Page 8 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

It's as if one moment I’m walking through a nightmare, and the next, there’s a bright light guiding me back to my dream.

No, wait—that’s actually a light—a damn bright one at that.

I raise my arm to shield my eyes, my cheeks heating at the sight of Moe standing tall, phone in hand, with a bright beam shining at my face.

“Oof. So close, baby. Better luck next time.”

“Stop calling me stupid little idiotic–” I yelp, cutting myself off as I try to stand only to fall back on my arse.

“You're not even fucking wearing your,” I quote in the air, “blindfold.”

I look at my disgusting hands, shaking them to rid the mud caked on them, “That's cheating.”

“I’m curious. Are you a dominant or a submissive?” He tucks his free hand into his pocket like mud splatter didn't just land on his boots. Really? My jaw drops as I stare at him in disbelief. Here I am—wet, dirty, and sweaty—and yet he makes no move to help me.

“Neither,” I huff, attempting to stand up.

“Don’t get up,” he growls. The sudden change in his tone catches me off guard, but it’s not just that.

It’s how he steps closer; the light from his phone illuminates the hard line of his jaw, which works to a steady beat.

I'm confused. He’s usually so happy—all smiles, jokes, and brightness—yet I’m catching a glimpse of the mesmerizing darkness that I know wraps around his soul.

“Why not?” I growl, tempted to push him just a little more.

“It looks like you'd be a good submissive. You follow orders well, but you have an attitude,” he mutters, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “I'm not going to lie; you struck me as more of a dominant type, but maybe you don’t even know what you are.”

Is it that obvious? I don’t engage in the extreme stuff—who knows if I’d even enjoy it—but I do like whatever this is. Pushing him to reveal more and more of himself is intriguing. It’s almost as if I’m uncovering a version of him that no one else sees.

“I didn’t realize it would be a problem. You probably should have thought to ask questions before accepting offers.” I grab a fistful of mud, but just as I raise my arm to throw it, his palm wraps around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

“Oh, baby.” He laughs, dropping to his knees. “It’s definitely not a problem. It makes it more of a challenge.”

His movements are fluid and smooth as he places his phone face down, allowing the light to illuminate our small private space.

"I've always liked brat taming," he taunts, and I instinctively jerk my wrist. Unfortunately, the mud slips from my fingers and lands on my thighs. My breathing shallows, and my jaw sets as I try to contain my flaring anger. I’m not a brat, even if I might act like one sometimes.

“You’re such an arse hole!” I snap, my frustration growing at his laugh.

“But you’re having fun, aren’t you?” he hums. My mouth opens and then shuts again. I don’t want to answer that. “You can admit it, you know? You don’t have to be this way. Sometimes you just need to—”

“Let go,” I whisper. Surely he can’t hear me, or at least I hope he can’t, because the realization that maybe I am too tightly wound and cling too hard to the past is gripping me, pulling me too much. I wouldn't be able to snap at him for pointing it out.

My chin tilts up as he grips it gently between his thumb and forefinger.

“Let go,” he repeats. The rain slows, but it’s only because his head tilts over mine, guarding me.

“You think you can do that for me?” he murmurs, leaning closer so his mouth barely hovers above mine. My lips part without my permission. I can taste something minty falling from his mouth, and it’s almost as if there’s a lingering hint of tobacco mingling with it .

“Do you want to do that for me?” I tilt closer as he speaks, hating how my knees squish in the mud, but I want to see if the smoky scent subtly clinging to his lip tastes like cigarettes or firewood.

He lets out a pained moan. Within an instant, his fingers are tangled in my hair, and he’s jerking my head back towards the weeping tree branches.

A slight sting radiates through my scalp, making my eyes water, but I can’t push him away for some odd reason.

I don’t want to . The burn is welcomed, radiating through every limb of my body until it all pools in my abdomen.

“Do you need to give me full control so you don’t have to worry about a single thing?

” he mutters, and I shiver as the downpour returns.

He ducks his head and trails lazy, light kisses down the column of my throat.

There’s something about the way his lips caress my skin that makes my mind turn to mush.

It feels like the sensation of fresh paper between my fingertips late at night as I lose myself in the dreams that the words on the page create.

