Page 20 of Run, Little Doe

Why did he stop?

I draw a breath that doesn’t feel like my own. My hands tremble as I reach up to lift my mask, but I stop before I untie it. I don’t want the illusion to end. Not yet.

I know this can’t be over. He let me go, this time, and the part of me that still feels his touch already hopes he’ll come for me again. Deep down, I know he will.

So, I look around, pick a direction, and begin to run. He wants a chase; I’ll give him one.

The Wolf

The sound of her running isn’t just sound anymore.

It’s rhythm. Breath. Prayer. Salvation. Need.

Every part of me is tuned to her — the fall of her steps, the hitch of her breath, the sharp, soft whimpers she doesn’t realize she’s making. She doesn’t know that I could find her blindfolded, no matter where we are. She doesn’t know that the air between us carries her scent straight to me — wild and sweet, tangled with smoke, need, and the faintest trace of fear.

I let her get ahead. Not because I want her to, but because I need to feel the distance tighten like a leash between us. I desperately need these few minutes before I become consumed by need.

When she trips on a root and catches herself on the trunk of a tree, I see it — the tremor in her thighs, the way her chest heaves under the mask. The ribbons from her mask in her hair flutter like a lure in the dark.

I watch her, my Little Doe. She pauses and looks around, as if she is trying to decide which way to go. She’s so close, only a few steps, and I could close the gap between us so easily. Take her into my arms, have my way with her.

The animal in me strains against control. I want to hear my name break in her mouth. I want to taste the fear that isn’t fearat all — that sharp edge of wanting she doesn’t know how to hide, not from me.

She looks over her shoulder, and even from here I can see her whisky eyes through the mask — wide, shining, asking. The moment she looks for me, I know it’s over.

She’s already chosen, and I am happy to obey.

I step out from the dark. The moonlight slides across my shoulders, the mask, the sweat slicking my t-shirt to my skin. She freezes — looking exactly like a startled doe, heart pounding, body trembling with something she doesn’t want to name.

I trace my fingers down her throat, across her arm, tracing her breasts beneath her top. I can feel the lace from her bra, and my restraint buckles. Her nipples are stiff peaks, I can see the outline through the thin layer of fabric she wears and it takes all of my control not to rip her shirt off and take one into my mouth, swirling it under my tongue, feeling her come undone.

“Run again,” I whisper, my breath on her ear. She obeys — such a good girl.

It’s not a chase anymore. It’s a call and answer — her running, me following, both of us knowing where this is going to end.

Branches whip at my arms as I stalk, the scent of her consuming my every breath. Every step she takes draws me deeper into her orbit, until there’s no forest, no sky — just the sound of her and the raw, relentless need tearing through me.

She slows, tiring again, then stumbles. That's all it takes.

Two strides and I have her. Pressed against the tree, her breath coming in pants between us. My arms caging her so there is nowhere to escape. It’s time for the predator to claim his prey.

I grab her throat once again, one of my favourite attributes of hers, and a strangled breath escapes me as my thumb finds the hollow of her throat. The world narrows to one thing — her. Her pulse under my hand, the tremor of her breath, the sound she makes when she realizes she’s not afraid, and the smell of her arousal that I know she soaked her panties with.

“Caught you,” I murmur against her ear.

She shivers — the smallest almost inconceivable movement — but it runs through me like a current. Her scent, her heat, the way she tilts her chin up instead of turning away.

I bring my hand from beside her head and bring it to her jaw, tilting her head up further to look at me and exposing that gorgeous throat of hers. This girl is going to ruin me in the best possible way. I can feel her body giving in, not only to me, but to the dark side of herself she’s been denying.

This time, I don’t step back. I don’t give her space.

The chase is done.

All that’s left is this — the fire between us, the promise we’ve both been too afraid to speak aloud.

Finally, I let myself take what I’ve wanted for so many years, and my lips crash into hers. This kiss is everything I’ve thought about over late-night drinks at the bar — it’s all want, desire, and feral need. It’s heat, and fear. It’s all-consuming and I cannot get enough.

Her back arches against the bark, her breath catching on a sound that’s half fear, half plea. The air between us burns — every inch of restraint I’ve clung to stripped away by the sight of her, the scent of her, the way she trembles yet doesn’t pull away. My hands find her hips, holding her still, pinned against the tree —not to trap her, but to feel the moment she stops fighting it and gives in to the desire I know we both feel.