Page 16 of Run, Little Doe

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Her silence says everything.

If I closed the distance, she’d meet me halfway. If I kissed her, she’d tremble—but not from fear.

There is a war raging inside of my body, torn between taking what I’ve wanted all these years, and waiting, prolonging this in case it’s the only night I get with my Little Doe. Deep down, I hope once she realizes who I am. Things will change, but if they don’t at least I’ll have had tonight to satiate my hunger.

I watch her in the half-light, the moon’s reflection trembling along her mask. She’s even more beautiful in the dark: wild, unsure, a heartbeat wearing skin. Every breath she takes pullsme closer to breaking the promise I made to myself—to wait, to let her come to me first.

She’s always been drawn to shadows. I just never thought she’d walk straight into mine.

When she came into the tavern for the first time, she smiled like she didn’t know what I was, and asked for something sweet, something that wouldn’t burn. I laughed, knowing this girl from my dad and stepmom’s kitchen table at family breakfast, countless sleepovers she’s spent with my stepsister. She doesn’t realize how closely I’ve paid attention to her. I placed a glass in front of her—pretending I didn’t notice the way she looked up at me, her tongue touched the rim of the glass before her lips, like a secret meant only for me.

Now that same mouth trembles inches from mine.

My hands trace up her body, feather-light touches on her thighs and her hips. Gently tracing the outline of her ribcage, her breasts, her shoulder, and finally to her slender neck. The same neck I’ve dreamt of kissing for years. I can feel my dick getting painfully hard in my jeans at the thought of her naked body caged beneath mine.

Her hands find my chest, and I can feel my resolve dissolving and I give in, but only for a moment I tell myself. I dip my head and my lips crash into hers; she tastes of need mixed with fear, and I can’t get enough. This kiss is maddening; it’s everything I’ve wanted, and the pulsing in my balls reminds me. I know I’m close to the brink of not being able to stop myself from taking her right here and now.

I trace kisses across her cheek, down her neck, tracing patterns with my tongue, tasting the sweat on her. She tastes of desire and sin, a forbidden fruit.

I must stop now if I want this night to last longer. I take a step back, looking at her, my Little Doe, my eyes, and body language saying the words I don’t speak aloud. With one last glance, I disappear into the shadows.

I know that if I unmask myself now, I lose the spell, and the chase dies. If I wait too long, I will lose the last of my control.

Her pulse drums through the ribbon at her throat, fast and shallow. I can see it even in the dark. The little sound she makes—a soft, broken exhale—nearly undoes me.

I need her to run, because if she doesn’t… I won’t stop, and I am savouring every minute of this.

Sirena

The air still hums where he touched me. Every nerve, every inch of skin, alive with feral need.

I stumble back against the nearest tree, my heart racing so fast it hurts. The world feels too quiet now — the kind of silence that comes after lightning, the moment before another boom of thunder erupts. I can still feel his breath on my neck, the weight of him, the heat that lingers long after he’s gone.

I trace my hands along the hollow of my neck, the ghost of his fingertips still on my skin. I can still feel his breath against my ear, and I can hear the breathless way I moaned for him ringing through my head.

The path home lies ahead, faint and silver in the moonlight, but my body turns the other way. Back into the dark. Back toward him.

The forest seems to know. The branches lean close, the ground soft beneath my feet, guiding me toward something inevitable. Each step feels heavy, as if the night itself is pulling at me — drawing me deeper into its clutches.

He’s out there. Watching. Waiting. I can feel him. I know what he’s waiting for.

My pulse is a drum against my ribs. My thighs press together without thinking, searching for friction, for relief. It doesn’thelp. It only makes it worse. For a moment, I let myself imagine he catches me. What would he do? How would the calluses of his hands feel against my bare skin, or his tongue would feel lapping at my center, or the heat of his breath on my inner thighs?

“Where are you…” I whisper, though I already know. He’s everywhere. The air smells of him — smoke, pine, something darker that makes my stomach twist and my breath catch.

The first crack of a branch behind me makes my heart leap. He’s close.

I should run, I really should, but the thought of him chasing me again makes my knees weak. My body trembles, not from fear, but from the memory of being hunted. The way it felt to know he could have me at any moment and chose not to.

The sound comes again — a soft footstep through leaves. Closer this time. Without a second thought, I give him what I know he wants and break into a run. I want to give him everything he wants, so he’ll give me everything I want.

The forest blurs around me, lantern light long gone, firelight diminished, the moon fractured between branches. My breath comes hard, uneven, but beneath the panic is something else — something hot and thrilling.

He’s faster. Always faster.

I can feel the wind shift as he follows, the rhythm of his pursuit steady and deliberate. He’s not running to catch me. He’s running to play. To tease. To draw out the night. To see how far I’ll go before I give up pretending that I don’t want this.

I imagine what will happen when he closes in, the sound of his breath behind me, the heat of his body after the chase, the graspof his hand in my hair preventing me from moving, controlling where he wants me, where he wants my mouth.