Page 62 of Game Over

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he commands. “Now.”

As if my body belongs to him completely, the orgasm crashes through me at his words. I shudder in the net, inner walls clamping down on him as waves of pleasure tear through me. My scream echoes through the forest as my back arches, body shuddering.

“That’s it, Mischief,” he groans, never slowing his relentless pace. “Squeeze that tight little pussy around me.”

I can barely breathe through the intensity of it, aftershocks rippling through me as he continues to fuck me through my climax. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. From pleasure, from shame, from the overwhelming storm of emotions, I can’t even begin to process.

“Let me see your eyes,” he demands.

I force my eyes open to meet his gaze. What I see there shocks me. Behind the dominance, behind the cruel smile twisting his lips, his eyes shine with a reverent expression.

“Gorgeous.” His pace becomes erratic. “So fucking divine.”

His fingers dig deeper into my hips, cementing the fact that I will wear his bruises for days. I feel him swell inside me, the piercing pressing against my sensitive walls.

With his pace growing frantic, Ryker’s composed facade crumbles completely. His eyes lock with mine, his hunger and desperation replacing the precision I’ve grown accustomed to. His muscles tense, jaw clenched as he drives into me one final time.

“Kira,” he groans—not Mischief, not his pet name, but my actual name tumbling from his lips like a prayer.

His entire body shudders against mine as he empties himself inside me, fingers gripping the ropes so tightly his knuckles turn white. The vulnerability etched across his face in this moment of release stuns me—I’m seeing him completely undone, barriers demolished.

As his breathing slowly steadies, reality crashes back. The forest around us, the rope biting into my skin, the net swaying gently after our violent coupling.

What have I done?

My body still tingles with aftershocks of pleasure, a betrayal that makes bile rise in my throat. I wasn’t just a victim here. I participated. I encouraged him. I said those things-those filthy, degrading things—and I meant them in the heat of the moment.

The weight of my willingness settles over me like a blanket, nearly suffocating me. I could have used my safe word and fought harder. Instead, I welcomed this twisted chemistry between us, letting myself become actively complicit in my own violation.

My confusion must show on my face because Ryker’s expression shifts— a tenderness replacing the feral hunger of moments before.

“Don’t.” I turn my face away as tears burn behind my eyes. I can’t bear his tenderness now, not when I need to hate him or myself for what just happened.

I close my eyes, unable to look at him or the evidence of our actions. The line between captor and captive, between victim and willing participant, has blurred beyond recognition. And the most terrifying realization is that some dark part of me wanted this.

21

RYKER

Icut through the rope binding Kira to my trap, my knife slicing through the fibers with practiced ease. Her body collapses forward, and I catch her against my chest, dropping the knife to cradle her properly. Her sobs vibrate against my skin, each tremor sending unexpected waves of emotion through me.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” I lowered us both to the forest floor. The leaves crunch beneath us as I position her in my lap, her tear-streaked face nestled against my shoulder.

Her body is wracked with each sob, making an instinctive part of me ache. This isn’t part of the original plan—thesefeelingsweren’t calculated into the algorithm of our relationship. I stroke her hair, matted with sweat and forest debris, and press my lips to her forehead.

“You’re safe now. I wouldn’t let anything truly harm you.” The words sound hollow even to me. Aren’t I the one who put her in danger? The contradiction doesn’t matter. In this moment, I am her captor and savior—at least in my mind.

Kira’s hands push weakly against my chest. “Stop,” she chokes out between sobs. “This—isn’t… right. None—of this is—right.”

I ignore her protests, continuing to stroke her hair, her back, wiping tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. Her body remains soft against mine despite her words. I know her better than she knows herself—her body tells me truths her mind refuses to accept.

“Your mind is fighting what your body already understands,” I murmur, kissing her temple, cheek, and corner of her mouth. Each kiss leaves a mark invisible to the eye but imprinted on her soul. “We’re connected, Mischief. You feel it, too.”

“P-pl-ea-se,” she begs, her voice breaking. “Stop.”

But I don’t. I can’t. This moment of vulnerability is too precious, too real. I continue holding her, rocking slightly, my hands moving in soothing patterns across her skin. I kiss away each tear as it falls, tasting the saltiness.

“Let me take care of you,” I breathe against her ear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

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