Page 26 of No Words

She nods, processing this. Then a slow smile spreads across her face, something mischievous and provocative that I’ve never seen before.

“Thirty seconds isn’t much of a head start,” she challenges.

I match her smile with one of my own. “Twenty-nine... twenty-eight...”

She’s moving before I reach twenty-seven, kicking off her shoes and sprinting toward the tree line.

I watch her go, admiring the way she moves, confident and surprisingly fast. The prosecutor I met days ago would have hesitated, questioned, analyzed.

This woman embraces the game instantly, understanding its purpose on an instinctive level.

I count down deliberately, my eyes never leaving her as she disappears among the trees.

When I reach zero, I begin my pursuit at an easy jog.

I could track her blindfolded if necessary; the subtle snap of twigs, disturbed leaves, bent grass blades all creating an obvious trail.

But I let the chase extend, enjoying the hunt, giving her the momentary illusion of escape.

Pine needles carpet the forest floor, soft and silent beneath my boots as I follow her deeper into the trees. She’s clever, doubling back once, crossing a shallow stream to try breaking the trail. Good instincts, but not enough. I follow her zigzagging path, closing the distance steadily.

I catch a flash of movement ahead. She’s circling back toward the lake, using a denser patch of trees for cover. I adjust my course, cutting across her path, and when she bursts through a clearing, I’m already waiting.

The surprise on her face when she nearly runs into me is everything I hoped for. She shrieks and tries to pivot away, but I’m already moving. My arm wraps around her waist, lifting her clean off her feet. Her spine presses against my chest, her heartbeat wild against my forearm.

“Caught you,” I murmur against her neck.

She struggles briefly, playfully testing my grip. I tighten my hold just enough to remind her who’s in control. Her resistance melts away, replaced by a full-body shudder as she goes deliberately limp in my arms.

“Now what?” she asks, breathless from the run and the anticipation.

I scan our surroundings. We’re in a small clearing just back from the shore, private but with dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. A fallen tree trunk, smooth with age, provides the perfect anchor.

I guide her toward it, maintaining my hold. “Kneel.”

She complies immediately, dropping to her knees on the soft forest floor beside the fallen trunk. I remove the rope from my pocket, letting it uncoil with a soft hiss that makes her shiver again.

“Arms behind you,” I instruct, and she positions them without hesitation, wrists crossed at the small of her back.

I bind her wrists first, creating an intricate pattern that’s both secure and comfortable.

The black rope stands out against her tanned skin, each loop and knot placed with precision.

With her wrists secure, I run the remaining rope up her arms, creating a ladder pattern that restricts without cutting off circulation.

“Still good?” I check, tugging gently on the bindings.

“Yes,” she whispers, and I can hear the anticipation in that single word.

I move in front of her, taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to mine. “Remember, you ran from me. There are consequences for that.”

Her lips part, and her breath catches. “What consequences?”

Instead of answering, I thread my fingers through her hair, gathering it firmly at the nape of her neck. I use this grip to guide her forward until she’s bowed over the fallen trunk; her bound arms behind her, completely at my mercy.

I take my time removing her clothes, cutting away her shirt and pants with the knife from my boot rather than untying her.

The sharp blade never touches her skin, but I can see her reaction to the sound of fabric tearing, the knowledge that I’m using a blade so close to her body. It’s trust in its purest form.

“You don’t get to see what I’m doing,” I say, picking up a strip of her torn shirt. “You only get to feel it.”

I fold the fabric into a makeshift blindfold and secure it over her eyes, plunging her into darkness. Her breathing accelerates, shallow and quick. I run my hands down her sides, feeling her tremble beneath my touch.

I pause for only a moment, taking in the vision of her, bent over the fallen log, arms bound behind her, blindfolded with strips of her own torn clothing.

Her ass is raised and skin flushed from the chase, the rope biting into her flesh, marking her as mine.

Sunlight flickers through the trees, dancing across her trembling body.

I step forward and drag my hand down her spine, slow and deliberate, until she shivers. She gasps when I grip her hip, firm and possessive.

“No more running,” I murmur. “Try, and I’ll only chase you again.”

I shed my own clothes, never taking my eyes off her. Then, I stand behind her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other tracing patterns down her spine.

