Page 57 of Game Over

I step closer, deliberately invading her space. I want her to feel my presence and understand the visceral intensity of what’s about to unfold between us.

“When I catch you,” I correct her, my voice dropping to a lower octave. “There’s no ‘if’ about it. I’ll catch you multiple times over these three days.”

I reach out, touching the skin visible above the robe. “And each time I catch you, I’ll claim you. Right there in the dirt, against a tree, in one of the shelters if we’re close enough. I’ll mate with you like the animals we’re pretending to be.”

Her pupils dilate instantly, and her breathing quickens. I’ve seen her reactions to stimuli for so long that I recognize the conflicting emotions playing across her face—shock at my bluntness but unmistakable arousal, too. Her lips part slightly, tongue darting out to wet them before she speaks again.

“Do I... get any say in this?”

A note of hope in her voice tells me she’s already accepted the scenario—she wants to know where the boundaries lie.

I consider her question seriously. Everything about our relationship thus far has been about my control. Still, there’s been a change in me since that moment in the rec room.

“Yes,” I decide. “If what I do is too much—truly too much—you can use a safe word. Respawn. When you say that word, whatever’s happening stops immediately. I’ll check on you and ensure you’re okay before continuing the game.”

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. “But understand something, Kira. I know the difference between fear and resistance that’s part of the fantasy, and genuine distress. Don’t use it unless you truly need to.”

Kira’s features settle into reluctant understanding. The fight hasn’t left her. It’s still there in the tightness around her eyes and the slight clench of her jaw, but she’s accepting the parameters of my game. This grudging compliance sends a rush of satisfaction through me. She’s learning.

“Fine,” she mutters, adjusting the robe tighter around her body. “I understand the rules.”

The morning light catches on her damp hair, turning the strands copper and gold. A need to claim what’s mine before releasing her into the wild stirs within me. Without warning, I close the distance between us in two quick strides. My hand snakes around her waist, fingers splaying across the small of her back as I yank her against me.

My mouth swallows her surprised gasp as I capture her lips. I kiss her with everything I’ve been holding back—all the tension, the planning, the anticipation. My tongue claims hers, demanding a response. I taste the mint of the toothpaste I provided and feel the softness of her mouth.

For a moment, she freezes, but then—God, yes—she melts against me, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders. The way she becomes pliable sends electricity through my veins. I deepen the kiss, my free hand tangling in her hair, angling her head, marking her before the hunt.

When I finally break away, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, and her eyes are dazed. Let her carry this feeling of confusion and arousal into the woods.

“Twenty minutes,” I say, my voice rough. “That’s your head start, Mischief. Use it wisely.”

I step back, creating distance between us. My hands drop to my sides, though every instinct screams to pull her back.

“The clock starts now.”

My muscles tense with each step she takes toward the treeline. Kira pauses at the forest’s edge, turning to cast one final glance over her shoulder. Even from this distance, I can read every emotion crossing her face—fear, uncertainty, and a flicker of excitement she can’t quite hide beneath it all.

My blood pulses hotter. She feels it, too.

Twenty minutes. Twelve hundred seconds of restraint before I can follow.

I crouch, running my fingers along the ground, feeling the earth that will soon hold both our footprints. Every sense heightens as I prepare—hearing sharpened to detect the faintest snap of twigs, eyes narrowed to catch any movement among the pines. This hunt has lived in my mind, playing out countless scenarios during sleepless nights.

But now it’s real. She’s out there, skin prickling with awareness. Prey instinct awakened in her bones.

I check my watch. Five minutes gone already.

I could track her easily with the cameras hidden throughout the woods, but where’s the challenge? No, I’ll use only my senses, my knowledge of her psychology. Which way would she run? Would she seek high ground or water? Would she try to circle back?

My fingers itch to grab the bow to begin the pursuit. This is primal—man against woman, hunter against hunted. But it’s also intimate in ways she doesn’t yet understand. This chase will reveal her core nature to me in ways no conversation could.

I look toward where she disappeared, imagining her crashing through the undergrowth, breath coming in short gasps, glancing over her shoulder. The image sends adrenaline surging through me.

Fifteen minutes now.

God, I can’t wait to hunt her.

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