Page 23

23

RYKER

I hold her as she sleeps, her weight against me, both foreign and familiar. Kira’s breathing settles into a rhythm I memorize, another piece of her that belongs to me now.

The night stretches around us. I track time precisely—four hours and seventeen minutes she’s been asleep in my arms. Her hair catches the moonlight filtering through the window, and I allow myself to touch it, winding strands around my fingers. This wasn’t planned. These quiet moments weren’t in my simulations.

She mumbles unintelligibly in her sleep, nestling closer. The woods around the cabin are alive with night sounds—rustling leaves, distant animal calls, the soft hum of insects. I catalog each noise methodically, ever vigilant. No one will find us here. This place exists in no records, maps, or even county tax rolls.

My muscles should ache from holding the same position for hours, but I barely notice. I’ve trained my body to endure far worse. What I can’t rationalize is the tightness in my chest when she sighs against me. This... attachment wasn’t part of the plan.

Dawn approaches. Pink-orange light bleeds through the trees. Time for Level 6.

I carefully slip from beneath her, replacing my body with my folded jacket. From my pocket, I retrieve the note I prepared before I captured her, though now I hesitate. The instructions seem harsh in the gentle morning light. Still, the game continues. Structure is necessary. True authority is essential.

I place the note beside her on a nightstand. Clean white paper against rustic wood.

My handwriting is precise:

Mischief,

Level 6 begins when you open your eyes.

The forest holds more than just the thrill of the hunt. Today, you’ll discover what it means to be truly exposed. Find the stream that runs a quarter mile east of where you are. Strip. Bathe yourself in the cold water while I watch from somewhere you can’t see.

Your body belongs to me now—every inch, every curve, every goosebump that forms when the water touches your skin. I want to see you vulnerable under the open sky, knowing my eyes are on you but not knowing from where.

After your bath, follow the red ribbons tied to the trees. Each one holds an instruction. Some will pleasure you, some will hurt, but all will remind you who owns you.

You have no choice but to obey. The forest is mine. You are mine.

Don’t disappoint me, Kira. I’m always watching.

—R

P.S. The collar I’ve left beside this note is waterproof. Put it on before you do anything else. If you remove it before I say so, the consequences will make our previous games seem like gentle foreplay.

I stand over her sleeping form a moment longer before retreating silently into the trees. She looks peaceful, unguarded. A part of me wants to stay and be here when she wakes.

Instead, I follow the plan.

I move silently through the forest, putting distance between myself and Kira. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the screen—Damien, my COO. Irritation flickers through me, but I answer. The outside world rarely intrudes here, but some matters require attention.

“Damien.” My voice is clipped, professional. A different person from the one who just held Kira.

“Ryker, sorry to bother you during your... time off.” Damien’s voice carries the careful tone of someone who knows not to ask questions. “We have a situation with the Pentagon contract.”

I scan the tree line, calculating the time until Kira wakes. “Go on.”

“The security auditors found a backdoor in the surveillance package. They’re threatening to pull the entire contract unless we explain.”

Of course they found it. I designed it specifically to be discovered—a sacrificial flaw hiding three deeper, undetectable ones.

“Tell them it was an oversight in code migration. Fire someone from the security team—Peters, preferably. He’s been stealing for months.” I’ve documented every transgression, stored neatly in encrypted files.

“Are you sure? Peters is one of our best?—”

“Then offer him a contractor position at thirty percent higher pay through one of our shells. The Pentagon needs to believe we’re taking this seriously.”

“Got it.” Damien pauses. “The board’s asking questions about your absence. Two weeks is the longest you’ve ever been away without checking in at HQ.”

I feel a smile form. KentSec Systems—my billion-dollar creation built from the shadows of my darkest skills. A legitimate front for knowledge that would put me in prison if anyone knew its true scope.

“Tell them I’m finalizing the Nightshade protocol. They’ll stop asking.”

“Will you be back this week? The Chandler acquisition needs your signature.”

I glance in the direction where Kira sleeps. “Send the papers by courier to the usual address. I’ll handle it remotely.”

“Anything else you need from us?”

“No. Everything is proceeding exactly as planned.”

I end the call and slip the phone back into my pocket. Time to watch Kira wake up to Level 6.

I move through the forest with practiced silence, each step deliberate. The stream is a shallow, clear-running brook cutting through moss-covered stones. The morning light dapples through the canopy, creating lacey patterns on the water’s surface.

I find my observation point quickly—a natural blind created by fallen logs and thick undergrowth approximately forty-two yards southeast of the water. Close enough to see everything, far enough that she won’t detect my presence. I’ve analyzed the sight lines from every angle.

Settling into position, I check my watch, noting it’s six-seventeen a.m. The forest is waking up around me, birds beginning their morning calls. I wonder if Kira will notice the absent warmth of my body soon. I made sure to leave without disturbing her, but humans instinctively register the loss of physical contact, even in sleep.

The waiting doesn’t bother me. I’ve spent countless hours in surveillance, learning every habit, every movement she makes.

Through my binoculars, I watch the cabin and wait.

My body still remembers the weight of her against me, the unexpected comfort of holding someone who isn’t struggling to escape, and the steady rhythm of her breathing against my chest.

I shift position slightly, scanning the perimeter again. There is no movement except wildlife, and no sound except the natural symphony of the forest and the steady babble of the stream.

