Page 36

KIRA

One year later…

T he late afternoon sunlight filters through gauzy curtains, painting golden patterns across my bare skin. I stretch, feeling the silky sheets slide against my body as I reach for Ryker beside me. Empty space greets my fingertips. We took a nap after lunch, and glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I’m surprised how long I slept—it’s almost five o’clock.

My eyes take in our Thailand villa—all teak and glass, perched on the edge of paradise. I can see the private beach stretching out like a postcard through the open doors, waves lapping at pristine sand.

It has been a year with Ryker, a year since everything changed, a year of learning who I truly am, and a year for each of us to learn who we are together .

I slide from bed, wrapping myself in Ryker’s discarded shirt from last night. It smells like him—sandalwood and his indefinable scent, the one that’s purely Ryker. My feet pad across warm wooden floors as I step onto the veranda.

I see a folded note on the bistro table, held down by a small black box. My pulse immediately quickens. I recognize that handwriting. I recognize what this means.

My fingers tremble slightly as I unfold the paper.

Good morning, Mischief. Ready for Level Twelve? The box contains your first clue. The safe word remains the same. Remember—follow every instruction exactly. No exceptions.

Your Ghost

A thrill races through me, pooling low in my belly. My nipples harden against the soft fabric of his shirt, and I bite my lip in anticipation.

The black box calls to me. Inside could be anything—a key, a toy, instructions for some delicious depravity that Ryker has crafted specifically for me. These games of his tap into something primal within us both. Each challenge pushes boundaries I never knew I had, each level revealing darker, hungrier parts of myself.

I glance around the sprawling property—the lush jungle framing our secluded hideaway, the empty stretch of private beach. No one for miles. No one to hear whatever happens next.

My fingers hover over the box’s edge before lifting the lid. A smile spreads across my face at what I find inside.

Inside the box lies a thin gold chain with a small key dangling. Beneath it, a folded piece of black paper with white writing is hidden. I slip the chain around my neck, the key cold against my skin, before unfolding the note.

Level Twelve: Primal

Your body is your only weapon. Your submission is your only shield.

Follow the red markers into the jungle path behind our villa. You’ll find a clearing with a singular ancient banyan tree. The one I showed you last week.

Rules:

1. Strip completely naked before entering the path.

2. Apply the oil in the wooden box with the first marker.

3. You have exactly 30 minutes from reading this note to reach the clearing.

4. The key around your neck opens something vital. Don’t lose it.

5. You will be hunted. If caught before reaching the tree, you give up all control for 24 hours.

6. If you reach the tree first, you may claim your chosen reward.

Remember who owns you, Mischief. Remember who you belong to.

Your Ghost is watching.

Heat floods my core. The jungle. The hunting ground where anything could happen. I check the time—eleven forty-seven a.m. The countdown has begun.

I drop Ryker’s shirt to the floor and stand naked on the veranda, scanning the edge of the jungle for the first red marker. There—a flash of crimson tied to a palm frond about fifty yards away.

Thirty minutes to reach the clearing without being caught.

I dash toward the first marker. The wooden box sits beneath it, just as Ryker promised. Inside, a small bottle of fragrant oil that I quickly uncap and apply to my skin. It smells of something wild—sandalwood, jasmine, and something musky I can’t identify. The oil glistens on my naked body, catching sunlight as I rub it across my breasts, stomach, and thighs.

Twenty-six minutes left.

The jungle path stretches before me, a ribbon of darkness cutting through vibrant green. Every hair on my body stands at attention as I step onto it, leaving civilization behind. The temperature drops instantly—a cool embrace compared to the beach’s heat.

My breathing quickens. I’m prey now. Somewhere in this lush wilderness, Ryker waits.

The thought sends a shiver of anticipation up my spine.

A bird calls sharply overhead, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My laughter comes out shakier than intended. Every sense feels dialed to eleven—the brush of leaves against my oil-slicked skin, the symphony of unfamiliar sounds surrounding me.

I spot the second marker tied to a low-hanging branch, twenty yards deeper into the jungle. My pace quickens.

A twig snaps somewhere to my left. I freeze, pulse pounding in my ears.

Was that him? Or just some small creature going about its day, unaware of the human game of predator and prey happening in its territory?

I strain to listen, but the jungle is deafening in its awakened state—insects buzzing, distant monkeys chattering, the rustle of leaves in the humid breeze. Each sound makes me twitch, sending jolts of adrenaline through my system.

Another red marker comes into view. I’m making good progress; every step feels full of possibility. The key bounces between my breasts as I move, a constant reminder of what awaits at the end of this path.

The fourth marker comes into view through a curtain of vines. My chest heaves with exertion as I check the delicate watch Ryker gave me last night. Five minutes left. I can do this.

The jungle thins slightly, patches of sunlight breaking through the canopy. The clearing must be close. I can almost feel the ancient banyan tree calling to me, promising victory and the reward I’ll claim from Ryker.

A brief movement out of the corner of my eye is my only warning.

He comes from nowhere—a blur of muscle and darkness that slams into me from the side. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs as we tumble to the ground. His Ghost mask gleams white against the jungle’s green backdrop, and those familiar blue eyes burn through the eyeholes.

“Time’s up,” he growls, voice distorted by the mask.

He straddles me, powerful thighs trapping my hips. Sweat glistens on his bare chest, each tattooed muscle defined in stark relief. He wears nothing but black boxer briefs and that mask, which makes my mouth dry despite the humidity.

“I still have five minutes to get away from you and make it,” I gasp, struggling beneath him.

His laugh is dark. “You think you can make it? Look at you—caught and wet already.”

