Page 52 of Haunted

“Let me refresh your memory about something important.” I hold the NDA up where she can see it clearly, even in the crimson lighting. “Section seven, subsection three. Do you remember what that says?”

Her eyes dart between the document and my face, confusion mixing with mounting dread.

“It states that by signing this agreement, the participant grants full and irrevocable consent to all activities conducted during the Hunt.” I fold the papers carefully and return them to my pocket. “All activities, Mira. Without exception.”

The color drains from her face as understanding dawns.

“You also waived your right to withdraw thatconsent once the Hunt began. It’s all there in black and white, with your signature at the bottom.” My fingers trace along her jawline as I speak. “You read every word before you signed it. We both know how thorough you are with documents.”

She tries to turn her head away, but I catch her chin and force her to look at me.

“So when you tell me to stop...” I lean closer until my mouth is inches from hers. “I have to wonder if you’ve forgotten what you agreed to or if you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t want this.”

Her breath catches as I press closer.

“Your body certainly seems to remember the agreement, even if your mind is trying to pretend otherwise.” My free hand skims down her side, feeling the way she trembles at my touch. “The way you responded to me earlier tells a very different story than your words do now.”

I can see the internal war playing out across her features—the journalist fighting against the woman who signed away her right to refuse me.

“The beautiful thing about legally binding contracts,” I murmur against her ear, “is that they don’t care about second thoughts.”

I reach into my jacket and withdraw a blade—not one of Vane’s serrated hunting knives, a sleeker knife. The polished steel catches the crimson light as I hold it up, where Mira can see every gleaming inch.

“This isn’t for cutting,” I tell her, watching her eyes track the weapon. “Not yet.”

The flat of the blade touches her throat first, cool metal against heated skin. I drag it slowly downward, following the line of her pulse as it races beneath the surface. Her breathing hitches, but she doesn’t pull away—she can’t, restrained as she is.

“Feel that?” I press the blade’s edge—carefully, safely—against the hollow of her throat. “Your pulse is hammering.”

The knife trails lower, following the neckline of the red silk. I use enough pressure that she can feel the threat without any actual danger.

When the blade reaches the space between her breasts, I pause. “Tell me to stop again,” I challenge, my voice low and commanding. “Say it like you mean it this time.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. The internal battle plays across her features as plainly as if she’d spoken it aloud.

That’s when I slide my free hand between her thighs, finding evidence of her arousal.

“Fucking liar,” I growl, my fingers stroking through the wetness. “You’re dripping for me.”

She gasps as I find her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure while keeping the blade positioned against her sternum. The contrast between sharp metal and skilled fingers makes her arch against the restraints, seeking more of both sensations.

“This is what honesty looks like,” I tell her. “Your cunt doesn’t lie the way your mouth does.”

The knife moves lower as my fingers slide deeper,steel trailing down her ribs while I stretch her open. She’s so wet now that the sounds of my fingers moving inside her echo around the chamber.

My cock strains against my leathers, demanding release, demanding to replace my fingers and replace them with my cock, to finally brand her as mine. But not yet. First, I need her begging for it.

22

MIRA

The blade against my skin should terrify me. The way Xavier manipulates my pleasure while I’m helpless should make me sick with rage. Instead, heat pools low in my belly as his fingers move inside me.

“Stop,” I whisper, but the word comes out breathless and wanting.

“Make me believe it,” he challenges, his thumb rubbing my clit in devastating circles.

My hips roll against his hand despite the restraints holding me in place. The cool metal of the knife traces patterns across my heated skin while his fingers stroke deeper, finding spots that make stars explode behind my closed eyelids.