Page 11

11

RYKER

T he embarrassment washing overKira’sface as she freezes mid-dance surprises me. She came so easily whilst giving me a lap dance. Her body heat and movements affect me in ways I hadn’t calculated.

“You aced that level. Top points.” I take her by the hair, forcing her to gaze at me. “Look at the screen. See how well you did?”

She looks up, eyes widening at herself on screen, straddling me. I replay the moment, her eyes glazing over. Her face reddens as she realizes the extent of my stalking.

“Deny it all you want. That sweet little pussy of yours betrays you every time.” My voice sounds strange—tighter, more desperate than intended. “Your pulse races, your skin flushes when I push you. You want this. Admit it.” I tug gently on her hair, bringing her closer. “Tell me you want more.”

My breath brushes her lips as I wait. I need to hear her acknowledge the truth. Not just for my plan but for something deeper stirring inside me—a need for her to want this and me.

Her eyes lock with mine. “I-I...” Her voice falters. “I want...” She swallows, resistance crumbling.

Seeing her give in excites me in unexpected ways. I lean closer, inhaling her scent. “Admit you want more of me, Kira.”

Her body tenses as she shifts on my lap, eyes meeting mine with newfound determination. The fear remains, but something else burns behind it—defiance.

“Let me go.” Her voice comes out stronger than expected. “I want you to let me go.”

A laugh escapes my throat, hollow even to me. Something twists in my gut. I release her hair, skimming my fingers down her neck. “And why would I do that when we’re just getting started? When you’re finally understanding what you truly need?”

She tries to pull away, but my arm keeps her firmly in place. “This isn’t what I need. You’re wrong about me.”

“Am I?” I gesture to the screen where her dance still plays. “You just came while giving me a lap dance and grinding on my cock.”

“That was...” She shakes her head. “You manipulated me. Drugged me. None of this is real.”

I grip her chin, forcing eye contact. Her skin feels warm under my fingers, alive in ways my screens never captured. “Everything about this is real. More real than those fantasies you’ve harbored. More real than those late-night gaming sessions where you pretend to be someone else.”

“You don’t know me.”

“But I do.” I graze her lower lip with my thumb, and something unfamiliar cracks inside me. “I know every part of you,Kira Ellis. I’m the only one who can give you what you want.”

She tries to turn away, but I hold her still. “The only thing I want is to leave.”

“No.” I smile, noticing her pulse jump at my touch, doubt creeping in where certainty once reigned. “You want to stop feeling guilty about enjoying this and wanting more.”

“Let me go or get on with your sick game.”Kira’seyes flash with determination. “The faster I play along, the faster this ends, right?”

My grip tightens on her jaw. Rage courses through my veins, but beneath it runs something else—fear. She thinks this is temporary? Can she leave?

“Ends?” A dark laugh escapes my throat, masking sudden panic. “You think this is some game you can rage quit?” I yank her closer, lips brushing against her ear. “There is no ending,Mischief. No save point. No respawn.”

Her body trembles against mine. Good. She needs to understand.

“You’re mine now. I’ve learned every detail about you and created this world just for us.” My fingers track the column of her throat, feeling her rapid pulse. My voice softens unexpectedly. “Your apartment? Emptied. Your job? Resigned. You don’t exist out there anymore.”

Panic crossesKira’sface. She pushes against my chest, fingers splayed across my shirt. The pressure makes something stir in me—a longing for connection I hadn’t anticipated having.

“That’s impossible. My family will notice I’m missing.Jennawas literally with me at the convention. She’ll know something happened.” Her voice trembles but strengthens. “People will look for me.”

I smile at her naivety, a strange ache forming in my chest. The confidence in her eyes almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to tell her. Almost.

“Mischief,Mischief,Mischief.” I stroked her hair, enjoying her flinch while wishing she wouldn’t. “You think I didn’t account for that? Your preciousJennareceived a text from your phone explaining you’d met up with an old friend and decided to take an impromptu trip.”

“She wouldn’t believe that. I’d never?—”

“You did mention wanting to be more spontaneous last month during your little wine night.” I run my thumb across her lower lip. “Remember? When you complained about how predictable your life had become?”

“How could you possibly know?—”

“Your mother already received your call explaining that you needed space. Very emotional. Very convincing.” I play a recording of her voice—pieced together from hundreds of hours of footage, manipulated to say exactly what I needed.

She listens, horrified, as her voice explains she’s taking time off from everything, needs to disconnect, and promises to check in occasionally.

“That’s not... You can’t...” Her breathing quickens.

“As for your job? Your manager received your resignation letter two weeks ago. Quite professional.” I lean closer, inhaling her scent. “You even thanked them for the opportunity.”

