Page 16 of Hide From Me

“You're not counting!” I call out. It’s silent for a long moment, so I take the opportunity to look around; a small beam of light filters through the scattered darkness. With a newfound sense of determination, I stand and stretch my legs. If he could see me, I’m sure he’d think I was crazy, but I’m not about to pull my hamstring for this idiotic idea.

“Thirty.” The word is spoken so quietly that it hardly registers in my ears, but it’s enough to cause a yelp of surprise to escape my throat, and my feet take off running again. With each footfall, my shoes slosh in the mud, but the sound quickly changes to the crunching of leaves as I draw closer to the filtered light.

The open space gives way to branches, and leaves turn to sticks beneath me. For a split second, I glance back to see if I can locate him; when I turn my gaze back forward, the light has disappeared. I don't know how or when I changed direction, but it must have happened with the turn of my head.

“Sunshine?” Moe calls out, and I curse under my breath. Sweat forms on my lip, so my tongue darts out to rid myself of it. Even with the burn forming in my lungs, I can’t deny the ripple coursing through my abdomen, making my thighs clench. It’s as thrilling as it is scary.

“Come on now, lass. Even if I didn’t see your footprints, I’d still be able to find you.”

I growl lowly in frustration at his mocking tone and duck behind a tree branch. What did he expect me to do? Build a feather duster from my now-gone underwear and wipe my footprints away?

“You may seem all dark, but you shine, baby. Your light calls me home.” His words whisper through the air. I want to relish how sweet they sound, but I can’t when a crack of thunder startles me enough that I drop to the ground. The bark digs into my back as I push myself as far into the trees as possible, trying to blend into my surroundings. Covering my mouth, I strain my ears to listen forany movement, but all I can hear is the rain filtering through the tree limbs and the leaves whistling in the wind.

It's as if one moment I’m walking through a nightmare, and the next, there’s a bright light guiding me back to my dream. No, wait—that’sactuallya light—a damn bright one at that. I raise my arm to shield my eyes, my cheeks heating at the sight of Moe standing tall, phone in hand, with a bright beam shining at my face.

“Oof. So close, baby. Better luck next time.”

“Stop calling me stupid little idiotic–” I yelp, cutting myself off as I try to stand only to fall back on my arse.

“You're not even fucking wearing your,” I quote in the air, “blindfold.”

I look at my disgusting hands, shaking them to rid the mud caked on them, “That's cheating.”

“I’m curious. Are you a dominant or a submissive?” He tucks his free hand into his pocket like mud splatter didn't just land on his boots. Really? My jaw drops as I stare at him in disbelief. Here I am—wet, dirty, and sweaty—and yet he makes no move to help me.

“Neither,” I huff, attempting to stand up.

“Don’t get up,” he growls. The sudden change in his tone catches me off guard, but it’s not just that. It’s how he steps closer; the light from his phone illuminates the hard line of his jaw, which works to a steady beat. I'm confused. He’s usually so happy—all smiles, jokes, and brightness—yet I’m catching a glimpse of the mesmerizing darkness that I know wraps around his soul.

“Why not?” I growl, tempted to push him just a little more.

“It looks like you'd be a good submissive. You follow orders well, but you have an attitude,” he mutters, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “I'm not going to lie; you struck me as more of a dominant type, but maybe you don’t even know what you are.”

Isitthatobvious?I don’t engage in theextremestuff—who knows if I’d even enjoy it—but I do like whatever this is. Pushing him to reveal more and moreof himself is intriguing. It’s almost as if I’m uncovering a version of him that no one else sees.

“I didn’t realize it would be a problem. You probably should have thought to ask questions before accepting offers.” I grab a fistful of mud, but just as I raise my arm to throw it, his palm wraps around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

“Oh, baby.” He laughs, dropping to his knees. “It’s definitely not a problem. It makes it more of a challenge.”

His movements are fluid and smooth as he places his phone face down, allowing the light to illuminate our small private space.

"I've always liked brat taming," he taunts, and I instinctively jerk my wrist. Unfortunately, the mud slips from my fingers and lands on my thighs. My breathing shallows, and my jaw sets as I try to contain my flaring anger. I’m not a brat, even if I might act like one sometimes.

“You’re such an arse hole!” I snap, my frustration growing at his laugh.

“But you’re having fun, aren’t you?” he hums. My mouth opens and then shuts again. I don’t want to answer that. “You can admit it, you know? You don’t have to be this way. Sometimes you just need to—”

“Let go,” I whisper. Surely he can’t hear me, or at least I hope he can’t, because the realization that maybe I am too tightly wound and cling too hard to the past is gripping me, pulling me too much. I wouldn't be able to snap at him for pointing it out.

My chin tilts up as he grips it gently between his thumb and forefinger.

“Let go,” he repeats. The rain slows, but it’s only because his head tilts over mine, guarding me.

“You think you can do that for me?” he murmurs, leaning closer so his mouth barely hovers above mine. My lips part without my permission. I can taste something minty falling from his mouth, and it’s almost as if there’s a lingering hint of tobacco mingling with it.

“Do youwantto do that for me?” I tilt closer as he speaks, hating how my knees squish in the mud, but I want to see if the smoky scent subtly clinging to his lip tastes like cigarettes or firewood. He lets out a pained moan. Within an instant, his fingers are tangled in my hair, and he’s jerking my head back towards the weeping tree branches. A slight sting radiates through my scalp, making my eyes water, but I can’t push him away for some odd reason.I don’t want to. The burn is welcomed, radiating through every limb of my body until it all pools in my abdomen.

“Do youneedto give me full control so you don’t have to worry about a single thing?” he mutters, and I shiver as the downpour returns. He ducks his head and trails lazy, light kisses down the column of my throat. There’s something about the way his lips caress my skin that makes my mind turn to mush. It feels like the sensation of fresh paper between my fingertips late at night as I lose myself in the dreams that the words on the page create. I assume it's like the first inhale of a freshly lit cigarette easing all the stress from the day. It’s the feeling of something so smooth and strong that it can impact anything it touches, whether good or bad.

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