Authors: Christina Crooks
She could hear the shuddery intake of his breath. Then, he nodded once. Fire flashed into his eyes. And something more, but she couldn’t believe the intensity of the emotion she’d glimpsed had much to do with her. It had everything to do with him. She could only smile back, throbbing with desire and weak with gratitude and awe, helpless before his power.
He nodded once more, then turned. “Everyone! May I have your attention. In honor of new beginnings, I’d like to announce the Chase and Capture event is back on for tonight!”
“No!” Ryan’s angry voice bruised the happy atmosphere. The crash of his glass shattering on the wood floor hurt it further. “It’s too much. I’ve suffered enough. Nora, get your things. We’re leaving.”
W
ith his tense, petulant expression and his khakis-and-polo clothes, and the distance he kept from the others, Ryan looked like the only one in the large room who didn’t belong. The collar around his neck seemed a jarring affectation.
Nora stared at the man she’d once agreed to marry and felt little for him. But she approached him. “Ryan. Please lower your voice.”
“For these freaks? No!” He stared at her. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering letting these guys chase and fuck you!”
Her whispered response was scathing. “It was your idea. Or don’t you remember?”
“It was a mistake! I messed up, Nora, and I’ve been trying to make it right. For us.” He glared at her. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
She sensed the disturbed serenity in the room, the heavy silence. Poor Osmond. Nora felt a surge of anger. “I’ll think about it. For now, I need you to be quiet.”
“And I need my fiancée to stop acting like a slut! What about what I need! What—mmnph.” Black slid the gag into Ryan’s mouth in one smooth motion. White jerked his leash warningly. Ryan got the message, lowered his eyes submissively.
Only Nora saw his look of muted rage.
She shuddered as she turned her back on him, feeling resignation and relief. She’d nearly spent the rest of her life married to him. They’d have been miserable together.
Five hours later, Sylvester presided over the group of event participants. There were the “predators” in the game—himself, Mage, and Master Andre—sitting on the longest couch some distance from the low-burning fire. The warm indoor air felt comforting, if a bit close. With Osmond napping in his nursery, and Mistress Kiana speaking in low, easy tones with Black over Ryan’s prone form at their feet, the early-evening vibe should have felt relaxed, even lazy.
It didn’t.
In honor of the event, Kitten reclined nearby in her flirty little miniskirt, which showed off firm legs and just a hint of ass. White perched on the edge of her upholstered chair, her long, strong body draped, for a change, in a simple summer dress. Her ebony skin gleamed almost as brightly as her eyes. She watched Sylvester and Nora, doing everything but eating popcorn.
Sylvester felt his gaze drawn irresistibly to the woman who’d agreed to play the part of “prey.”
His victim of choice wasn’t wearing something traditionally feminine and frilly. No dresses or skirts for her. Nora wore a track suit. And serious-looking running shoes. A small band pulled her glorious dark hair into a long ponytail. The bells bunched around the band.
She sat with unnatural stillness. He could see her chest rise and fall—her lovely breasts were compressed by a sports bra—as she inhaled and exhaled with deliberation. She would be difficult to catch, he knew. She seemed confident. Was she as calm as she looked?
Her gaze flickered briefly up to his. He felt his own breath catch, seeing the nervous excitement in her eyes.
She looked away. Just as well.
He cleared his throat.
“I’ve already explained the basics: prey wears bells, prey gets a ten-minute head start…If prey is captured, the noncapturing predators return to the house…no facial wounding or broken bones allowed.” Sylvester glanced at his rivals. They looked nearly as hungry for Nora as he felt. “After one hour, Mistress Kiana will ring the brass bell to indicate the event is over.” He looked back at Nora. “The safe word is ‘red.’ Aftercare is the predator’s responsibility, and should be especially long and thoughtful. Any questions?”
Nora shook her head. Mage and Master Andre shook theirs, too.
“Then, Mistress Kiana will do the honors.” He seated himself in a recliner, folding his hands in a pose of tranquility.
Mage would be the real competition. Master Andre’s only regular workout was his whip wielding, but Mage kept himself fit. The man also probably knew a dozen ways to kill a rival, likely with inventive, unconventional methods.
It was worth the risk to capture Nora.