Come on, Mischief. Wake up. Feel the absence of me and open those eyes.

Level 6 will test her in different ways—not just her obedience but her willingness to be completely exposed, to be watched without knowing where I am, and to follow my instructions without my physical presence compelling her.

I settle deeper into my position, prepared to wait as long as necessary.

Movement catches my eye—Kira. I adjust my position, settling deeper into my hiding spot as I watch her through the binoculars. She looks disoriented, her hand reaching for the empty space where I had been. Her fingers find the note instead.

I observe her face as she reads—the subtle widening of her eyes, the unconscious bite of her lower lip. She picks up the collar, turning it over in her hands with an expression I can’t fully decipher from this distance. Hesitation? Arousal? A combination of both?

She rises to her feet and slips on her boots and my jacket, stepping outside and scanning the forest around her. I remain still, even though she has no chance of spotting me. Her movements are cautious as she follows my instructions, heading east toward the stream. The morning light breaks through the trees, catching her hair, giving her an almost ethereal glow against the forest backdrop.

My breath catches as she reaches the stream and hesitates briefly before untying her robe. It falls open, revealing her naked body underneath. My cock hardens instantly as she lets the fabric slip from her shoulders completely, pooling at her feet.

She steps into the stream. I see goosebumps prickle her skin through the binoculars as she kneels in the shallow water. I adjust them, zooming in as she cups water in her hands and pours it over her chest. Rivulets trickle paths down her breasts, over her nipples that harden from the cold.

My grip on the binoculars tightens as she begins to wash herself, hands sliding over her body with a thoroughness that suggests she knows exactly how I want her to perform. She turns slightly, giving me a profile view as she runs her hands down her sides, over her hips.

After bathing, she follows the first blue ribbon tied to a nearby tree. There’s a small waterproof pouch attached. She opens it, reads the note inside, and bites her lip again.

I’d chosen her first task carefully—instructing her to kneel on a flat rock beside the stream, legs spread wide, and touch herself slowly while facing the eastern treeline. The position ensures I can see everything, every movement of her fingers, every expression on her face.

I grip the binoculars so hard that the metal digs into my palms. My breathing has become irregular—a tell I’d never allow in any other circumstance. Over two years I’ve watched her through lenses and screens, but this proximity changes everything.

The scent of the forest fades as I focus entirely on Kira. Her fingers move in slow circles between her thighs, following my written command precisely. Even from forty-two yards away, I can see her wetness on her thighs catching the morning light. My cock pulses painfully against my zipper. I shift position, seeking relief that doesn’t come.

This wasn’t part of the calculation. The sheer intensity of my need for Kira crawling through my veins wasn’t factored into my equations.

I’ve maintained a grip on my urges through every surveillance session, every intrusion into her private moments. Clinical. Methodical. Premeditated. But now, with nothing but air between us, decades of discipline vanish. My muscles coil, ready to spring forward. To claim what’s mine.

Three steps. That’s all it would take to reveal my position. Seventeen seconds to reach her at a sprint.

I imagine the shock on her face as I emerge from the trees. Her eyes would widen before I press her back against the rock, still wet from the stream. How her gasp would feel against my mouth as I sink inside her.

My hand moves subconsciously toward my belt. I force it back to the binoculars.

No. The plan exists for a reason. Each level builds upon the last, conditioning her properly. Rushing now would undo my careful work.

But fuck—her moan carries through the trees, faint but unmistakable. My cock throbs in response, demanding satisfaction.

I close my eyes for precisely three seconds. Recalibrate. The plan matters. The sequence matters.

When I look again, she’s arched her back, fingers moving faster.

Her orgasm shatters the solitude of the morning. My name—my fucking name—rips from her throat as she comes. I grip the binoculars so hard they might break, my breath sawing through clenched teeth. The sight of her—my collar around her throat, her body writhing on the rock, legs spread wide—burns itself into my brain with a precision no camera could capture.

Mine. Fucking mine.

Observing her through screens was clinical. This is... savage. Primal. Every muscle in my body coils with the urge to sprint through the forest and claim her. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper, demanding release.

I force myself to breathe. Three counts in. Three counts out. The plan. Remember the fucking plan.

She rises on shaky legs, her skin flushed pink from both her climax and the cool morning air. The collar encircles her throat like a brand. My pulse hammers in my ears as she moves downstream, following the blue ribbon path I laid out.

The way she moves—cautious yet determined—tells me she’s adapting and learning the rules of our game. Her evolution is happening exactly as I estimated, perhaps even faster.

She reaches the second ribbon, fingers untying the waterproof pouch with an eagerness that makes me suppress a groan. Her body goes still when she pulls out the silicone plug and the small bottle of lube. I zoom in on her face—the widening of her eyes, the quick dart of her tongue across her lips. Not disgust. Not fear.

Curiosity.

She reads my note, and I know exactly what it says:

Get on your hands and knees, facing west. Prepare yourself and push this inside you. I want to see you stretch around it. I want to know you understand every part of you belongs to me.

My breath stalls as she obeys, positioning herself precisely as instructed. Her hands shake slightly as she applies the lube, reaching behind herself. I can’t look away—can’t fucking breathe—as she slowly, carefully works the plug inside.

The restraint I’ve maintained for decades frays like a cut rope. One thread left. Just one fucking thread.