His fingers confirm his words, sliding through my slickness. The oil on my skin makes everything glide—his hands, my futile attempts to push him off.

“Admit it,” he demands, yanking down his boxers with one swift motion. “You wanted to be caught.”

His cock springs free, the metal of his piercing glints in the dappled sunlight. He grinds against me, that metal stud finding my clit with unerring precision. I arch involuntarily, a moan escaping my lips as the piercing drags across my most sensitive spot.

“Ryker,” I pant, hips bucking upward.

“Say my name again,” he commands, rubbing himself through my folds, the piercing creating friction that makes my vision blur. Each pass of metal against my clit sends shockwaves through my entire body.

“Ryker,” I gasp again, my body responding to his touch despite my competitive urge to win this game.

As he hovers above me, piercing sliding against my wetness, something clicks in my brain. This seems... too easy. Too straightforward. Ryker’s games are never this simple. There’s always a twist, always something I’ve overlooked.

The key hanging between my breasts suddenly feels heavier. What does it open? Why would he make such a point of it if this jungle chase was the entire game?

Ryker suddenly pulls away just as I’m about to ask him what I’m missing. The absence of his touch leaves me cold despite the jungle heat. He’s on his feet in one fluid motion, yanking me upward by my wrist.

“Come,” he commands, voice still distorted by the mask. He drags me forward, my feet stumbling to keep up with his purposeful stride.

“Where are we going?” I ask, bewildered by the abrupt change. One moment he was about to claim me on the jungle floor, the next he’s marching us through the underbrush.

Through breaks in the foliage, I catch glimpses of the massive banyan tree ahead, its aerial roots creating an otherworldly canopy in the clearing.

“It’s part of the game, Mischief,” he says, not slowing his pace. His grip on my wrist is firm but not painful, encouraging rather than forcing me forward. “Did you really think catching you was the entire point of this level?”

The Ghost mask turns slightly toward me, and I can sense his smile behind it—that knowing, maddening smile that tells me I’ve only scratched the surface of whatever he’s planned.

We reach the banyan tree, its massive trunk and hanging roots creating a natural sanctuary in the clearing. The ancient tree towers above us, its roots descending from branches like they’re reaching the earth, creating another worldly cathedral of wood and leaves.

“The box,” Ryker points to a gleaming metal container between two massive roots at the tree’s base. “Use your key.”

My hand trembles as I lift the delicate gold chain from my neck, the small key dangling between my breasts. The box is weathered steel with intricate engravings—symbols I don’t recognize etched into its surface. The lock clicks open easily when I insert the key, and Ryker kneels beside me, his mask still in place.

“Open it,” he commands, voice husky with anticipation.

I lift the lid, and my breath catches in my throat. Nestled on black velvet lies an assortment of objects that make my core clench with both fear and arousal. Among them, a realistic-looking prop gun, sleek and menacing.

“Jesus, Ryker.” My fingers hover over the contents.

He lifts the gun, handling it with practiced ease. “Safe, of course. But real enough where it counts.” His fingers caress the barrel in a way that makes my entire body flush with heat.

Beside it are other implements of pleasure and pain—things I’ve never seen before, let alone imagined inside me. The jungle suddenly feels too hot, too close around us.

“This is Level Twelve, Mischief,” Ryker purrs, lifting the gun and pressing its cool barrel against my heated skin. “Where we discover just how depraved we can be together.”

He guides me to my knees, positioning me over one of the tree’s massive roots. The rough bark scratches my inner thighs as he spreads me open from behind.

“Don’t move,” Ryker commands, his voice deep and possessive through the mask.

I hear him rummaging through the box again before the unmistakable buzz of a vibrator fills the clearing. My body tenses in anticipation.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, skimming the vibrator along my inner thigh. “Did the hunt excite you that much, Mischief?”

The vibrator makes contact with my clit and I jolt forward, a gasp escaping my lips. He pulls me back roughly by my hip.

“I said. Don’t. Move.”

The vibration intensifies as he presses it more firmly against me, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. My legs tremble as he works the toy in expert circles, bringing me to the edge.

“Please,” I whimper, my hips trying to rock against the stimulation.

“Please what?” He pulls the vibrator away just as I’m about to climax, leaving me gasping and desperate.

“I need to come,” I beg.

Ryker chuckles darkly behind me. “Not yet.”

His fingers grip the base of the plug still nestled in my ass—the one he inserted last night after filling me with his cum. The memory of him pushing it into me, sealing his seed inside, makes me moan shamelessly.

“Look at you,” he muses, applying gentle pressure to the plug. “Keeping yourself plugged all night like my good little whore. Keeping my cum safe inside you.”

He twists the plug slightly, making me gasp.

“Did you like running through the jungle knowing you were filled with cum? That every step you took, you could feel me inside you?”

“Yes,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

“Such a good whore for me,” he continues, slowly beginning to ease the plug out. “So obedient, keeping yourself ready for me always.”

The sensation of the plug sliding out makes me shudder, a whimper escaping my throat as the widest part stretches me before releasing.

The sensation of emptiness after Ryker removes the plug doesn’t last long. I feel the cool metal barrel of the prop gun pressing against my exposed entrance, making me gasp and stiffen instinctively.

“Shh, relax for me,” Ryker purrs behind his Ghost mask. “You’re going to take this just like you’ve taken everything I’ve given you.”

My body trembles as he begins to work the smooth barrel against my sensitive rim. The metal warms against my skin, and my breath comes in short, desperate pants.

“You are so desperate to be filled with anything I give you,” he growls, slowly applying more pressure. “Such a filthy little slut for me, letting me use a gun on your ass in the middle of the jungle.”