Mistress Kiana seemed fully recovered as she let her legs slide from the human footrest and straightened gracefully to her feet. Little Peter moved to help her, but she edged away, stepping carefully around Ryan.
Ryan, no longer gagged, now wore only a single brown sack-like garment Sylvester finally recognized as a hair shirt from the dungeon. It had been hard to spot due to the brown color blending with the floor Ryan knelt down on, arms straight, knees bent. A footrest.
Sylvester smiled, approving Mistress Kiana’s taste.
“Ready. Set. Go!” She held up a large brass bell by the handle. The next moment, she brought it down, making it clang with a surprising loudness.
Instead of choosing the deck with its stairs, or the front door, Nora bolted in a different direction. Everyone listened to her bells jingle as she disappeared down the stairs to the dungeon.
“There are outer doors down there, too,” Mage said, echoing Sylvester’s thoughts. The man looked thoughtful, and not a little sadistic. Probably imagining all the things he’d do to Nora. Sylvester decided he’d never liked Mage much, and would probably evict him.
Master Andre shot a rueful smile at them both. “Hopefully she’s decided to hide in one of the closets downstairs. Then maybe I’ll have a fighting chance.”
Sylvester stood, paced. Had it been ten minutes yet? He looked at Mistress Kiana, who eyed her watch. “Eight more minutes.”
He lunged into a stretch, ignoring Kitten and White’s snickers. He was going to be the one to capture Nora. The woman spoke to his soul, not only his fetish. She’d made him feel whole again. At peace with himself. For the first time in years, he felt no burdensome chains of guilt.
He was going to be the man to fulfill her deepest fantasy.
He looked his impatience at Mistress Kiana. She’d evidently dismissed her footstool, as Ryan was nowhere to be seen, but Little Peter flanked her with doglike devotion, clearly urging her to sit. She protested. “I’ve lounged all day, I need to stand! But”—she lifted one slender hand, caressed the service submissive’s jaw—“you’re doing a very good job. Your attentiveness is commendable.” Little Peter glowed at the praise.
She looked at her watch. “Ready? And…go!”
Amid cheers and encouragement, the three men went.
N
ora looked at the man who closed the sliding glass door behind himself with such gentleness. “Hello, Master Andre.”
“Nora. I hoped I’d find you here.” His smile broadened in approval. “I didn’t bring my pipe tobacco. But, we have more interesting things to do this evening.”
She spoke quickly, before he could get more of the wrong idea. “This isn’t what you think. I just wanted to talk with you privately for a moment.”
He looked at her, considering. “Talk.” He stepped closer, inhaling deeply. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it. The stars are out. And no one will be concerned when you scream.”
He was speaking her language. Despite herself, she felt a twinge of desire. She shook her head with a regretful smile. Her bells tinkled with the movement. “I’d probably enjoy every minute of it. But I’ve been thinking a lot about your offer to wear your collar and travel the world. It was an incredibly generous offer. But I can’t do it. Being a submissive, even a pampered, world-traveling submissive, isn’t my kink. Having multiple partners isn’t my kink. Those aren’t the fantasies in my head. Well, the world traveling, maybe.”
“Ah. I know where this is going.” His mouth quirked into a small smile. “Sylvester.”
A bright flare of desire shook her. She got off on just hearing his name. God, she had it bad. “I didn’t know what I wanted until I tried things on for size, physically and mentally. And I keep coming back to the one thing.”
“One thing Sylvester is admirably, naturally equipped to provide,” Master Andre concluded. He grinned at her, and she was struck again by his impish good looks. “I’m glad,” he confessed. “Sorry, but also glad. Sylvester has been needing someone exactly like you for way too long. Now, may I offer you some advice?”
“Um, okay.” That had gone easier than she’d expected. Or was Master Andre about to tackle her? It would be a while before she felt completely at ease with the kinky rules of the road. “I’m all ears.”
Master Andre’s expression became serious. “Don’t try this ‘just talking’ with Mage. You won’t stop him with anything short of a safe word. And you might not have time to say it.”
She smiled back, appreciating him. “You are amazing and kind and sexy, and if I wasn’t crazy about Sylvester we’d be having some pretty serious sex right now.” She patted a backpack sitting on the wooden seating bench encircling the private deck. “I have a plan.”
