Page 18 of Game Over

18

KIRA

I wake up with swollen lips and a mind full of contradictions.

My body aches in places it shouldn’t. Not from pain—from wanting. From yesterday. From him.

The sunlight streams through the window—fake or real? I’ve stopped questioning. My fingers brush my lips where Ryker’s mouth had been. His first kiss. The thought sits heavy in my chest, spreading warmth I don’t want to acknowledge.

He’d been so... different. Uncertain. When our lips met, he froze, completely seized up. I had to guide him and show him how to move against me. His inexperience should have been my advantage, my moment to manipulate him.

Instead, it overwhelmed me.

“Fuck!” I punch the mattress.

After that first hesitant press of lips, an ancient, feral part of him stirred to life. We didn’t leave that couch for hours. His hands memorized me, greedy and desperate, like he’d been starving his entire life. His breath was hot against my neck, whispering things that made me press against him harder.

The grinding... Christ. Even now, heat pools between my thighs, remembering how he pinned me beneath him, moving with devastating precision despite the layers between us.

He knows my body. Studies me like I’m the final boss level he can’t quite beat.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hating how my hand slides down my stomach, finding wetness before I even touch myself. I hate myself for needing this release so badly that I can’t stop my fingers from circling, pressing, and dipping.

“This isn’t real,” I tell myself, but my body no longer cares about reality.

When he brought me back here, something in his eyes had changed. He left me unrestrained. Trusted me. Or tested me. It doesn’t matter which now as I arch off the bed, chasing the sensation, imagining his weight over me instead of this hollow emptiness.

I know that this is fucked up. Stockholm syndrome. Trauma bonding. Whatever psychological label belongs to this mess.

But my body doesn’t care about labels, either.

My eyes flutter closed as my fingers move faster between my thighs. My breath hitches, back arching off the mattress. Images of Ryker flood my mind—his hands, mouth, and weight against me yesterday.

“Harder,” I whisper, circling that sweet spot that makes my toes curl. My free hand grips the sheets, knuckles white.

The pressure builds, hot and insistent. I’m so close. My hips rock against my hand, chasing the edge of release. Sweat beads across my forehead, hair splayed across the pillow.

“God,” I gasp, my body tensing. Just a little more?—

“Don’t stop now.”

My eyes fly open. Ryker stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes blazing with hunger.

Heat rushes to my face. I try to pull my hand away, but he makes a sound—sharp, disapproving.

“I didn’t say you could stop.” His voice drops an octave, rumbling through me. “Keep going.”

My fingers freeze. Despite the embarrassment burning through me, my body throbs beneath my touch, desperate for release.

“I—”

“Finish what you started.” He steps closer, towering over me. “Come for me, Kira. Now.”

The command in his voice triggers me. My fingers resume their rhythm faster now. I should feel shame with his eyes devouring every inch of me, but power surges through my veins.

I’m performing for him. And fuck—I like it.

The intensity builds faster than before. My breath comes in short gasps, and my legs tremble as I climb higher.

“That’s it.” His voice wraps around me like a warm caress. “Let me see you fall apart.”

I’m balanced on the knife’s edge, my entire body coiled tight.

“Ryker—” I whimper, so close I can taste it.

His name escapes my lips like a prayer, and a feral spark ignites in Ryker’s eyes.

A deep growl rumbles from his chest. Before I can react, he lunges forward, ripping the sheets away from my body. The cool air hits my heated skin, but I barely notice because Ryker’s dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed.

“Mine,” he snarls, gripping my thighs and spreading them wider.

My fingers still hover between my legs, wet and trembling. He grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away and pinning it beside my hip.

“You started something that belongs to me.” His breath is hot against my inner thigh. “Only I get to make you come, understand?”

I can’t form words, just nod frantically, desperate for him to touch me.

“Who gets to make you come, baby?” His tongue darts out, so close to where I need him, but not close enough.

“Only you,” I gasp.

The first stroke of his tongue sends electricity shooting up my spine. My hips buck instinctively, but his strong hands hold me in place, fingers digging into my flesh.

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he groans against me. “I’ve imagined waking up and eating you every fucking morning for over two years.”

His mouth devours me with devastating precision like he’s studied exactly how to take me apart. Each lick and suck is calibrated to drive me wild.

“That’s it,” he murmurs between strokes of his tongue. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come on my tongue.”

I’m so close, teetering on the edge, my entire body trembling with need.

