moved, locked in place and neither willing to concede an Inch. Two statues carved fromdefiance; their gazes met in a silent battle. He was a mountain of restrained power, she a whirlwind of cunning. Their chests rose and fell in ragged rhythm, each breath a conscious effort to regain control. Predator and prey, the labels were clear, but the roles were far from decided.

Ivy’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. His breath caught, a strangled sound lost in the heavy silence, as he watched her deliberately bite her lower lip. The simple gesture was a spark, igniting a firestorm of anticipation within him. He had to have her. He reached for her, but she was quicker, his hand just barely missing her arm. She took off again. Vice let out a deep growl deep from in his throat that ignited a fierce arousal in her.

She could feel his power, a tangible weight bearing down on her, a thrilling and dangerous feeling. But she knew he wouldn’t unleash it. This was her game, played on her meticulously chosen ground. These were her rules, etched in the silence and the simmering desire that hung between them. And she was determined to play it out, savoring every stolen glance, every heart-stopping moment, until the very end.

The chase led them through the castle’s dimly lit halls, past the grand ballroom with its chandeliers that hung like crystal spiders, through the dining hall with the long, shadowy table that could seat an army, and into the bowels of the fortress, where the air was damp and the walls whispered secrets of the castle’s bloody past. Ivy’s heart races with excitement, her mind working overtime to stay one step ahead. She leads him to the kitchen, where the scent of roasting meats and baking bread usually fills the air, but now it’s just the two of them, playing out their dance of seduction and survival.

Vice corners her in the kitchen, the gleaming countertops and heavy oak cabinets looming like silent judges. A long, sturdy table stands between them, laden with the remnants of a meal that seems to have been abandoned in a hurry. His eyes glint with a mix of frustration and admiration as he takes in her flushed cheeks and the way her chest rises and falls with each rapid breath.

This is the end of the line, Ivy," he said with a sigh that was almost a growl, "I thought you'd be more of a challenge." He flipped the table with a swift motion, sending plates and silverware crashing to the floor. The sound echoes through the room, shattering the tension like a gunshot.

Surprise flits across his face when she doesn't cower or scream. He closed the distance between them quickly. But as soon as he reached her, she dropped down into a split, she then swung her leg around, catching his ankles. With a grunt, he falls to the ground, the impact jarring. She was on her feet in an instant, her body moving with the grace of a ballerina. He tried to grab her ankle but she's already out of reach.

"I thought you'd be more of a challenge." Ivy teases. Ivy's laugh echoed in the kitchen, a sound that's both thrilling and infuriating to Vice. "That's more like it." he chuckled darkly. He got to his feet, his muscles tensed. The chase isn't over; it's just become more interesting. He prowled after her, his movements were more deliberate now, his mind fully engaged in the game. The sitting room blurred into a whirl of shadows and light as they dodge and weave around the sturdy furniture, their heavy breathing the only sounds in the otherwise silent room.

For a moment, he lost sight of her, his eyes scanning the room in vain. "Ivy?" he called out, his voice a low growl that fills the space. She didn’t answer, and for a brief instant, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Perhaps she's slipped away, her game a clever ruse to escape. But then he heard it—the faint rustle of fabric, a whisper of sound that could be her.

He moved towards the noise, his steps cautious and measured. The room's high ceilings and arched windows seem to hold their breath, the shadows playing tricks on his eyes. "You can't hide from me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise that seems to wrap around the very air.

"Can't I?" Ivy's voice is a teasing whisper, seemingly coming from every corner of the room. She's playing him, and they both know it. "You're getting closer," she calls out, her tone playful, "but are you really?"

Vice’s eyes scan the room, and there it was—the smell of her perfume, an intoxicating smell. The scent of her lingered like a siren's call. He can't help but feel a primal thrill, a desire to feel her soft skin, to taste her and to claim her as his own. He clenches his fists, the need to have her underneath him becoming almost unbearable. He's so focused on the scent that he almost misses the sound of her behind him.