“I hope you do.” His expression went wry. “Now, get going, little temptress. Your man’s out there.”
Nora kissed him on the cheek, slipped on her backpack, and ran.
A
s she bolted out the door into the star-filled summer evening, she heard the shouts of those who’d spotted her from their balcony-edge viewpoints. She ran across the circular drive and down the gravel road, darkening twilight enfolding her.
Nora laughed. She felt an awakened sense of life, a rush of confidence and strength. The threat to her was real, in a way that alternately thrilled and frightened her. But compared to the pale hopes and muted monotony of her life before coming to Twisted Wood, it felt exhilarating.
Of the two remaining men, she thought Mage might be the fastest. She remembered the whipcord leanness of his body. And his scars, from his military background.
She suspected the man rarely failed to achieve his goals, and fucking her was one.
A rush of wind and shadowy movement at the corner of her eye was the only warning she had. Dodging before she even knew who she avoided, she felt the graze of fingertips against her hand as she fled. A curse in another language told her it was Mage.
She ran, her small bells jingling.
Nimble. Fast. Can’t catch her, not until she wanted to be caught. Desire swirled inside her. It made her consider slowing a little, just enough to let Mage capture her, have her.
She laughed aloud again, pulling farther ahead with an effortless burst of speed. Behind her, she could hear feet slapping the gravel, then a quieter thud against the dirt on the path leading up toward the schoolhouse. Her calf muscles tightened, then began to loosen with a pleasant heat as the path grew steep. She concentrated on her rhythm and pacing so she didn’t exhaust herself. It was no marathon, this distance to the meadow near the schoolhouse, but neither was it a sprint, and the uneven incline made for hard going.
After a few minutes, she chanced a glance over her shoulder. She’d pulled ahead by quite a bit. She picked up her pace. She needed even more of a lead for her plan to work.
Her backpack grew heavy, but she didn’t consider ditching it.
Her breasts bounced slightly within the confining sports bra, her erect nipples rubbing against the material. Would her bra be ripped from her, or just pushed up? Would her rapist of choice pull her pants roughly down, or would he force her to undress for him? Would she be bound, or simply overpowered by brute strength?
She stumbled. Correcting for it, she regained her rhythm.
No more daydreaming,
she chastised herself. Soon enough, if all went as planned, she’d have the real thing.
The remembered clearing opened before her, its rich soil black under the pale light of the moon. Its surrounding ferns and blackberry bushes and cedar trunks were hard-edged against the deeper dark of the forest. A half-rotted fallen trunk bracketed the far end of the clearing.
When she saw the enormous hand-shaped maple, Nora smiled. And got to work.
Less than two minutes later, she crouched over the path on a fat, moss-covered branch of the maple tree. With one hand she gripped the weighted retiarius net she’d taken from the dungeon. With the other, she clung to the trunk, holding herself still.
Just in time: Mage pounded up the path. But just before the entrance to the clearing, he paused. Nora cursed his fine-tuned instincts.
Fortunately, before he thought to look up, she heard a faint vibration and the brief tinkling of bells some distance away.
Mage had heard it. She watched the cunning smile appear on his face. He moved again, with the silent stalk of a predator, toward the bells.
When he passed under her branch, she threw the net.
It worked better than she’d dared to hope. Taken totally by surprise, Mage flung his hands out, only entangling himself more. The weights swung the net around his legs, making him kick at in reflex, tangling his feet as well. He lunged sideways, falling hard and rolling until the blackberry bushes stopped him. His curses continued nonstop as he fought first to free himself from the bushes, then from the net that had snagged in the bushes.
Long before he succeeded, Nora had climbed back down and fetched the vibrator with her bells wrapped around its tip.
She checked on Mage. Nearly finished freeing himself, but breathing hard. She grinned as she wrapped the bells back in her hair. She felt well rested. Ready to run a marathon, if needed. Mage would never be able to catch her now. The vibrator buzzed in her hand. She tossed it to the ground next to Mage. He looked at it, panting. Then he chuckled.
“Bye, Mage!”
He didn’t respond, but then, she hadn’t expected him to.
She ran, then, toward the one place she hoped Sylvester would know to look for her: the schoolhouse.