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RYKER

T he plan I’ve crafted, the levels of our game carefully designed to break and rebuild her—all of it has come to feel hollow. I am finding it harder each day to justify my carefully laid plan. This isn’t what I want anymore—to control her completely, own her through manipulation and force. It cheapens what I’ve come to feel for her. If a past boyfriend of hers had done these things, how long would I allow him to live?

The phone feels heavy in my hand—it is her lifeline to the world that I took her from. Dozens of notifications light up the screen—missed calls, texts, voicemails—people who love her searching for her. What if it were me on the other end? Would I ever stop searching?

Once I give this back, I lose my unwavering control over her.

I need her to choose me. Not Stockholm Syndrome, Kira, not traumatized and manipulated Kira. I need all of her to want me as desperately as I want her.

Her eyes flutter open, catching me staring. “What time is it?” Her voice has a sleepy rasp to it, and it’s beautiful.

“It’s only four a.m. I’m an early riser.” I sit on the edge of the bed and hold out her phone. “This belongs to you.”

Confusion crosses her face as she takes it, fingers brushing mine. “My phone?”

“The game is over, Kira.”

She unlocks it, eyes widening at the flood of messages. Her parents, Jenna, coworkers—all frantic about her disappearance.

“They are worried about you despite my messages assuring them you are fine.” My voice sounds strange, tight with emotions I’m still learning to name.

Tears well in her eyes as she scrolls through the messages. “They’ve been so worried.”

“Tell them…” I stand up, creating the distance she needs to make this choice freely. “Tell them whatever you want.”

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. “What should I say?”

“The truth. Part of it, anyway, or all of it if you choose. That you met me at GamerCon. That you’re safe.”

She types, deletes, types again. Finally, she hits send, and the weight in my chest shifts. Not lighter, just different. Pensive.

“I told them I met you at the convention, that I got caught up in a whirlwind, and I’m sorry I worried them.” She looks up. “I told them I’m safe with you. Am I?”

Her question cuts deeper than she could know. After everything, she still isn’t sure.

“Safe?” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. “You’re asking if you’re safe with me?”

I step closer, my body rigid with hurt and frustration. “Kira, you’re the safest you could ever be. I would tear apart anyone who tried to harm you.” I kneel before her, taking her hands in mine. “I promise I will never hurt you again. The games, the levels—that’s over. I was wrong. I see that now.”

My voice drops to a whisper. “I’d rather die than cause you pain again. And I hate that your first memories of us together are marked with fear and pain.”

A darkness and hunger flares to life in her eyes—one I recognize from our time in the forest. Without warning, she grabs my shirt and yanks me forward, pulling me onto the bed with surprising strength. I land over her, bracing myself on my forearms to avoid crushing her.

“Fuck me,” she demands, her voice husky, almost commanding.

The sudden role reversal sends blood rushing south, but I hesitate, brushing hair from her face with gentle fingers. “Kira, we don’t have to?—”

“Now.” She arches against me, nails digging into my shoulders.

I groan, lowering my mouth to hers. My kisses are soft, measured, my touch gentler than she’s used to as I slide my hand along her side.

She breaks away, frustration evident in her flushed face. “No. Not like this.” Her gaze burns me. “Like before. In the game.”

I freeze, trying to understand. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to be you,” she says, voice dropping to a growl. “Primal. Twisted. The way you were in the forest when you hunted me.” Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. “I need that Ryker right now.”

I narrow my eyes, searching her face for any hint of fear. “Do you like rough games, Kira?” I ask, voice dropping an octave as I pin her wrists above her head with one hand.

“I’ve never been more turned on than when you hunted me,” Kira admits, her cheeks flushing. “When you caught me, when you made me submit. You knew exactly where I’d go, how you’d find me. It would’ve been my favorite level if I felt safe enough to trust you.”

I’d thought she’d been traumatized, that she needed gentle handling. But the darkness I saw in her in the forest wasn’t forced—it was awakened.

I cup her face. “Do you want to play level seven, then? But this time, willingly?”

Her quick nod makes my cock throb against her thigh. “Yes. Please.”

I lean close, breathing against her ear. “Level seven requires full submission out in the open where anyone might see you.”

I pull back to gauge her reaction, finding her pupils wide with arousal.