His tongue laps at me skilfully, but suddenly, he pulls back. My body protests the loss, hips chasing his mouth.

“You remember what happened last time?” he asks, eyes locked with mine as he slides two fingers through my wetness.

I know exactly what he means. When it happened, I was horrified, the sudden gush of wetness shocking me.

“I want to see it again,” he growls, curling his fingers inside me.

His fingers find that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. He presses upward, the pressure building instantly.

“No, I can’t—” I gasp, trying to squirm away.

“You can. You will.” His voice is iron wrapped in velvet. “Let go for me.”

His thumb circles my clit while his fingers work that spot relentlessly. The pressure builds impossibly fast, different from a regular orgasm—more intense, more frightening.

“Ryker, I?—”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, his eyes never leaving mine. “Let it happen.”

The pressure becomes unbearable. I’m climbing too high, too fast. My thighs tremble uncontrollably around his hand.

“That’s it,” he urges, fingers working faster. “Give it to me.”

The release crashes through me like a tidal wave, my back arching. I feel the wetness gush around his fingers, soaking the sheets beneath me. The intensity makes me cry out, tears springing to my eyes.

“Fuck yes,” Ryker groans, his fingers still coaxing more from me. “So fucking beautiful.”

I collapse back against the mattress, trembling. My body feels wrung out, used in the most delicious way possible.

I’m still trembling from the intensity of my release when Ryker begins a slow journey up my body. His lips press against my inner thigh, leaving a wet mark that cools in the air. My muscles twitch beneath his touch, sensitive and needy.

“You’re exquisite,” he murmurs against my hip bone, his tongue tracing the curve.

Every kiss feels like he’s marking territory, claiming another inch of me. His stubble scratches lightly against my stomach as he moves higher, the contrast between his rough face and soft lips sending shivers across my skin.

My breathing hasn’t even steadied when his mouth finds the underside of my breast. I arch instinctively, offering myself to him without conscious thought.

“Ryker,” I whimper, my voice ragged.

He pauses at my collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. The slight pain makes me gasp, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him to me rather than pushing him away.

When his face finally hovers above mine, I see a vulnerability in his eyes. For a moment, the carefully curated facade slips. I remember how he froze yesterday when our lips first met—how his entire body went rigid with uncertainty.

The knowledge sits heavy between us: I’m the first person he’s ever kissed.

This man who’s controlled every aspect of my capture, who’s mapped my body like a territory to conquer, who’s pushed me to heights of pleasure I’ve never known—has never felt another’s lips against his own until mine.

The revelation makes me feel powerful and terrified simultaneously.

His eyes search mine, seeking permission despite everything between us. I give the slightest nod, and he lowers his mouth to mine.

The kiss is achingly gentle. His lips carefully move, learning my responses rather than forcing them from me. When his tongue traces the seam of my mouth, I taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes me moan against his lips, my hands sliding up his back.

He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring every sensation, cataloging my reactions for future reference.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling away just as I lose myself in him. His attention makes my lips feel swollen and tender, and I find myself leaning forward, chasing his mouth instinctively.

Ryker’s eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. There’s a gentleness there that doesn’t match the man who kidnapped me, who built a maze to hunt me through. It’s jarring and confusing, this dichotomy.

“You should grab a shower,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “I’ll have breakfast waiting when you’re done.”

My body still thrums with aftershocks of pleasure, making it hard to focus on his words. I blink up at him, trying to process the sudden shift.

“Before level five starts,” he adds.

Level five.

The reminder slams me back to reality. This isn’t normal. This isn’t a romantic morning between lovers. This is a game—his game—with rules I don’t understand and consequences I can’t predict.

“What’s level five?” My voice sounds weak.

His mouth curves into that half-smile that makes my stomach flip despite everything. “Shower first. Then food.” He stands, creating distance between us. “You need your energy.”

The implications hang heavy in the air between us. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly conscious of my nakedness in a way I wasn’t moments ago.

Ryker moves toward the door, each step measured and controlled. At the threshold, he pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder. I catch a glimpse of uncertainty in his expression.

“Take your time,” he says finally. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him. The silence he leaves behind feels oppressive.

I stayed frozen on the bed for several minutes, trying to untangle the knot of emotions inside me: fear, desire, confusion, and anticipation.

Level five.

I force myself to stand on shaky legs and go to the bathroom. Whatever comes next, at least I’ll face it clean.