Page 14 of Hunting Harbor

Those words send a thrill through me. She's into this. She’s into me. More than I expected. I feel that same satisfaction as when she was struggling under me, trying to escape but pressing closer all at once. My heart's a drum. A beast pounding out a claim.

“You’ve got me curious now. What was the other thing they left?” I want her to say it. I want to see her freckles stand out against her cheeks as they flush a deeper red. I want her to admit she woke up with my come staining her perfect skin.

She doesn’t answer as her salad arrives, the waitress placing it in front of her and taking off.

“Well, you should be careful. Whoever it is might not stop there.” I finally say, filling in the silence, not wanting to lose her while she debates whether or not to tell me she was the victim of a crime. And how she felt about it.

She's taken in. She's telling me more than I thought she would.

“I know,” she says, with a hint of a sigh. “I really should.” Her fingers trace the rim of the glass, slow. She's thinking about it. Thinking about me. “He… he… I think he fucked me.”

Every second is a snapshot, a moment to hold and keep. Her words come easier now, stripped bare by the alcohol and my presence. She thinks I'm listening. Really listening. It makes herbolder, rawer. She doesn't see my grin behind the careful mask. She doesn’t see the noose I've looped around her, how tight it's getting.

“It’s like... like I know it’s a crime. I know it’s wrong. But some sick, sick, SICK part of me loved it. The feeling of knowing someone did something to me and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it,” she whispers, and I want to devour her whole.

She's spilling over, and I'm the one soaking it up. I can barely contain the fire in my veins, the ache in my hands to grab her, hold her, take her away.

This. This is what I came for. What I need. What she needs, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

I stay quiet, watchful. It pulls more from her. Her fears, her hopes, everything she can't say when she's sober and guarded. She keeps confessing, voice getting softer, breathier.

“This isn't me,” she says, more to herself than to me. “I’m not like this. I don't just... I don't...”

She looks up, and my face must be perfect because she gives a small, relieved sigh. Like she's grateful I'm not judging. “I think it’s just because I’ve been on a dry spell, and my writing isn’t coming. Well, it is, but not what I’m supposed to be writing, y’know?”

“It’s okay,” I say, touching her arm. Her skin jumps at my touch. “Everyone gets a little fucked up sometimes.”

Her words blur into sounds, wrapping me in their heat, and for a moment I don't care what they are, only that they come from her mouth. Too raw and real to realize who she's telling her secrets to. I want to slip up and give myself away. I want to be the confession she can't make. I pull it back, give her a soft look, watch as she sways. She's a whisper away from collapse.

My phone vibrates with Creed's message. "Done." It's all in place. I offer a gentle goodnight. Pay for the drinks. The need to take her to the cabin is almost too much to fight off. But I want to play. I want to edge myself. Edge her.

I want to force her to the brink so when I let her run from me, her pussy is wet, even as her mind is screaming no. It won’t be long until she’s begging me for more. Begging me to claim her as my own. She doesn’t know what she wants, what she needs, which is why sheneedsme. I will show her the fucking world of giving in, of letting the universe (me) dictate what she does and how she does it.

Once she’s in my arms, once she’s come to terms with the desire in her own mind, the desire she has for me, we will move from this sweet little game into something real. Something fucking substantial. Something where we can build a real life together.

We just need to get over these minor hiccups first.

“You should get some rest.” My words wrap around her like a net. “You've had a rough time.”

Her mouth opens, closes, like she wants to say more but can't hold it all together.

“I should.” It comes out a whisper. Barely a breath.

“Let me call a cab for you.”

I stand, pulling out my phone and dialling the taxi, make sure the look on my face is right, make sure she knows I'm still watching her with those soft eyes that burn with love for her. I don't let her see the real me, not yet. Her expression blurs, the last wall she's put up finally crashing down.

Harbor sways, then slips off the stool, one hand clutching the edge of the bar, the other fumbling for her purse. I take my time, watching her as she moves, a little more frantic than graceful. She’s completely lost now, lost to the story I've written for her. Every part of her screams vulnerable. Every step she takes to the door leaves me feeling hungrier. It’s all going to plan, and it’s all too fucking good.

I want to grab her before she’s out of sight, hold her before she even makes it through those swinging doors. Take her home the way she wants me to. I clamp down on that urge, harder than I've clamped down on anything before. The heat of it burns in my throat.

She makes it outside, and I follow, waiting for the cab before shutting her in and paying for the trip to her house. I rattle off her address and she doesn’t even notice.

The cameras are up, the feed on my phone. There’s an overwhelming need to see how she lives her everyday life. To understand her inside and out so that when she’s finally mine, she won’t need to explain herself to me. I want to see it all unfold. I want to be her perfect match.

There's no sweeter prey than the kind that walks right into your trap. No sweeter hunt than the one you don't even have to show up for.

I don't wait long before heading back to my house. I'm more patient than I used to be, but not that patient. Creed’s work is always good, but he really outdid himself. There’s feeds into every room in her house. Not a single blind spot. Harbor’s already there when I get home, barely inside before I see her fumbling with the keys and tossing them on her hallway table.

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