“Every inch of you belongs to me,” I warn her, my voice rough with desire. “Not because I caught you. Not because you’re bound. But because you chose this. You chose me.”

My hand traces down her spine, pressing just enough to make her arch deeper. The sound she makes, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, sends blood rushing to my cock. I drag my palm lower, over the curve of her ass, then crack it down in a sharp slap.

She jumps, a startled cry escaping her lips.

“That’s for running,” I say, watching the pink bloom across her skin. I deliver another slap, harder this time. “And that’s for making me work for it.”

Her body shivers, her thighs pressing together. I slide my knee between them, forcing them apart again. “No. Keep them open. I want to see what’s mine.”

She obeys immediately, her breath coming in quick pants. When I drag my fingers between her legs, I find her dripping. “Fuck,” I growl, circling her entrance. “Look how wet you are. Is this what running does to you? Knowing I’d hunt you down?”

I push two fingers inside her without warning, feeling her tighten around me. She’s slick and hot, her body gripping me like she never wants to let go. I work my fingers in deep, curling them forward to hit that spot that makes her moan.

“Cole,” she gasps, pressing back against my hand.

“Uh, uh,” I say, withdrawing my fingers completely. “Good girls wait for permission.”

She whimpers, her hips shifting restlessly. I grip them hard, holding her in place. I position myself behind her and drag the head of my cock through her slickness, pushing just the tip in, slowly. She tries to push back, but my grip keeps her still.

“Beg for it,” I command, my voice low and dangerous.

“Please,” she whispers, the word barely audible.

I lean over her, my chest against her restricted arms, my mouth at her ear. “Louder.”

“Please,” she says again, her voice breaking with need. “Please, Cole. I need you.”

I push in, inch by torturous inch, feeling her stretch around me. Her body resists at first, then yields, taking me deeper. When I’m fully seated, her ass flush against my hips, I pause, and savor the feeling of her wrapped around me, the sight of her bound and at my mercy.

Fuck, I hiss between my teeth, gripping the ropes at her back to hold her in place. “That’s it. Take it.”

Her moan muffles against the log, her body arches as I bottom out. I don’t give her time to adjust. I pull out almost all the way before slamming back in, hard enough to make her cry out.

Perfect.

“Who does that soaked little cunt answer to?” I ask, pulling back until only the tip remains inside her.

“You,” she gasps.

“Again.” I slam back in, so hard she cries out as my balls slap against her.

“You!” she says, louder this time. “I’m yours, Cole. Only yours.”

I fuck her hard, unrelenting, each thrust slamming her against the log with enough force to make the wood groan.

My fingers dig into her hips, leaving marks that’ll linger for days.

Her ragged moans break with every pounding stroke, blending with the wet slap of flesh and the hungry drag of my breath.

The rustle of leaves and distant birdsong blur into background noise; this forest is our private stage.

I reach around and find her clit, swollen and throbbing with need.

I circle it in brutal rhythm with my cock driving into her, watching her jolt and shudder like I’ve shocked her system.

Her back bows, spine taut, the tension coiling tight through every muscle.

She cries out as her pussy clamps around me, so tight it borders on pain.

Fuck, she’s close. And I’m not done ruining her yet.

“That’s it,” I encourage, feeling her getting close. “Let me hear you. No one can hear us out here but the trees.”

Her orgasm builds fast, her body telegraphing every sign, the trembling thighs, the quickened breath, the way she clenches around me. I increase the pressure on her clit, the pace of my thrusts, driving her higher.

“Come for me,” I order, and it’s like her body was waiting for permission.

She comes, a broken cry tearing from her throat as she convulses around me. Her climax pulls at my own, but I fight it back, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from her first.

Only when her spasms subside do I allow myself to chase my release. I grip the ropes binding her arms, using them as leverage to pull her back onto me with each thrust. The angle changes, goes deeper, and she moans again as a second orgasm builds on the heels of the first.

“Promise me this isn’t temporary,” I whisper against her skin, vulnerability breaking through my control despite the dominant position.

Her bound arms strain slightly, trying to reach for me despite the restriction.

“I’ve killed for you,” she responds, voice thick with certainty. “There’s no going back now.”