Pure survival instinct and adrenaline explode like napalm through my veins as I fling myself across the church, hurdling a broken-down pew and dodging around a pile of mossy bricks.
The heavy thud of footsteps behind me propels me forward, sprinting around another splintered pew.
Don’t turn around to look behind you.
I feel like I read that in a book once, that turning around slows you down or makes you veer unnecessarily. And if I do either of those, he’ll catch me.
And if he catches me?
Well, clearly, he’s more than roleplaying the scenario I asked for. Honestly, I don’t think he’s roleplaying at all.
I think I may have actually invited a real psychopath to chase me down and fuck me.
I scream as I dodge right, then left, then jump over another pew. I glance to the left, and my heart leaps when I see a side door. Maybe it’s locked just like the others, but I don’t have a choice right now.
This is no longer a game.
This is real.
I choke on my breath, my pulse racing as I dodge right again and bolt for the door. I’m so close, I’m almost there…
…And that’s when he grabs me.
I scream as his hand snatches a handful of my hair and yanks. Pain explodes through my scalp, and I wince when I get tugged hard backward and spun around. I lose my footing, and as my heart lurches into my throat, I feel the monster behind me shove me face-down onto the dirty, rough ground.
“PLEASE!”
I scream as his knee lands on the small of my back, the sheer weight of him keeping me pinned to the ground. He growls, grabbing my hair again and yanking my head back as he leans down close to my ear.
“You know how to end this…”
Something hot explodes in my core. Something dark, dangerous and deviant.
He’s not trying to kill me.
He’s just playing the game.
The adrenaline is still roaring through my veins. But the dull stab of fear in my core has turned into something tingling and throbbing.
Something achy. Something needy.
“But until you have the courage to do that,” he snarls into my ear, “I’m going to show you what happens to little princesses who think they want to play rough with me.”
My eyes bulge as he suddenly jams his hand underneath me and yanks on the front of my top, ripping it. I whimper when he roughly pulls my bra down as well. His big hand engulfs my breast, and I cry out a choked, sobbing moan as he roughly twists and pinches my nipple.
“You think you’re into primal play, babygirl?” he hisses sharply. “Let’s see how long you fucking last.”
I scream as he mauls my other breast, tugging mercilessly at my nipples until they’re sore and aching. Even as my breath comes in choked sobs, a needy heat pulses between my thighs.
The masked psychopath keeps twisting my nipples, his knee and weight still on the small of my back. His other hand drops down, and I jolt when he yanks my skirt up over my ass. He grabs the back of my thong, pulling it tight and causing it to rub against my throbbing center and aching clit. I whimper, biting down hard on my lip as the forbidden pleasure and filthy fucked-up nature of all of this overwhelms me.
The switchblade flicks in his hand. I gasp when I feel the sharp edge of its blade tease first over the curve of my hip and then then the swell of my ass. He pulls my thong tight again, and suddenly, the blade is slicing through it.
He yanks the tattered bits away. I wince as he twists my head around, forcing me to look at him. He brings the sliced thong to his nose through the mask, inhaling as he chuckles a low, dark, psychotic laugh.
“Mmmm, babygirl,” he rasps darkly. “Your pussy smells like fear and candy. I’m going to enjoy devouring you.”
I could say please. Or stop. Or no. I could use the safe word, and this would all come crashing to a halt.
At least, I think it would.
But using that word is the last thing on my mind.
Because I don’t want him to stop.
I haven’t gone as far as I can go yet.
“Now, prinkípissa,” he rasps. “Let’s see how messy your little cunt got being chased like a dirty whore.”
Without warning, he cups my pussy. I choke on a moan, my breath hitching as he drags a thick finger through my lips. His palm suddenly slaps my ass, hard, making me jolt and squeal. He does it again, then again to the other cheek, then back to the first again. He goes back and forth until my ass is stinging and raw and my whines of pleasure are echoing off the walls of the gothic church.
Suddenly, I feel a finger at my entrance.
No, not a finger.
Fingers.
“I—”
