Page 38 of Always A Villain

She bites down—hard. The pain is sharp, and it only makes my cock harder.

“Bad girl.” I pry her jaw open with my grip, forcing her to let go. “You want it rough?” Leaning down, I drag my lips over her cheek, inhaling her fear, her arousal. “I’ll give it to you rough.”

I pull my knife from my pocket, flicking it open with a sharp click. Her breath hitches, but I see the way her thighs tense, the way her nipples pebble under the thin fabric of her nightgown.

Fear turns her on.

Dragging the blade down her chest, I slice through silk, exposing her tits. Her exhale is ragged, her body frozen beneath me.

“Axel…” she trembles to say, but it’s not just fear in her voice. It’s something deeper. Something darker.

I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear. “You’re going to run.” I trace the blade down to her stomach, the cold metal making her flinch. “And I’m going to catch you.”

She whimpers.

“When I do, I’m going to fuck you. Hard. Until you bleed. Until you’re crying for me to stop. Until you’re begging me not to.”

A tear slips down her cheek, but her body betrays her—hips shifting, nearly panting, pupils blown wide.

“You want it, don’t you?” I taunt, dragging the knife lower, pressing it just enough to make her gasp. “Say it.”

She shakes her head, but I see the truth in her eyes.

Liar.

I slice through the zip ties binding her wrists.

“Run,” I order.

Her body tenses.

Then, in a blur of movement, she scrambles to her feet and bolts into the trees, her nightgown fluttering behind her, bare feet barely making a sound.

I let her go.

I give her a head start.

One minute.

Two.

Five.

My blood pounds, my cock aching with anticipation. The need to chase. The need to hunt.

The need to own.

I roll my shoulders, take a deep breath, and then…

I run.

My heart raceslike it’s about to burst. Adrenaline surges through me as my feet dig into the soft earth, propelling me forward. The trees and shrubs blur around me, my eyes stinging from tears. He’s completely insane. This is sick and twisted—he’s psychotic.

The cold air bites at my chest, my nipples hard from the chill and the fear clawing at me. This flimsy nightgown is useless against the cold. Branches tear at my skin, scratching as I race through the woods, my feet slipping on the damp, rotting leaves.

Each breath feels like I’m inhaling fire. My muscles scream with every frantic step. I can’t outrun him forever. He’s going to catch me. No matter how fast I push, I know it.

And when he does, he’s going to fuck me—hard. And the messed-up part is, I know I’ll love it.