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My prey.
When the initial spike of adrenaline wears off, and she’s no longer running blindly, her movements become more practical, every step measured for efficiency. She’s surprised me by how well she’s adapted to the challenges of the landscape, her feet barely making a sound as they press into the frozen ground. Most would run for the safety of the path; nova towards the light. Not her. She embraced the dark and ran headfirst into the unknown with open arms and excitement.
I let myself get close. Reach out my fingertips in the darkness to whisper across the nape of her neck, then melt back into the shadows when she startles and searches for me. I like being within touching distance. The hardest thing is remaining silent when her essence overpowers the pine of the forest and threatens to intoxicate me. I almost lost my head at those points.So I make a plan and execute it: When she stops for breath, I fall back. Hide. Watch. Plan. Bide my time.
No one likes a hunt that’s over too quickly. And part of the thrill is tasting her fear. Especially when my masked brothers come into view and set her on edge.
When that happens she clutches at her necklace, as if seeking my strength and protection. Like a silent warning to them:back off, I’m his.
She pleases me greatly.
The landscape shifts as I continue my pursuit, the snowfall growing steadier finally breaching the canopy above us. The air seems filled with the hushed symphony of falling flakes and the crunch of my boots on the frozen ground seems muted, absorbed by the insulating blanket beneath my feet.
Her silhouette remains my focal point, a dark form moving gracefully through the winter night. The branches above, becoming heavy with snow, begin to groan under the added weight, creating a rhythmic backdrop to our silent dance. The snow, though a hindrance to my boots, became an ally in obscuring my presence, a natural camouflage in the winter wilderness.
I follow her trail, a winding path etched in the fresh snow, my breath visible in the cold air. The wood, alive with the nocturnal mysteries of the winter night, seems to hold its breath as the chase unfolds beneath the ghostly glow of the moon.
As I close in, the forest reveals the secrets of her journey. A snapped twig here, a displaced pile of leaves there—the subtle imprints of her passage guide my pursuit. The scent of the woods, untarnished by the day’s activities, hangs in the air, a mixture of earth, pine, and the raw essence of winter, but occasionally enhanced by her sweet nectar.
The chill seeps into my bones, but the thrill of the hunt keeps me warm and focused. Each footfall is deliberate, and thedistance between us narrows with every careful step. The woods become a cathedral of silence, the only sounds are the soft rustle of wind through the branches and the muffled padding of feet on the snow.
The dance between predator and prey nears its climax. The darkness intensifies, the snowfall creating a serene cocoon around us. The anticipation, thick in the air, is heightened by the unspoken understanding between us—the age-old ritual of the hunt, played out under the watchful gaze of my brothers.
As the snowflakes gather on the branches above, creating a delicate lacework against the sky, I find myself on the verge of the final act. The culmination of patience and persistence is within reach, and the heart of the silent woods will become the stage for the inevitable encounter.
The scent of her – caramelised sugar and delicate flowers – now mixes with the aroma of our anticipation and envelopes me. Can she smell it too? I know she feels my presence, even as she focuses on Don stalking her in his neon purple mask. I observe them, a mere shadow against the snowy canvas, her movements a ballet of survival against the unknown.
With each calculated step, he closes the remaining distance. The thrill of the pursuit pulses through my veins, a primal rhythm echoing in the quiet expanse of the woods as I watch and wait to see how close she’ll let him get.
When he tells her to keep running, she takes off like the wind, graceful and resilient, embodying the spirit of the untamed. She’s even more beautiful like this – wild.
I’m ready. I’ve tortured us both long enough. Our dance has reached its zenith.
I emerge from the shadows, the silent hunter confronting his graceful prey. A surge of adrenaline blazes through me, a primal instinct resonating in the stillness. For an instant, theworld stands still. The necklace around her neck catches the moonlight, a glint of gold against the velvet darkness.
I recognized the untamed beauty of the wild creature before me. The chase, the pursuit, the dance—they all converge in this singular moment.
“Gotcha.”
CANDY
The crunch of footsteps behind me makes me spin around, heart pounding in my chest. It’s him. It’s Wint. He’s appeared out of nowhere and he’s grinning at me, his eyes dark and hungry.
“Gotcha,” he says, voice low and rough, slamming a hand over my mouth. I scream out in muffled surprise. But before I can move, he’s on me, pinning me to the ground with his weight but somehow also breaking my fall so I don’t get hurt. I struggle, but he’s too strong. His breath on my neck, hot and heavy and his arousal presses into my thigh.
“Don’t move,” he growls, pinning my arms by my sides as he moves up to straddle my torso. My legs kick out uselessly underneath him.
“You thought you could get away from me, didn’t you?” he chuckles, pressing his lips against my ear. “But you can’t escape me. I’ve claimed you, Tesoro.”
I shiver at his words, the heat between my legs growing as he speaks. He’s right, I can’t escape him. Not that I want to. I wanted him to catch me. I wanted this. I’m his now, and I feel a sense of pride mixed at the thought.
He leans down and kisses me, hard and demanding, his tongue probing my mouth as he explores me. I moan into hismouth, my body responding to his touch despite my best efforts to resist. I want more of him, all of him.
His hands roam over my body, exploring every inch of me as he pulls my jacket off, tossing it aside. He runs his fingers over the outline of my bra, teasing me as he traces the edge with his fingertips. I arch my back, desperate for more, but he pulls back with a smirk, denying me.
“I’m going to make you beg for it, baby,” he growls, leaning down and kissing my neck. My skin burns where he touches me, goosebumps erupting as he slowly makes his way down my body.
He kisses my chest through the material of my dress, stopping to nibble at my breasts. I moan and squirm, desperate for him to take it off. He pulls back and then teases the hem upwards, stroking my stomach as he moves, trailing his hands over my sensitive skin. He leans down again and kisses me, and I can barely breathe, my chest heaving as I anticipate his next move. Finally he pulls my dress off over my head and throws it aside.
