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.
14
Nora 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.
15
As 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.
16
He wasn’t there.
Nora could tell from the moment she opened the door and nothing but the scent of dusty air rushed out that Sylvester hadn’t been there.
She hesitated, torn between wanting to go inside and simply wait, and moving on before Mage freed himself and came after her. The unwelcoming dark interior decided for her. She closed the schoolhouse door, wondering what to do next.
Suddenly a hand covered her mouth. A low voice spoke into her ear. “Don’t move. And don’t scream.”
Panic swept through her. Reflexively, she twisted and shoved, and then she was free, off and running again. This time there was no sensation of strength and confidence to buoy her. She ran spooked. What if that wasn’t Sylvester or Mage? What if there was a real predator after her?
She ran blindly, not pacing herself at all, her instinct guiding her direction.
She realized she’d found another clearing only when the moonlight dazzled her with its comparative brightness. Sparse grass and clover covered an otherwise bare ground. She heard labored breathing, and realized with surprise it was herself. Her side ached, too, a stitch in it like she got when she pushed too hard and too fast. Which she supposed she had. How silly, to run like a B-movie heroine fleeing a monster.
It was only Sylvester.
A voice spoke from the shadows. “Hello, Nora.”
She choked back a cry, fear rising again.
Sylvester stepped into the clearing.
Her nerves tensed immediately. He wore gray pants and a lighter shirt, but his eyes were dark as she’d ever seen them. His mouth curved in a cruel smile. A thrill of frightened anticipation touched her spine.
She backed away as he approached.
He shook his head. Spoke softly. “There’s a fence behind you. The property line. Nowhere to run.” He continued to approach, arms by his sides but his palms facing her as if ready to prevent her escape.
She tried it anyway, lunging to his right to slip into the forest, lose him in the dark.
She almost made it. Just as the moonlight was cut off by tree canopies, Sylvester grabbed her, held her arms above her head. He breathed heavily and so did she, as both anxiety and lust flared in her, turning everything complex. She wanted to cry, she wanted to plead for her freedom. She wanted to laugh her triumph, she wanted to wrap her legs around his hips.
She wriggled and fought to free herself from his grip. “Please! Stop!”
His grip tightened. He walked her back until she felt a tree’s rough bark abrading her through her jogging shirt. He pressed against her firmly enough to feel every inch of his hard body.
One of her wrists twisted free of his grip. She pounded his chest, hard, before he recaptured it, brought it back up, where he enclosed both wrists in one cruel grip. His other hand roamed her body arrogantly, roughly. The tree bruised her and Sylvester did, too, but she couldn’t move. It made her feel afraid. “Please…don’t.”
He yanked her shirt up. She whimpered as he brutally pinched a nipple, the fiery agony turning instantly to pleasure and taking the little pains of her bruises and abrasions with it. Her knees weakened with desire, and the old shame over how she could be brought to such a state with such treatment. She blinked away tears as he twisted the other nipple, and she couldn’t be sure if they were tears of joy or pain.
Sylvester thrust himself against her, making animal noises of lust that reverberated through her body.
Then suddenly she heard a bass thump, and Sylvester crumpled to his knees.
Nora stared with horror at the man who threw a heavy serving bowl down, then grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “Ryan!”
“Yes. Remember me?” He slapped at her breasts. “Nice. Real nice. Couldn’t wait to get yourself banged by him, could you? Well, guess what. I’m the only one who gets to fuck my fiancée.”
“I’m not your fiancée anymore.” She pulled her shirt down. Her hands were shaking.
“Yes, you are. I did everything they asked. And you know what? I’m no one’s submissive, or doggie, or footstool! I’m your goddamned fiancé.” He flung her down some distance from Sylvester, unzipped his pants.
“I don’t want you. Red. I said red!” Ryan wasn’t stopping. He was going to turn his inability to accept his submissive nature into something truly ugly unless she convinced him otherwise. She supposed she could fight or run as a last resort. And she didn’t feel like running.
He sneered at her. “I can rape you as well as anyone else. And you’ll get your fantasy fulfilled. Lucky you.”
“Unlucky you.” Sylvester’s voice made them both start. Nora hissed with sympathetic pain as his fist met Ryan’s face when the man turned to look.
Nora scrambled back from the fray, but it was over. Ryan lay moaning, clutching his jaw.
Another shadow detached itself from the forest, glided forward. “I will take care of this one.” Mage pulled Ryan up by the hair, making him yelp. Mage grinned at Sylvester and Nora. “Enjoy. Good-bye.”
Nora waved to him from where she sat on the ground.
Sylvester turned a still-fierce expression on her, but she met his gaze without flinching. He was okay. Not hurt. Relief and adrenaline warred in her. She looked at his thick hair and her fingers itched to play with it, and then to explore the rest of him.
; She made her hands lay against the ground. Obedient hands. “How’s your head?”
He stared at her. “I just punched your fiancé.”
“Ex-fiancé.” Her hands felt the grit of dirt and the silkiness of the clover. It was steadying, calming, to have the earth under her fingertips. Just not her first choice. “Thanks.”
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” His voice was a harsh demand.
“I am.” As she said it she realized it was true. Her insides still spiraled with the dangerous excitement of his proximity. He was a strong, potentially brutal man, with a body that punished and hands that did exactly what they pleased. “I just want you more than I’m afraid of you.”
She saw him swallow. Then his face went expressionless as he nodded. “You don’t know shit,” he told her in a harsh, raw voice. “I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to give you ten seconds to get the hell out of here. One.”
A thrill of fear flashed through her body, followed by scorching heat. He wanted her to run.
“…five, six, seven…”
She jumped unsteadily to her feet, stumbled away from him.
“Ten!”
She ran.
He tackled her, sending her sprawling. “Too late.”
17
It felt terrifyingly real, not role play. Fear surged through her body. On her belly, she tried to crawl away from him, but he hauled her back by her ankle. “Uh-uh,” he chastised, looping his hands around her stomach and pulling her tight against his erection. “Feel that? That’s for you.”
She felt it. It was impossible to miss. It felt as large and hard as a tree root.
“I’m going to pound it into you, slut.” As he ground it against her, hurting her, tears blinded her eyes. Yet the degree to which she responded stunned her. She struggled, whimpering, as he yanked at the elastic edge of her pants, shoving them and her panties down around her knees.
Sweet and Dirty Page 24