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The problem isn’t that it doesn’t do all those things. The problem is that it most certainly does, but I’m not leaving.
I’m still here.
My hands shake as I cut the engine. The headlights switch off, and a cold sensation finger-walks up my spine as the darkness closes in around me.
Don’t do this. Do NOT do this.
My hand extends and grabs the driver’s side door handle. My brain screams at me to stop as I slowly step out with shaking knees. When I shut the car door behind me with a dull click, the interior lights stay on another few seconds, a little glow of light to keep the shadows at bay just a little while longer.
Then they go out.
And it’s just me, the darkness, and him.
Somewhere.
My pulse starts jangling in my ears. My blood runs hot, my core tightening as sweat slicks the small of my back.
This is crazy. Because I’m terrified.
But the problem is, that’s what I crave. The rush. The adrenaline. The danger, and the fear. The quiet throb of tension hovering in the sky before the storm breaks.
The feeling of being hunted, in that split second before the hunter pounces.
My phone lights up one more time.
NapoleonInExile
Leave the phone. You have three seconds to start running. After that, you’re fucking mine.
Shaking, my pulse roaring in my ears, I turn and set my phone and purse down on the roof of my car. I pull out the mask—we’ve agreed to wear them, in the spirit of Club Venom—and adjust it over the top half of my face. For the first time, I realize how badly prepared for this I am. I mean I’m wearing a fucking Versace pencil skirt, Valentino blouse, and goddamn Louboutin stilettos.
In the woods.
About to be chased.
Caught.
And fucked.
Panic and adrenaline throb and sizzle through my veins as I turn to survey the dark, shadowy tree line.
Then, it’s like time slows. My spine stiffens, and my breath catches.
Wetness and heat pool between my thighs.
That’s when I know he’s here.
“Your three seconds are up, little prey.”
The words are rough, growled in a slight European accent behind me, rasping dark and deep, like they’re coming from a black cave. My chest seizes, my pulse skipping a beat as my face goes white. I start to turn, and when I do, whatever courage I had left shatters like glass.
He’s huge. Insanely tall and broad-shouldered, with a powerful chest and thickly muscled, rippling arms bulging out the sleeves of the black t-shirt he’s wearing with black jeans. But it’s not his outfit that has my blood turning to ice water.
It’s the matte black devil mask he’s wearing, the bottom half open to reveal his leering, coldly beautiful and terrifyingly malicious smile.
My heart pounds as I start to back away and he advances across the clearing toward me.
“You had three seconds, my little fuck toy,” he growls, melting out of the blackness like ink staining a sheet. Like a nightmare emerging from behind the open closet door in your bedroom late at night.