Tears well in her eyes as recognition flashes in their depths. No doubt her boss was giving her shit ever since she “resigned.” “No one will believe?—”

“They already have.” I brush my knuckles along her collarbone, a strange tenderness creeping into my touch. “Everyone’s happy you’re finally living your best life.”

She tries to pull back, but I hold her firm, unwilling to let go now that I finally have her in my arms.

“The only life you have now is with me. The only pleasure you’ll feel is what I give you.” I brush my thumb across her lower lip again, my voice dropping. “The only air you breathe is what I allow.”

Tears well in her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“No. Obsessed? Maybe.” I slide my hand into her hair, gripping it tight but gentler than planned. “But you created this. Every late-night game. Every TikTok of mine you watched. Every innocent teasing conversation while we gamed. You built this reality, and now you live in it.”

Her chest heaves against mine as panic sets in. She’s learning this isn’t a game—it’s her new forever. Her weight against me feels different from what I imagined—more significant. I hadn’t considered how her actual presence would affect me.

“Now,” I release her hair, exploring her spine. “Should we move on to the next level? Or do you need another reminder of who owns you?”

I stand, liftingKirawith me. Her legs wobble as I set her on her feet, hands gripping her waist. The warmth of her body drives me wild, not just from lust, but something more complex that wasn’t in my programming.

“Time to level up.” I inhale the scent of her hair. “You’ve passed the tutorial. Now we get to the good part.”

I secure her wrists behind her back with a zip tie—not too tight, just enough to remind her who’s in control. Her breath catches as I lead her through a door hidden behind a bookshelf. I prepare to show her the next phase of my plan.

The room beyond stops her as she takes in every detail of my creation. A strange vulnerability washes over me—I’m showing her my obsession laid bare, two long years of meticulous planning exposed.

“Recognize it?” I ask, guiding her forward, suddenly anxious for her approval.

The space is an exact replica of her gaming setup at home, but twisted. It includes her desk, chair, and PC with customized RGB lighting. But surrounding it all are monitors displaying surveillance footage of her apartment, workplace, and coffee shop—years of her life captured and categorized.

“This is where I first knew I had to have you,” I explain, the confession slipping out before I can analyze its strategic value. “Watching you play. Seeing that little furrow between your brows when you concentrate.”

I push her gently into her gaming chair—the same model as in her apartment, down to the worn spot on the left armrest. My hands linger, savoring the contact.

“I’ve set up a special game.” I lean over her, chest against her back, as I boot up the system. “A custom one. Just for us.”

The screen flickers to life. On one side is her bedroom, and the screen is split, showing a feed of my bedroom. Timestamps show simultaneous moments—Kira touching herself while I did the same. Showing her this feels different from expected—more intimate, more invasive. Doubt flickers in my mind.

“See?” I brush her hair aside, lips grazing her neck, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. “We’ve been playing together longer than you realize.”

Her body trembles as the monitor displays dozens of synchronized moments—her most intimate seconds paired with mine.

“For tonight’s level...” I slide my hand down her arm, feeling goosebumps rise under my touch. “You’re going to see and feel what I felt.” My fingers trace the edge of her lingerie, hesitating briefly. “And I’m going to show you exactly how I’ve wanted to play with you since I first found you.”

I lean overKira’sshoulder, mouth close to her ear as I operate the keyboard. The monitors flicker between videos—all of her and me—synchronized moments captured without her knowledge. My breathing becomes uneven as I watch our past selves, remembering the loneliness of those nights when she was pixels on a screen.

“See how we were connected even before you knew me?” I press play on a clip from three months ago. There she is, headphones on, hand sliding beneath her shorts while I mirror the action in my space. “Look how in sync our timing is.”

She tries to turn away, but I grip her chin. “Watch it. All of it.” My voice comes out harsher than intended, masking my vulnerability in sharing these private moments.

I queue up a playlist—dozens of clips. Her face flushes as she watches herself in her most private moments, paired with my responding actions. The horror and shame playing across her features make something twist inside me. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

“Hours of us,” I announce, voice rougher than usual. “Together but separate. Until now.”

My fingers find the zip tie binding her wrists, cutting it with a knife. I reposition her hands in front of her, securing them to the arms of the chair with handcuffs. She won’t be going anywhere. But as I secure her, I find myself gentler than planned, careful not to mark her skin more than it already is from her struggling with the zip tie that rubbed her skin raw.

“You know what I’ve thought about every time I watched you?” I glide my fingers up her thighs, feeling her tense under my touch. “How you would taste.”

I slide to my knees, positioning myself under the edge of her desk. Looking up at her with a hunger that transcends my careful planning, this moment feels monumental in ways I hadn’t calculated.

“Keep your eyes on the screen,” I command, pushing her legs apart, my voice revealing more than I should allow. “Don’t you dare look away!”

