He chitters in contentment.
On screen, the drama escalates as two contestants get into an argument over perceived flirtation, and Riven’s attention snaps back to the show.
“This is where Jessica’s coalition strategy pays off,” he says with satisfaction. “Watch how the other females position themselves.”
I settle deeper into the couch cushions, letting his analysis wash over me. He talks about reality TV contestants the way sports commentators discuss athletic strategy, finding real meaning in what most people dismiss as mindless entertainment. I almost feel bad for having ever thought the same thing. Seeing it through his eyes is a new experience entirely.
I think that’s when it really hits me—I’m not just trapped with a monster on a mountain; I’m having one of the most enjoyable evenings I’ve had in years.
As the episode progresses, I become increasingly aware of the space between us on the couch. He’s being almost aggressively respectful, not putting his hands anywhere uncouth. I almost find myself wishing he wasn’t quite so considerate. The storm rages outside, rain pelting against the windows, but inside here with him, I feel impossibly safe and warm… and increasingly aware of how much I want him to touch me again.
The memory of his web wrapping around me floods back: the helplessness, the complete surrender of control, the way he studied my every reaction with focused intensity. I want that again. I want to feel small and captured and entirely at his mercy.
I’m starting to suspect that now that he has me in his home, he’s scared to make a move unless I give him a very clear signal that it’s what I want.
The episode winds down with typical reality TV drama: someone storming off, someone else crying, and promises of even more chaos tomorrow. As the credits roll, I stretch and pretend to yawn.
“I should probably get ready for bed soon,” I say. “Just need to use the bathroom first.”
“Of course. It’s right down the hall.”
I stand and head toward the hallway, then pause and look back at him with what I hope is the right combination of innocence and suggestion.
“I just hope I don’t run into any spider webs on my way back…” I say with exaggerated concern, and give him an obvious wink. “That would beterrible.”
Riven goes completely still as he focuses on my face with laser intensity. I can practically see the gears turning as he processes my intent.
“A wink,” he says slowly, like he’s working through a complex equation. “On Love Island, when Marcus winked at Jessica before saying he was ‘definitely not interested’ in her…”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, fighting back a grin.
“The wink indicated he meant the opposite of his stated words.” His voice gains confidence as he works it out. “You just winked and said running into webs would be, and I quote, ‘terrible.’”
I give him my best innocent smile, then add with mock seriousness, “Of course, winks work better if you don’t acknowledge them out loud. Ruins the plausible deniability.”
“Noted,” he says gravely. “I’ll get the hang of these rituals one day.”
“You’re doing good,” I assure him again, before sauntering off toward the bathroom with my heart racing.
Once I’m alone again, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my cheeks flushed with anticipation for what might happen when I step back into the hallway. This is different from the first time. That was accidental, overwhelming, something that happened to me. This will be me actively choosing to walk into whatever trap he’s preparing, and the thought of what he might do to me has me practically panting already.
I take a deep breath, switch off the bathroom light, and step into the darkened hallway with my heart hammering in my chest.
As I take my initial steps, I half-expect to walk face-first into an elaborate web. But there’s… nothing. The corridor is exactly as it was before, no silk, no trap, not even a single strand across my path.
For a moment, I fear he didn’t understand my hint after all. Or worse, maybe he understood it perfectly, but has no interest in a repeat performance. I feel heat rush to my cheeks as I considerthe possibility that I’ve completely misread the situation and made a total ass out of myself.
God, how embarrassing. I’m practically throwing myself at him when he was just trying to be a good host…
I walk down the hallway slowly, mentally kicking myself for being so forward. The silk pajamas he made suddenly feel like too much, too intimate, and I cross my arms over my chest as if I could somehow hide behind them.
I turn the corner toward the living room, already rehearsing a casual comment about being tired to give him an easy out—
And that’s when it happens.
There’s a whisper of movement, a nearly imperceptible tug around my ankles, and I’m suddenly airborne. The world flips as a snare tightens around my legs and hoists me upward with shocking speed.
“Oh!” I gasp as I dangle upside down, suspended several feet above the floor, my hair hanging free and blood rushing to my head.
