Page 70 of Game Over

I imagine the shock on her face as I emerge from the trees. Her eyes would widen before I press her back against the rock, still wet from the stream. How her gasp would feel against my mouth as I sink inside her.

My hand moves subconsciously toward my belt. I force it back to the binoculars.

No. The plan exists for a reason. Each level builds upon the last, conditioning her properly. Rushing now would undo my careful work.

But fuck—her moan carries through the trees, faint but unmistakable. My cock throbs in response, demanding satisfaction.

I close my eyes for precisely three seconds. Recalibrate. The plan matters. The sequence matters.

When I look again, she’s arched her back, fingers moving faster.

Her orgasm shatters the solitude of the morning. My name—my fucking name—rips from her throat as she comes. I grip the binoculars so hard they might break, my breath sawing through clenched teeth. The sight of her—my collar around her throat, her body writhing on the rock, legs spread wide—burns itself into my brain with a precision no camera could capture.

Mine. Fucking mine.

Observing her through screens was clinical. This is... savage. Primal. Every muscle in my body coils with the urge to sprint through the forest and claim her. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper, demanding release.

I force myself to breathe. Three counts in. Three counts out. The plan. Remember the fucking plan.

She rises on shaky legs, her skin flushed pink from both her climax and the cool morning air. The collar encircles her throat like a brand. My pulse hammers in my ears as she moves downstream, following the blue ribbon path I laid out.

The way she moves—cautious yet determined—tells me she’s adapting and learning the rules of our game. Her evolution is happening exactly as I estimated, perhaps even faster.

She reaches the second ribbon, fingers untying the waterproof pouch with an eagerness that makes me suppress a groan. Her body goes still when she pulls out the silicone plug and the small bottle of lube. I zoom in on her face—the widening of her eyes, the quick dart of her tongue across her lips. Not disgust. Not fear.

Curiosity.

She reads my note, and I know exactly what it says:

Get on your hands and knees, facing west. Prepare yourself and push this inside you. I want to see you stretch around it. I want to know you understand every part of you belongs to me.

My breath stalls as she obeys, positioning herself precisely as instructed. Her hands shake slightly as she applies the lube, reaching behind herself. I can’t look away—can’t fucking breathe—as she slowly, carefully works the plug inside.

The restraint I’ve maintained for decades frays like a cut rope. One thread left. Just one fucking thread.

24

KIRA

The cool silicone feels alien in my trembling fingers. The plug isn’t large—Ryker must have chosen it specifically for a beginner—but my inexperience makes it seem intimidating. My breath catches as I kneel on the forest floor, the scattered leaves crunching beneath me.

“You can do this,” I whisper, knowing he’s out there somewhere. The thought sends a fresh wave of heat between my thighs.

I’ve never put anythingtherebefore. The idea always intrigued me but remained firmly in fantasy territory, which I’d only admitted in level three when Ryker forced my darkest desires into the open. Now fantasy becomes reality as I apply the lubricant he provided, the slickness coating my fingers.

My body tenses at first contact, the cool gel against such intimate territory making me gasp. I close my eyes, trying to relax as I press the tip of the plug against my entrance. The pressure builds, unfamiliar yet thrilling.

“Oh god,” I breathe, feeling my body resist, then gradually yield to the intrusion.

The stretch burns slightly, but underneath that is a fullness that sends unexpected sparks of pleasure through my core. I push further, my thighs quivering with effort and arousal.

When the widest part slips past the tight ring of muscle, I cry out—a sound that’s half pain, half shocking pleasure. My body accepts the rest easily, the base coming to rest against my skin.

“Ryker,” I moan, louder than intended. It echoes through the trees.

Somewhere out there, I know he’s witnessing my obedience. The knowledge should horrify me, but instead sends a rush of wetness between my legs. I want to be good for him. Want to please him.

The plug shifts inside me as I straighten, sending jolts of unfamiliar pleasure up my spine. I’ve never felt so aware of my body, so completely consumed by sensation. Standing naked in the forest, filled and exposed, I’ve never been so vulnerable—or so aroused.

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