Page 106 of Game Over

The thought sends a shiver of anticipation up my spine.

A bird calls sharply overhead, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My laughter comes out shakier than intended. Every sense feels dialed to eleven—the brush of leaves against my oil-slicked skin, the symphony of unfamiliar sounds surrounding me.

I spot the second marker tied to a low-hanging branch, twenty yards deeper into the jungle. My pace quickens.

A twig snaps somewhere to my left. I freeze, pulse pounding in my ears.

Was that him? Or just some small creature going about its day, unaware of the human game of predator and prey happening in its territory?

I strain to listen, but the jungle is deafening in its awakened state—insects buzzing, distant monkeys chattering, the rustle of leaves in the humid breeze. Each sound makes me twitch, sending jolts of adrenaline through my system.

Another red marker comes into view. I’m making good progress; every step feels full of possibility. The key bounces between my breasts as I move, a constant reminder of what awaits at the end of this path.

The fourth marker comes into view through a curtain of vines. My chest heaves with exertion as I check the delicate watch Ryker gave me last night. Five minutes left. I can do this.

The jungle thins slightly, patches of sunlight breaking through the canopy. The clearing must be close. I can almost feel the ancient banyan tree calling to me, promising victory and the reward I’ll claim from Ryker.

A brief movement out of the corner of my eye is my only warning.

He comes from nowhere—a blur of muscle and darkness that slams into me from the side. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs as we tumble to the ground. His Ghost mask gleams white against the jungle’s green backdrop, and those familiar blue eyes burn through the eyeholes.

“Time’s up,” he growls, voice distorted by the mask.

He straddles me, powerful thighs trapping my hips. Sweat glistens on his bare chest, each tattooed muscle defined in stark relief. He wears nothing but black boxer briefs and that mask, which makes my mouth dry despite the humidity.

“I still have five minutes to get away from you and make it,” I gasp, struggling beneath him.

His laugh is dark. “You think you can make it? Look at you—caught and wet already.”

His fingers confirm his words, sliding through my slickness. The oil on my skin makes everything glide—his hands, my futile attempts to push him off.

“Admit it,” he demands, yanking down his boxers with one swift motion. “You wanted to be caught.”

His cock springs free, the metal of his piercing glints in the dappled sunlight. He grinds against me, that metal stud finding my clit with unerring precision. I arch involuntarily, a moan escaping my lips as the piercing drags across my most sensitive spot.

“Ryker,” I pant, hips bucking upward.

“Say my name again,” he commands, rubbing himself through my folds, the piercing creating friction that makes my vision blur. Each pass of metal against my clit sends shockwaves through my entire body.

“Ryker,” I gasp again, my body responding to his touch despite my competitive urge to win this game.

As he hovers above me, piercing sliding against my wetness, something clicks in my brain. This seems... too easy. Too straightforward. Ryker’s games are never this simple. There’s always a twist, always something I’ve overlooked.

The key hanging between my breasts suddenly feels heavier. What does it open? Why would he make such a point of it if this jungle chase was the entire game?

Ryker suddenly pulls away just as I’m about to ask him what I’m missing. The absence of his touch leaves me cold despite the jungle heat. He’s on his feet in one fluid motion, yanking me upward by my wrist.

“Come,” he commands, voice still distorted by the mask. He drags me forward, my feet stumbling to keep up with his purposeful stride.

“Where are we going?” I ask, bewildered by the abrupt change. One moment he was about to claim me on the jungle floor, the next he’s marching us through the underbrush.

Through breaks in the foliage, I catch glimpses of the massive banyan tree ahead, its aerial roots creating an otherworldly canopy in the clearing.

“It’s part of the game, Mischief,” he says, not slowing his pace. His grip on my wrist is firm but not painful, encouraging rather than forcing me forward. “Did you really think catching you was the entire point of this level?”

The Ghost mask turns slightly toward me, and I can sense his smile behind it—that knowing, maddening smile that tells me I’ve only scratched the surface of whatever he’s planned.

We reach the banyan tree, its massive trunk and hanging roots creating a natural sanctuary in the clearing. The ancient tree towers above us, its roots descending from branches like they’re reaching the earth, creating another worldly cathedral of wood and leaves.

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