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KIRA

T he forest whispers around me. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves sends electric currents across my skin. I freeze, ears straining for the sound of Ryker’s pursuit.

Twenty minutes. That’s all the head start he gave me. How many minutes have passed?

A bird calls overhead, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My breath catches in my throat as I press myself against the rough bark of an oak tree. My skin burns beneath the thin fabric of the robe, hypersensitive to every sensation—the brush of cotton, the kiss of wind, the memory of his hands.

“This isn’t normal,” I tell myself, but the words lack conviction now.

When did this change? When did the thought of him hunting me down shift from terror to... anticipation? My nipples are hard, thighs damp with more than just exertion.

I think of his kiss before he released me into this forest. The way he claimed my mouth like a man drowning. The realization that those were his first kisses still staggers me. All his power, his obsession—and yet I’m the first person whose lips he’s tasted. Something about that knowledge has cracked open my resistance.

A twig snaps somewhere to my left.

My breath hitches. Is it him? The thought sends a rush of adrenaline through me, but it’s not fear driving me anymore. It’s hunger.

I move deeper into the trees, my shoes silent on the forest floor. Every sense is heightened. The forest smells green, alive, and dangerous—like him.

God knows how long ago at the start, I would have given anything to escape this nightmare. Now my fantasies have blurred with reality. The line between captor and lover has smudged beyond recognition.

Another sound—closer this time.

My skin flushes hot. My heart pounds not with terror but with want. I shouldn’t feel this. Shouldn’t crave his touch, his possession. But knowing I broke through his armor, that I affect him as deeply as he affects me—it’s intoxicating.

He’s coming for me. And God help me, I want him to find me.

I rush forward without direction, navigating the forest with clumsy urgency. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—I’m just running blindly. No plan. No strategy. Exactly what he wants.

“Stop thinking like prey,” I coach, slowing my pace. “Think like a gamer.”

This is just another level in his sick game, but games have rules. Patterns. Exploitable mechanics. I’ve conquered enough virtual worlds to know better than to panic-sprint through unfamiliar territory.

I spot a dense thicket of brambles ahead, backed by a small depression beneath a fallen tree. I slide into the hollow space, wincing as thorns catch at my robe. The natural cave offers coverage from three sides while providing a clear view of the approach. It’s defensible—the first rule of survival gaming.

Catching my breath, I finally take stock of my surroundings. Three acres, he said. I need to understand the boundaries, the terrain. What would I do if I were designing this level?

I listen to the birdsong above, noting how it shifts and changes. There—a pattern interruption to my right. Something disturbed them. He’s circling, not directly pursuing.

My mind catalogs available resources: stones for distraction, mud for camouflage, and thorny branches for defensive barriers or traps.

If this were Call of Duty, I’d create a diversion, then flank. If it were Horizon, I’d set traps along predictable patrol routes.

I gather a handful of small stones, tucking them into my robe pocket. Then I smear cool mud across my exposed skin, masking my scent and breaking up my silhouette against the forest floor.

“Think, Kira,” I murmur. “He knows you. Anticipates your moves. So don’t be you.”

What would Ryker never expect? He’s counting on my fear driving me forward, making predictable choices. So I’ll be unpredictable. I’ll think like a hunter, not like prey.

I settle deeper into my hiding spot, organizing my thoughts and forming a plan.

The mud cools against my skin as I reconsider my strategy. Hiding feels too passive, too predictable. Ryker knows I’m resourceful—he’s played enough games with me to understand my tendencies.

“What would he never expect?” I ask myself, the answer crystallizing instantly.

He expects me to run forward, to seek escape. But what if I double back? Circle around behind him? The hunter becomes the hunted. It’s the move I’d make in our late-night gaming sessions—sacrificing the obvious advantage for a surprising counter-attack.

I slip from my hiding place, moving with renewed purpose. No longer running blindly but executing a strategy. I track my footprints backward, carefully stepping precisely where I’ve already disturbed the ground. The forest feels different now, less threatening, more like a game board I can understand.

The thrill of outsmarting him sends adrenaline coursing through my veins. I imagine the shock on his face when he realizes I’ve maneuvered behind him. For once, I’ll be the one in charge.

I smile, quieting my footsteps as I navigate a cluster of saplings. So focused on my brilliant plan that I miss the subtle differences in the forest floor ahead.

