Page 15 of Run, Little Doe

Sirena

The space between us dissolves.

I can feel his breath before I feel the touch of his skin — warm, deliberate, tasting of smoke and sin. His lips ghost across my cheek, my throat, the curve of my collarbone, and my knees nearly give out. The forest hums around us, alive and ancient, like it’s seen this before. As if it remembers.

My heart stumbles against my ribs, every beat a plea I can’t voice. I don’t move. I don’twantto move.

He’s taller up close. Broader. More muscular. The shape of him blocks out the moonlight, and all I can see is black and the faint gleam of bone where his mask catches the light. The Wolf. Always watching. Always waiting.

His gloved hand still hovering so delicately above my skin, tracing the outline of my body without making the contact I so desperately desire. The air between us burns. Every inch of my body he doesn’t touch feels deliberate, like a promise he’s drawing out just to see how long before I break. I’m scorching with need for firm contact from him. He smells like pine, leather, and danger — that sharp, heady mix that makes my stomach twist and my thighs press together. My pulse pounds in my throat.

I should ask who he is. Deep down, I know that I shouldrun. I should not want this the way I do, but when I open my mouth,all that comes out is a shaky exhale that sounds too much like a desperate moan.

I can feel his breath on my neck, tickling my ear. His voice is low and rough, sending my brain into a frenzy of need.

“Do you know what happens to a Little Doe who wanders too far from the light?” he murmurs as he slowly and deliberately removes his gloves.

The question rolls through me, dark and heavy. My lips part, but no words come, no breath escapes me. I don’t know if I’m supposed to answer, or if he wants me speechless.

He steps closer, until his chest almost touches mine. The heat radiating from him seeps through the thin layers of fabric between us. My head tips back on instinct to look up at his face, drawn to the sound of his voice, to the danger curling beneath it.

I can feel his gaze through the mask — steady, hungry, patient. Like he’s been waiting for this moment all night. Maybe longer.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, low and careful, but he already knows I won’t.

I lean closer to him, the desperate need to feel his firm body against mine, desperate for more contact. My body reacting to him before my brain can even catch up. I am feral to feel the touch of his bare hands on my neck, my breasts, my ass, between my thighs. Everywhere.

I don’t speak. I don’t even think I breathe. I just stand there, trembling and dripping wet between my thighs, my heart racing. The ribbon at my neck suddenly feels too tight, pressing against my pulse. His hand lifts — slow, reverent — and brushes the edge of it with his thumb.

A spark shoots through me. Every nerve in my body wakes at once, feeling the heat roll off his hard body.

“You smell like fire,” he says. “Like you were made for the dark.”

The words sink into me, low and molten, setting my insides fully ablaze. My body answers before my mind does — leaning in, searching for him, drawn to his voice like a moth to flame. I haven’t had anything, and yet I can’t get enough.

My hands find his chest, unsure if I want to push him away or pull him closer to me. My body greedily asks for more, a moan escaping me as I am desperate to feel his body against mine, his hands on my skin, his mouth on my breasts. He exhales, shaky, the sound barely contained. Then, softer, almost to himself, “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

The forest seems to close around us, the last echoes of the town swallowed by the trees. The festival and Briar Hollow as a whole might as well be another world entirely. Here, there’s only breath, heartbeat, heat, and the faint rustle of leaves when he finally moves.

His hand finds the curve of my jaw — rough palm, gentle hold. My lips part with an aching need. He hesitates, then the Wolf bends closer.

His kiss is hard, crashing into my lips with a ferocity that feels fueled by the anticipation of the evening, the thrill of the chase. Every twist and turn through the forest was leading us here, and I can feel myself fully giving into him without reservations. His lips are soft, yet his kiss is bruising. It’s as if he can’t get enough.

He breaks away only for a moment to move his lips to my neck, tongue tracing patterns I can’t even comprehend. It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s the kind of kiss that steals your name and gives you something else in its place — something wild.

When he pulls back, I’m shaking. My chest heaves. My vision blurs. Both our masks stay on, but the rest of me feels completely bare.

He doesn’t speak. He just looks at me for a long moment, something unspoken burning behind those darkened eyes. Then he steps back, and the cold rushes in where his warmth was.

Before I can say anything, he’s gone — melting into the trees like smoke. But I can stillfeelhim. The phantom of his touch. The press of his breath. The promise of what he’ll do when he stops holding back.

Deep down, I know that this isn’t over. The night is only beginning for us; the chase isn’t done. It’s only changed shape.

This time… I’m not sure I want to be caught.

****

The Wolf