I assume it's like the first inhale of a freshly lit cigarette easing all the stress from the day. It’s the feeling of something so smooth and strong that it can impact anything it touches, whether good or bad.

“No,” I gasp without thinking. Why don’t I say yes?

Why can’t I force myself to utter the one word that would give me everything I want: a safe space, a place where I can just go numb without the hassle of walls and barriers?

He tightens his grip on my head, and I hiss at the sensation of each small, thin strand growing tighter.

“Taming a brat like you sounds so tempting.”

“Bet you won’t do it,” I taunt, my tongue darting out to wet my bottom lip.

"Games are my thing, baby, but I can't play them by myself." His gaze lingers on my mouth for a split second before his eyes return to mine. I wish I understood why the storm in them remains so contained—why he never lets the lightning crackle or the clouds take over his irises.

His words finally register in my mind, causing my brows to furrow. As I part my lips to ask what that's supposed to mean, he quickly shoves something into my mouth.

My tongue runs over the rough texture as I try to spit it out, but his hand clasps over my mouth.

"Well… um…" he starts, releasing my hair and using the leverage from my face to push my head back against the tree's bark.

I've never heard him sound so unsure. He always exudes confidence and strength, but right now, something is building within him that I can't break into his head to figure out.

“Look, sunshine, I'm not used to this position–the having to ask and not demand, but I’ll try to figure it out.”

What is he talking about? I want him to take over. I want him to lose control and ravish me like a man starved completely.

He clears his throat, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Why does something in my head warm as it finally clicks that he thinks my no was genuine? Lance just took and took and never cared. Yet the man I'm so dead set on keeping at arm's length kneels before me with goosebumps on his skin and a raging hard-on, asking .

I nod.

“Don’t worry, baby. I just want to make you feel good.

No feelings.” His motions are fluid and light as he pops the button of my jeans.

I never knew a hand could hold so many callouses but as I shift to my arse to give him more room and his palm slips over my smooth mound, my lashes flutter from each rough bump on his skin.

“Shit.” he hisses as his fingers slip between my lips and my thighs clench around him.

“You’re so fuckin wet sunshine,” he rasps, his british accent more pronounced than I’m used to.

Most days, he almost carries an American accent, but right now, his voice is so rough and smooth it makes me want to ride his fingers until the storm stops.

His knee nudges my own, forcing my legs to part to where he can shift between them.

It feels so taboo and wrong being spread out and soaked for a man in the middle of the woods with the rain pouring but I can't bring myself to care as he drags my arousal up to my clit.

Each shallow breath I take bounces back at my nose, and my vision blurs as water drips into my eyes from my brow.

“Is it for me?” his finger slips back again and barely dips into my cunt before pulling back. I whimper, but it's quickly muffled, and my cheeks heat.

“It better be.” He grunts and finally allows his knuckles to pass through, curling them at an angle that has my walls wrapping around him so tightly I have to question if I've starved myself of sexual attention for too long.

“Damn it–I mean...” his breathing shallows, gaze dropping to the steady rhythm he's creating within my jeans.

In this light, he resembles the monster I imagine he's hiding within, but the way he stumbles makes me wonder if maybe I'm the one who's wrong.

It's like he's manipulating my impression of him without even realizing it. With every deep stroke, my body buzzes, but it’s only intensified as he presses his thumb firmly to my heated bundle of nerves.

My nails dig into the earth as he speeds up, and his focus flicks back to mine the moment I moan against his palm.

“God, baby, you're making this really difficult for me. I’m trying to be good, but you keep making all those pretty little noises.” He grits through clenched teeth.

My legs tremble as he forces them to stay spread around him.

“If I let you go, can you try to be quiet for me?” His fingers loosen around my jaw but hesitate as if contemplating letting my mouth go.

I swear to everything that is holy if he does I won’t make a fucking sound, I just want to keep this feeling of him hitting a spot I thought only I’d ever reach with such perfect precision that I cant focus on the dirt under my nails or the smell of rain on my skin.

“Please,” he begs.

Oh god. How can a man sound so fucking perfect sounding so desperate. I eagerly nod and reach for his wrist, trying to jerk it away.