Her thighs resist at first, but I force them open. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly dragging them down her legs. She whimpers above me, a sound caught between protest and desire, sending heat flooding my veins.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” I murmur against her inner thigh, my voice cracking with my pent-up hunger for her. “…imagined this every night.”

On-screen, another video plays—her touching herself, moaning softly as I did the same miles away, both of us unknowingly synchronized. I finally taste what I’ve coveted for so long.

Her body jerks as my tongue makes contact, but the chair holds her in place. I grip her thighs harder, keeping her spread open for me. My first taste of her is more intense than any simulation I’d run in my mind. Two years of waiting, planning, and now she’s here, spread open for me. Her body’s reactions betray her words. Despite her protests, she’s wet and responsive.

“Look at us,” I murmur against her inner thigh, a strange emotion catching in my throat. “I want you to witness how we match.”

I circle my tongue around her clit, feeling her thighs tremble. Her breathing changes—shorter, faster. The chair creaks as she pulls against the restraints. The sounds she makes—soft, reluctant moans—affect me more deeply than anticipated.

“That’s it…Stop fighting what you want.”

I lick her slowly, methodically—the same way I planned this entire operation. Her body responds beautifully, finally performing a symphony I’ve rehearsed for two years. But the reality of her—her taste, scent, and warmth—overwhelms my careful planning.

On-screen, the compilation continues—moments when I stroked my cock and watched her touch herself. Now, there’s no distance between us—no screens, just her taste on my tongue and her reluctant moans filling the room.

“You’re so fucking amazing,” I growl against her, the words carrying more weight than I imagined possible. “Everything I knew you’d be.”

I lift her legs and drape them over my shoulders, drawing her closer and groaning against her cunt. Her hips buck and she involuntarily fucks my face, making my dick harder than stone as I hold her in place. I’ve manipulated every aspect of her life for more than two years, and now I’m manipulating her body—showing her that I know what she needs better than she does. Something shifts inside me as I feel her body respond—a need for her to want this as much as I do, to want me.

I glance up to see her face flushed and confused, eyes fixed on the monitors. Her expression makes my chest tighten, a sensation unfamiliar.

I press deeper, harder, my tongue relentless as I feel her body climbing toward release. Her resistance is futile. I’ve already won. Even so, I want more than victory—I want her submission to be real.

“Come for me,” I order, the vibration of my words against her most sensitive flesh making her gasp. “Show me you can be a good girl.”

Her body trembles beneath my tongue as I push her closer to the edge. Her resistance is crumbling—I can feel it in the way her hips begin to move against my mouth, seeking more pressure despite her mind’s protests. Knowing that her body wants this, even if her mind doesn’t yet, fills me with a deep satisfaction.

“That’s it,” I growl against her slick flesh. “Stop fighting what we both know you want.”

Her breathing changes, becoming ragged and desperate. The chair creaks as she pulls against the restraints, her body arching. Our past selves perform in silent synchronicity on the screens surrounding us, but nothing compares to reality. The connection I feel transcends my careful planning.

I look up and see her face contort with pleasure. Her eyes squeeze shut, head thrown back as she tries to deny what’s happening. Her vulnerability reaches past my dominance, touching something primordial within—an instinct to protect and possess.

I pause just long enough to make her whimper at the loss. “Watch me while you come.”

Her eyes flutter open, glazed with conflicting emotions—shame, fear, and undeniable arousal. I smirk against her inner thigh before returning to my task with renewed determination, circling her clit with precise pressure. Beneath my confident exterior, something shifts again—a need for her to see me, to acknowledge what’s happening between us as more than just captor and captive.

The moment builds like a masterfully executed game strategy—every move precise, every response anticipated. Her thighs begin to shake, her chest heaving as she fights against the inevitable.

“Give in to me,” I demand, feeling her body tense on the precipice. “Tell me you belong to me.”

She breaks with a sharp cry, her body convulsing as pleasure rages through her. “Fuck, I’m yours!”

The admission snaps my control. I continue my assault on her senses, drawing out her orgasm as she trembles and moans, feeling an unexpected tenderness bloom alongside my triumph.

“Let me hear you say it again,” I command, looking up at her flushed face. “Who made you come? Who owns your orgasms?”

Her eyes are wide with horror at what she’s just said, but her body continues to pulse against my tongue. “You did,” she breathes, tears spilling down her cheeks—whether from pleasure or shame, I don’t know. “You do.”

Victory surges through me, but it’s accompanied by a fierce protectiveness, a desire to shelter her even as I break her down. Sweet validation of everything I’ve known, yet somehow more meaningful. This isn’t just about possession anymore. It’s about connection.

I rise slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, studying her face with newfound wonder. The dynamic has shifted. The game has changed. And I’m no longer certain who’s really in control.