Page 88 of Game Over

Kira’s breath catches in her throat. Her reaction is more eager than anticipated—more authentic than anything we’ve shared.

“That sounds so fucking hot,” she moans, arching her back slightly. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she pulls me closer. “I get so turned on when I’m scared. I don’t know what’s coming next—but you’ve planned everything.”

My cock hardens instantly at her admission. This is Kira without manipulation, without trauma bonds—her darkest desire offered freely. The knowledge that she craves the danger makes her more perfect for me than before.

I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with an intensity that surprises even me. My tongue claims hers, and she responds hungrily, her entire being melting against mine, soft curves yielding to hard planes. When I finally pull away, we’re both breathing hard.

“Get up,” I command, voice husky with need. I walk to the closet and pull out a white linen beach dress I’d purchased in anticipation of this moment. “Put this on. Nothing else.”

She takes it from me, fabric sliding between her fingers as she examines it. The material is thin enough to reveal the silhouette of her body in direct sunlight—exactly as I’d intended.

“We leave now,” I tell her. The timing will be just right. “The tide waits for no one, not even us.”

She slips the dress over her naked body, the fabric settling against her curves in a way that makes my mouth go dry. She looks innocent and debauched simultaneously—exactly how I’d imagined her countless times.

“I have everything ready in the car,” I explain, leading her toward the door with my hand on the small of her back. “This was meant to be level seven. I was going to bring you here right after the forest, but things evolved outside my plan.”

The irony doesn’t escape me—that what I’d planned as forced submission is now happening with her eager participation. Somehow, that makes it infinitely more arousing.

I drive my Range Rover along the coast, Kira silent beside me, her breathing quick with anticipation. The resort property comes into view—I purchased twenty acres of private beachfront two years ago through a shell company. No one knows it belongs to me.

“We’re here,” I say, parking at the cliff’s edge overlooking the cove below.

Dawn is just breaking as we go down the winding path to the beach. The first rays of sunlight cast a golden glow across the sand, illuminating the four titanium posts I installed, positioned precisely where the tide reaches its peak.

I lead Kira through the cool morning water to the custom St Andrew’s cross I had fitted. The sea laps gently around our ankles, calm and predictable just as the tide charts promised. I’ve marked the post with a thin red line indicating maximum water height—it will reach just below her breasts at high tide.

“This is a St. Andrew’s cross,” I state. “Put your arms up, Mischief.”

She complies instantly, allowing me to lift the white linen dress over her head. The morning air pebbles her nipples and causes goosebumps across her exposed skin. She’s magnificent—both vulnerable and strong.

I withdraw the rope from my waterproof bag—black jute, eight millimeters thick, sixty feet long. My fingers work methodically, crossing and looping the rope across her chest and around her waist in a diamond pattern. I’ve practiced these ties a thousand times on mannequins, but nothing compares to how Kira’s soft skin yields to the pressure.

“Spread your legs wider,” I murmur, pushing her thighs apart until she’s fully exposed. The rope continues down, binding her thighs to the post in a way that leaves her cunt completely accessible. She can’t close her legs or hide herself from my gaze or the rising tide.

“The post is connected to a hydraulic system,” I explain, nodding toward the sand beneath the water. “If anything happens—unexpected waves, a boat approaches—I press this button, and you’ll rise more than two meters above the waterline.” I show her the remote I’m keeping. “You’re completely safe. I will always make that my priority, no matter the game.” I lean in and capture her lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

“I’ll come for you when you’re ready,” I promise against her mouth.

She whimpers softly as I pull away, water swirling around her calves.

I turn and return up the shore, climbing the path to the cliff. From here, I can see everything—her naked body bound to the post, the water slowly rising around her, and the complete isolation of our private cove.

30

KIRA

The cold water laps at my ankles, then rises to my calves. I pull against the restraints, but they hold firm. The St Andrew’s cross at my back feels rough against my skin.

“Ryker?” I call out, my voice thin against the rush of waves.

No answer. Just the steady rhythm of water climbing higher up my body. The vastness of the ocean stretches before me, indifferent to my fate. I scan the cliff edge where Ryker disappeared minutes ago. Nothing.

“RYKER!” I scream louder, panic clawing up my throat.

The water reaches my knees now. The tide is coming in faster than I expected. How high will it go? My breathing quickens as I realize how completely helpless I am. If something goes wrong with his hydraulic system... if he doesn’t come back...

I tug frantically at the bindings, but they’re expertly tied. Of course they are. This is Ryker.

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