Page 7 of Chase Me

Regret should be creeping in, I think. But for some reason, this is the most alive I’ve ever felt.

5

Strong arms lift me up and force me to stand. Connor pulls the black long-sleeved shirt from his body and guides it onto mine. Once he has me sufficiently covered, he scoops me into his arms, and I settle into them. The fear and my fight completely leave my consciousness as our scene ends.

“Good job, little doe.” The praise settles over me like a warm blanket and Connor’s soft kiss on my forehead has me curling into him more. My head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and my body feels weightless as he carries me back through the wooded area.

This is the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt and, instinctively, I trail my hand over his soft skin, through the dusting of dark hair. I know there’re tattoos on his chest, but the darkness obscures them, making it hard for me to trace my fingers over the lines.

Since the adrenaline pumping through my veins only minutes ago has dissipated, my eyes drift close, crashing as the high dwindles.They don’t reopen until music infiltrates my ears, and neon lights are before me.

“Where are we?” I ask, parting my impossibly dry lips to let the words through.

“Back at the club.” Connor smiles when he looks down at me, and under the glow of the pink lights, I can see how handsome he truly is. A new wave of lust sparks inside my gut, and he winks at me, almost like he can hear the dirty thoughts swirling through my brain.

This version of me is reborn. New and improved. The old Ivy could never imagine being fucked in the woods by a stranger.

But this Ivy did it.

“The club?” I question. “Why are we back here?”

“I got us a room, sweet girl.” The corner of his lips twists up as my eyes widen in question. “You need water and rest, baby.”

I run my tongue along my lips, and his eyes follow the movement. He’s not wrong. I’d kill for a glass of water, and now that I’m beyond the high of the chase, I can feel the aftermath on my body. The cuts along my feet cry out in pain, and an ache is quickly forming in my shoulders.

But there’s bliss mixed in there too, a weird combination of pain mixed with contentedness.

“Got her shoes,” I hear, and when I twist my head, I see one of the bouncers extending my pair of red heels to Connor.

“Thanks, man.” The bouncer slips the straps around Connor’s fingers so he can carry both me and the shoes without adjusting me.

A blush spreads across my cheeks, knowing that this man was involved in our play, even if just by picking up after me.

“Don’t worry, little doe,” Connor whispers once we’re tucked inside the elevator. “No one judges here.”

I don’t know how to respond to that notion, the idea that we’re in a building with like-minded people. Ones who don’t give a fuck about the kind of kinky shit we’re doing.

The idea is too foreign to me, and Connor watches me like he can read my mind. He jabs one of the buttons with his elbow, selecting our floor. I’m impressed by how he’s carried me so effortlessly, but suddenly I feel like I’m probably too heavy in his arms.

“I can walk.” I try to push up, to force him to put me down.

“Fuck that,” he spits out. “I’m carrying you, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

The dominant tone has me sinking right back into his arms.

“Good girl,” he praises. Something about the change to his gentle tone makes me want to listen to everything he says, obey every command.

The room he brings me into is too nice. There’s a brick wall at the back, and in front of it sits a luxuriously modern king-sized bed against a black headboard, along with a matching night stand on either side. One wall has floor-to-ceiling windows that let the silver light of the moon cast a pretty glow throughout the space.

Connor lays me down on the bed, and I reach for him naturally, wanting to pull him onto the lush mattress with me.

“Water first.” Connor presses a light kiss on my forehead, then swings open the door of the mini fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. He sits down next to me as he uncaps it. “Lift your head,” he prompts, and when I do, he brings the bottle to my lips, tilting it enough until the cold liquid flows into my mouth and down my throat. “Good girl,” he tells me sweetly.

When he’s done hydrating me, I lie back again and raise my arms over my head, stretching my sore body.

“You’re gonna hurt,” he says, coming to relax next to me on the bed. “Roll over,” he demands, and I do. His thick fingers come to my shoulders and push down on the knots that have formed there.

“Ugh, that’s amazing.” I can’t help the moan that escapes me as he continues to work on my body.

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