“I own an exclusive resort property—private beach, secluded cove. I’ll have you naked except for a collar, bound to a Saint Andrew’s cross I’ve erected in the sand when the tide is out.” My voice drops lower. “I’ll leave you there as the tide slowly comes in. Not enough to drown you—I’ve calculated the tides exactly—but enough to let you feel the danger.”

Her breathing quickens as I continue.

“I’ll watch from the cliffs above as the water rises around you, as you pull against your restraints. And I’ll come for you when the fear is at its peak. I’ll make you come, tied up, half-submerged, where any passing boat might spot us.”

“When?” she whispers, already squirming beneath me.

“We can go now as high tide is in an hour and a half. I can hear you through an earpiece if you say your safe word.”

Kira’s breath catches in her throat. Her reaction is more eager than anticipated—more authentic than anything we’ve shared.

“That sounds so fucking hot,” she moans, arching her back slightly. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she pulls me closer. “I get so turned on when I’m scared. I don’t know what’s coming next—but you’ve planned everything.”

My cock hardens instantly at her admission. This is Kira without manipulation, without trauma bonds—her darkest desire offered freely. The knowledge that she craves the danger makes her more perfect for me than before.

I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with an intensity that surprises even me. My tongue claims hers, and she responds hungrily, her entire being melting against mine, soft curves yielding to hard planes. When I finally pull away, we’re both breathing hard.

“Get up,” I command, voice husky with need. I walk to the closet and pull out a white linen beach dress I’d purchased in anticipation of this moment. “Put this on. Nothing else.”

She takes it from me, fabric sliding between her fingers as she examines it. The material is thin enough to reveal the silhouette of her body in direct sunlight—exactly as I’d intended.

“We leave now,” I tell her. The timing will be just right. “The tide waits for no one, not even us.”

She slips the dress over her naked body, the fabric settling against her curves in a way that makes my mouth go dry. She looks innocent and debauched simultaneously—exactly how I’d imagined her countless times.

“I have everything ready in the car,” I explain, leading her toward the door with my hand on the small of her back. “This was meant to be level seven. I was going to bring you here right after the forest, but things evolved outside my plan.”

The irony doesn’t escape me—that what I’d planned as forced submission is now happening with her eager participation. Somehow, that makes it infinitely more arousing.

I drive my Range Rover along the coast, Kira silent beside me, her breathing quick with anticipation. The resort property comes into view—I purchased twenty acres of private beachfront two years ago through a shell company. No one knows it belongs to me.

“We’re here,” I say, parking at the cliff’s edge overlooking the cove below.

Dawn is just breaking as we go down the winding path to the beach. The first rays of sunlight cast a golden glow across the sand, illuminating the four titanium posts I installed, positioned precisely where the tide reaches its peak.

I lead Kira through the cool morning water to the custom St Andrew’s cross I had fitted. The sea laps gently around our ankles, calm and predictable just as the tide charts promised. I’ve marked the post with a thin red line indicating maximum water height—it will reach just below her breasts at high tide.

“This is a St. Andrew’s cross,” I state. “Put your arms up, Mischief.”

She complies instantly, allowing me to lift the white linen dress over her head. The morning air pebbles her nipples and causes goosebumps across her exposed skin. She’s magnificent—both vulnerable and strong.

I withdraw the rope from my waterproof bag—black jute, eight millimeters thick, sixty feet long. My fingers work methodically, crossing and looping the rope across her chest and around her waist in a diamond pattern. I’ve practiced these ties a thousand times on mannequins, but nothing compares to how Kira’s soft skin yields to the pressure.

“Spread your legs wider,” I murmur, pushing her thighs apart until she’s fully exposed. The rope continues down, binding her thighs to the post in a way that leaves her cunt completely accessible. She can’t close her legs or hide herself from my gaze or the rising tide.

“The post is connected to a hydraulic system,” I explain, nodding toward the sand beneath the water. “If anything happens—unexpected waves, a boat approaches—I press this button, and you’ll rise more than two meters above the waterline.” I show her the remote I’m keeping. “You’re completely safe. I will always make that my priority, no matter the game.” I lean in and capture her lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

“I’ll come for you when you’re ready,” I promise against her mouth.

She whimpers softly as I pull away, water swirling around her calves.

I turn and return up the shore, climbing the path to the cliff. From here, I can see everything—her naked body bound to the post, the water slowly rising around her, and the complete isolation of our private cove.