One step. Two. The ground feels oddly springy beneath my feet.

The world suddenly inverts.

A violent whoosh of air, my stomach lurches, and I’m airborne—then suspended, tangled in rough rope that bites into my skin. The net closes around me, hoisting me three feet above the forest floor.

“No!” I thrash against the bindings, but each movement makes the ropes dig deeper into my flesh. My plan is shattered in seconds.

Defeat washes over me as I hang helplessly, swinging slightly with each futile struggle. The reality is humbling—he anticipated this move. He knew me better than I knew myself.

The sound of unhurried footsteps approaches through the underbrush. My breath catches as Ryker emerges from the trees, a predatory smile playing across his lips.

“Double-back strategy, Mischief? Classic you,” he says. “I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t tried it.”

I hang suspended in the net, my body contorted into a grotesque display as the ropes bite into my flesh. Realization dawns with sickening clarity—how the net has caught me, legs spread, body accessible through the gaps in the rope pattern. I’m completely exposed. Vulnerable. The thin robe that barely covered me before now hangs open where the rough hemp has pulled it apart.

“Let me down!” My voice cracks as I thrash against my bindings.

Ryker circles beneath me, eyes dark with predatory intent. “The more you struggle, the tighter it gets.”

He’s right. Each movement cinches the ropes deeper into my skin, red indentations forming. I freeze, breathing hard as he pulls a hunting knife from his belt. The blade gleams in the dappled forest light.

“Don’t,” I plead, a new kind of panic flooding my system.

His smile is all teeth. “Trust me.”

The net sways as he approaches. I renew my struggles despite the pain, desperate now. “No! Ryker, stop!”

The knife slices through the air, and I flinch, expecting pain. Instead, I feel the subtle give of rope. He’s cutting carefully, methodically, maintaining the structure that holds me suspended while creating a strategic opening between my legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes fixated on his handiwork.

The cool flat of the blade suddenly presses against my inner thigh. I gasp, muscles tensing. He drags the knife’s smooth side up my leg, never breaking skin but threatening with every inch. My body responds to the caress with shameful heat.

“The hunter claims his prize,” Ryker says, dragging the knife across my stomach, between my breasts, up to my neck. “And you, Mischief, are exactly where I planned for you to be.”

I feel tears of frustration burn behind my eyes. Even my brilliant strategy was anticipated and worked into his sick game. The knife travels back down my body, and I shudder, suspended and helpless in his forest trap.

I hang suspended, as Ryker’s knife creates strategic openings in the rope net. My body trembles from fear, anticipation, and darkness I don’t want to name.

“You really thought you could outsmart me?” His voice carries an edge that sends shivers down my spine. “I know every move you’d make before you make it.”

I should be terrified. I should be fighting, screaming, doing anything but hanging here watching him with wide eyes. The shifting power dynamic and the moments of vulnerability I’ve glimpsed in him have awakened something inside me.

“Fuck you,” I spit, but there’s no conviction behind it.

His laugh is dark. “Soon enough.”

The sound of his zipper sliding down makes my breath catch. My nipples harden beneath the thin robe, heat pooling between my thighs. I’m horrified at my response, yet unable to stop it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, stepping closer to the net. “Fighting me even while your body begs for me.”

“I’m not—” The lie dies on my lips as his hand reaches through the opening he’s created, fingers tracing along my inner thigh.

“You’re soaked,” he says, voice rough with desire as his fingers brush against my center. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is still catching up.”

I bite my lip to keep from moaning as he teases me with featherlight touches, never giving enough pressure where I desperately need it. The ropes dig into my skin as I instinctively arch toward his hand.

I hang suspended in the net, aware of how exposed I am. My breath comes in shallow gasps as Ryker’s fingers withdraw from my center. I should feel relief. Instead, I feel empty, aching.

“Remember your safe word?” he asks, voice husky with want.

“Respawn,” I whisper.

He nods, eyes never leaving mine. “Use it if you need to.”

I open my mouth to end this twisted game. The word sits on my tongue, ready to spill out, but I swallow it back. A darkness inside me doesn’t want this to stop.

Ryker positions himself at the opening he’s created in the net. I feel the hot, hard length of him against my inner thigh. He’s freed himself from his pants but hasn’t removed them completely.

