Page 5 of If I Catch You

"My…" she breathes, stopping her thrashes and looking up at me with dark eyes. "My what?"

"Your safe word, Saxon. You were coming here to play? To get fucked? You needed a safe word if they were going to give you a green bracelet. So, tell me what it is." I grit my teeth, anger and lust mixing in an intoxicating combination, like a shot of whiskey right down my throat. She trembles in grip, and I feel her fear like a vice grip on my dick.

"You know?—"

"Safe word, Saxon." I interrupt through clenched teeth. Her breath is ragged and hot against my skin.

"Vanilla," she whispers, and then even quieter, she asks, "But why?"

I let out a low, humorless laugh. Now she wants to get all shy on me? I don't think so. I haul her into me, grinding my hard as steel cock into her soft, flat belly. Her gasp is so sweet and sexy, I wish I could fucking snort it like cocaine.

"Because, Saxon, if I catch you, I'm going to fucking ruin you. I won't stop. Not if you scream, not if you beg. That word is the only thing that will get me off of you." I drop my mouth to her neck a drag my teeth across her flesh. Not enough to mark, but just enough pressure that she can feel me. When I reach her ear, I suck the lobe into my mouth, relishing the full body shutter it earns me from her. I press my nose into her hair and inhale her smoky, rich scent.

"So you better run, little bunny."

I shove, and she stumbles backwards. I watch and smirk, palming my cock through my jeans as she almost loses her footing. I pull the mask around my neck back over my face and give her a sarcastic wave. She sinks her teeth into her plump bottom lip, and in an instant, she's turning on her heel and disappearing into the dark woods.

7

SAXON

Every part of me freezes when those words spill from Brendon’s lips.

You better run, little bunny.

Fuck. I’ve never seen a switch flip in a person like it just did in Brendon. This boy— no, this man— that I’ve known my whole life has always been the embodiment of boy next door. He’s sweet and kind and generous. He’s always there with a hug or a helping hand for anybody who needs it. He’s bright eyed, bushy tailed, and practically leaks gentleness out of his ears.

Except now. Now, his eyes have gone dark. His jaw is rigid. He seems to have one single minded focus, and that focus is me. I don’t want to question it. I don’t want him to question it. I don’t want to think about what just changed or how things will be different if I do as he says. I’m too keyed up, and from the look of chest rising and falling with heavy breaths under the cotton of his shirt, so is he.

Even so, I take a beat. If we were in the club, we would have filled out forms beforehand. There’d be discussions of safe sex and kinks and hard no’s. As I think about it, I realize I don’t want that. If I’m with Brendon, I don’t need it. There is no person that I trust more, and no one that I know more about. We can both go into this knowing without a doubt that we aren’t a risk to each other in any physical way, and that makes the fantasy all the more tantalizing.

When my feet start to move, I run like my life depends on it. My lungs burn as I pass through the clearing and into the dark, deep woods. I immediately duck off the path, cutting through a thicket where needly plants cut and scrape at my legs. A branch snags on my stockings and I stumble, falling forward onto my hands and knees. Something sharp— rocks, maybe branches, it's impossible to tell— cut at my palms as I brace myself. I wince, biting my tongue to tamp down the whimper of pain that wants to escape.

I lean into the fear, allow it to wrap itself around me. I don't want him to hear me. He can't find me. Heavy footfalls echo behind me, and I scramble back to my feet, cursing myself for choosing such loud boots. I try to run on my tip toes and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, trying to sidestep any leaves or cracking branches that will give away my location.

I know it's Brendon in these woods with me, but all rational thinking has been completely obliterated by the potent elixir of fight or flight adrenaline rushing through my veins. Fear and excitement pound in my chest, along with a heartbeat so loud I can feel it in my ears.

I slow down, ducking behind a large tree. I press my back to it and cover my mouth, muffling my heaving breaths. My mind is a chaotic whirlwind, and the only thing I can think to do is listen.

Listen and hide.

The wind whips, howling through the bare trees. Something scurries by my feet, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I throw my hands behind me, clinging to the old oak tree. The bark scratches at the fresh scrapes on my palms, and I can feel a warm trickle as blood beads on my skin.

Another heavy footfall, followed by another, and another. The sound gets closer, inch by inch, and somehow it steadies me. It reminds me of why I'm here. What I'm doing. What my task is.

Run.

I use the tree as leverage, pushing off and running like my life depends on it. This time, I don't worry about making a noise. My boots slap against the hard, untamed ground. The cold air burns my throat. My pulse pounds in my head, a deafening drumbeat, the soundtrack to my reality.

He's not being quiet, either. His pace picks up as mine does. He doesn't sneak or hide. He swings, pummels, thrashes at anything and everything that gets in his way. Anything that keeps him from cornering his prey.

I don't make it easy. I sprint, I change directions, I fall and get right back up. My thighs ache. My feet burn. Sweat sticks to my skin and the crisp air chills me to the bone. A cramp starts to ache in my side, and I whimper. This is it. This stitch is what's going to take me out. I'm the slowest gazelle in the pack, and as my predator draws closer, I resign myself to fate. I am prey. His prey. A large body collides with my back, and the wind is knocked clear out of me.

I fall forward, and my captor goes with me. I try to stick my hands out, to take the brunt of the impact of the fall, but a large arm wrapped around my center keeps my arms pinned to my body. Brendon pivots, maneuvering so that when we hit the ground his shoulder hits first and I fall on top of him. He grunts, and I exhale. His hold on me is tight, squeezing and violent, preventing me from taking a full breath. Still, I kick my legs like a dying bug. My heels connect with shin, and he hisses, loosening his grip just enough for me to push up and roll off him. I gasp for air as I scramble to all fours and start to crawl, hoping that I'll regain the strength I need to push back up to my feet.

But it's no use. A large, calloused hand grips my throat while another fists my hair. I'm yanked to my feet, and he squeezes the hand around my throat, robbing me of any breath I might still be hanging on to.

"Please, let me go. Don't do this, please." I rasp, barely able to get the words out.

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