“No,” I protest weakly, turning my face away. My hips shift toward him despite my words.

“Your mouth says one thing,” he growls, beginning to slide himself against my wetness without penetrating. “Your body says another.”

I gasp as a cool metal grazes my most sensitive spot—the Prince Albert piercing. I’d seen it before during our previous encounters, but feeling it against me sends electric shocks through my nervous system.

“Stop,” I plead, the lie evident in my pressing against him, seeking more contact with that tantalizing metal.

He drags himself slowly up and down my slick folds, the piercing creating the most exquisite friction against my clit. My head falls back, a moan escaping despite my attempts to stifle it.

“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he challenges, knowing I won’t.

The safe word burns in my throat, unspoken. I could end this now and reassert some restraint. Instead, I bite my lip as he continues his torturous rhythm, the piercing hitting exactly where I need it with each stroke.

“I hate you,” I gasp, even as my thighs tremble with building pleasure.

His dark chuckle tells me he sees right through me. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I feel him trembling against me, his body vibrating with restraint. His careful strokes along my folds become erratic, desperate. There’s a change in his eyes now—a wildness I haven’t seen before, even during his previous lapses in discipline.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice ragged. “I can’t—I need?—”

The careful, calculating Ryker is fracturing before my eyes. His breathing grows harsh, pupils blown wide as he positions himself at my entrance.

“I’ve waited so fucking long,” he rasps, fingers digging into my thighs through the openings in the net. “Dreamed about this tight little pussy for too long.”

His words shock me—not just their crudeness, but the raw desperation behind them. This isn’t the meticulous man who planned my abduction. This results from the culmination of every action he’s taken in the last two years. A result he didn’t foresee in his meticulous planning.

“You’re mine,” he growls, pressing forward slightly. “I want to hear your pretty little voice tell me exactly who you belong to. Fucking say you’re mine, Mischief.”

I gasp as the head of his cock stretches me, the cool metal of his piercing a startling contrast to his heat.

“I—”

“I need to hear you admit what we both know.”

His composure disintegrates completely, hands shaking as they grip me. “Tell me your pussy belongs to me. Tell me that deep down you want this as bad as I do.”

The rope net sways as he presses closer, his whole body quivering with need. Sweat beads on his forehead, teeth clenched as he fights to maintain the last threads of his control.

“Please,” he begs, voice rough with vulnerability. “Fucking tell me, Kira. I’m dying here.”

The power I suddenly hold over this man, who’s dominated every aspect of my captivity, is intoxicating.

I stare into Ryker’s desperate eyes, feeling the head of his cock stretching my entrance while the metal of his piercing presses against my sensitive flesh. His vulnerability in this moment—the trembling hands, the cracking voice.

“I’m yours.” The words escape my lips before I can stop them, and they feel shockingly true. “My pussy belongs to you. I want this—want you—so fucking bad.”

His eyes flash dark, and everything changes in an instant.

A guttural sound tears from his throat as he surges forward, burying himself inside me with one powerful thrust. The net swings wildly, my body jerking against the ropes that bite into my skin.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, gripping the ropes on either side of my hips for leverage. “Mine. You’re fucking mine.”

His grip shatters completely, and he pounds into me with savage intensity, each thrust rocking the suspended net. The piercing drags against my inner walls with each movement, creating a sensation so intense I cry out.

“Tell me again,” he demands.

“Yours,” I gasp, my body on fire with sensation. “I’m yours, Ryker.”

The net creaks and sways with his violent rhythm. My hands grip the ropes above my head as my body accepts each brutal thrust. The position—suspended, helpless, spread open for him—heightens every sensation.

I’ve never felt anything like this—this animalistic fucking. No gentle lovemaking, no careful consideration. Just pure, desperate need. My body responds with shocking intensity, inner walls clenching around him as pleasure builds with frightening speed.

I’m suspended in the net, my body jerking with each powerful thrust as Ryker claims me completely. The forest spins around us, a blur of green and brown as the net sways violently.

“You fucking like that?” Ryker growls, his fingers digging into my thighs hard enough to leave bruises. “Tell me how much you love this thick cock stretching your tight little cunt.”

His words shock me, the crude vulgarity so at odds with his usually proper speech. My cheeks burn with humiliation and arousal.

“I—I can’t?—”

His hand connects with my ass in a sharp slap. “Answer me when I fucking talk to you, Mischief.”

“Yes,” I gasp, the word torn from my throat. “I like it.”

“Like what?” He slows his pace cruelly, barely moving inside me. “Be specific. Tell me exactly what you want.”

The net creaks as he leans closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Tell me you want me to fuck this wet pussy until you scream.”

My whole body trembles. “I want you to fuck me until I scream.”

“Whose pussy is this?” His voice drops to a growl as he drives into me again, the piercing dragging against my g-spot.

“Yours,” I whimper.

“I don’t think everyone heard you.” His fingers yank the net trap roughly. “Whose. Fucking. Pussy. Is. This?” Each word punctuated with a brutal thrust.

“Yours! It’s yours!” I cry out, shame and pleasure twisting together.

“That’s right,” he snarls. “This tight little hole belongs to me now. I’m going to use it whenever I want, however I want. Going to fill it with my cum until you’re fucking dripping with it.”

I shouldn’t be aroused by his filthy words, but my body clenches around him traitorously.

“You’re my little slut now, aren’t you?” He forces my gaze to meet his. “Tell me what you are.”

The words burn in my throat, humiliation and arousal battling inside me. I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t be dripping wet as he pounds into me while I hang helplessly in this trap. Shouldn’t feel this pleasure racing through my veins.

“I’m—” My voice breaks as he hits that spot inside me. “I’m your slut.”

His eyes flash with triumph. “Again.”

“Your slut,” I gasp, the words sending a shameful thrill through me. “I’m your fucking slut, Ryker.”

He rewards me by speeding up his pace, hips slamming against mine with brutal force. The net swings wildly, the rope digging into my skin, adding pain to the overwhelming pleasure. Each thrust of his pierced cock sends shockwaves through my body.

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he commands. “Now.”

As if my body belongs to him completely, the orgasm crashes through me at his words. I shudder in the net, inner walls clamping down on him as waves of pleasure tear through me. My scream echoes through the forest as my back arches, body shuddering.

“That’s it, Mischief,” he groans, never slowing his relentless pace. “Squeeze that tight little pussy around me.”

I can barely breathe through the intensity of it, aftershocks rippling through me as he continues to fuck me through my climax. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. From pleasure, from shame, from the overwhelming storm of emotions, I can’t even begin to process.

“Let me see your eyes,” he demands.

I force my eyes open to meet his gaze. What I see there shocks me. Behind the dominance, behind the cruel smile twisting his lips, his eyes shine with a reverent expression.

“Gorgeous.” His pace becomes erratic. “So fucking divine.”

His fingers dig deeper into my hips, cementing the fact that I will wear his bruises for days. I feel him swell inside me, the piercing pressing against my sensitive walls.

With his pace growing frantic, Ryker’s composed facade crumbles completely. His eyes lock with mine, his hunger and desperation replacing the precision I’ve grown accustomed to. His muscles tense, jaw clenched as he drives into me one final time.

“Kira,” he groans—not Mischief, not his pet name, but my actual name tumbling from his lips like a prayer.

His entire body shudders against mine as he empties himself inside me, fingers gripping the ropes so tightly his knuckles turn white. The vulnerability etched across his face in this moment of release stuns me—I’m seeing him completely undone, barriers demolished.

As his breathing slowly steadies, reality crashes back. The forest around us, the rope biting into my skin, the net swaying gently after our violent coupling.

What have I done?

My body still tingles with aftershocks of pleasure, a betrayal that makes bile rise in my throat. I wasn’t just a victim here. I participated. I encouraged him. I said those things-those filthy, degrading things—and I meant them in the heat of the moment.

The weight of my willingness settles over me like a blanket, nearly suffocating me. I could have used my safe word and fought harder. Instead, I welcomed this twisted chemistry between us, letting myself become actively complicit in my own violation.

My confusion must show on my face because Ryker’s expression shifts— a tenderness replacing the feral hunger of moments before.

“Don’t.” I turn my face away as tears burn behind my eyes. I can’t bear his tenderness now, not when I need to hate him or myself for what just happened.

I close my eyes, unable to look at him or the evidence of our actions. The line between captor and captive, between victim and willing participant, has blurred beyond recognition. And the most terrifying realization is that some dark part of me wanted this.