by Opal Carew
But no Rhys.
I go to the window and the view from the balcony is stunning. From where I stand I can see the road, the out buildings, the low, forested mountains bathed in sunshine. There’s a pond with a dock and boat tethered to it and then there is the row upon row of grapevines that have not been tended in years.
My phone pings again and the sound makes me jump.
>You cut that close.<
>There are clothes laid out on the bed. Put them on.<
>Do as you’re told and you’ll find out<
I wander to the bed and pick up the carefully folded garment. It’s a dress made of the lightest cotton, so fine, it has the texture of silk. The top is a fitted bodice with pearl buttons that run up the front. The skirts are billowing and full and when I hold it up against myself, it comes just past my knees. There is a pair of white, lace panties—virginal and sexy all at once—and some soft, leather shoes that look more like ballet flats than proper shoes.
I’ll be wearing a white dress, flowing skirts—I don’t know why—that’s the image I have in my mind…
Holy fuck.
This is my fantasy alright. It takes me a moment to catch my breath as I stare at the dress, the memory of what I told Rhys echoing in my mind. Without making the conscious decision to play along, I find myself slowly removing my clothes and shimmying into the panties. Then I pull the dress over my head and button up the pearls. God, I feel like some woman out of the nineteen twenties or thirties in this dress. The design is exquisite, the material is soft and light and the fit is perfect. The shoes fit as if they were hand stitched for my feet.
How did Rhys do it? How does he know my size? How does he remember all the details of what I told him that night? We spent two days together—only one of which was spent in bed. Has he been watching me? Following me? What the hell?
I should feel violated.
I don’t.
I check the room for signs of cameras, having no idea what I’m looking for, anything out of place, I guess.
An envelope sitting on the top of the antique dressing table is out of place. It has my name printed in bold capitals. I open the flap and inside find a very small, flesh colored ear bud. I turn it over in my hand before inserting it carefully into my right ear.
Within seconds Rhys’s distinct, gravelly voice is in my head. “Hello, Tessa.”
“Hi Rhys,” I whisper. It’s so weird speaking to an empty room, an empty mansion, like I’m talking to a ghost.
“I’m glad you came.”
“Where are you?”
“Nearby.”
“Let me see you.”
“No.”
I swallow with difficulty. “Why?”
“It’s your fantasy. Don’t you remember describing it for me?”
“Yes.” I press a hand to my chest, trying to quell the racing heart beating fiercely inside. “But, I didn’t think—”
“I’d remember?” Silence. “Of course I remember.”
Suddenly it feels like there isn’t enough air in the room. Suddenly my harried heart is out of control, like a caged animal overcome by the closeness and constriction of the bars. Suddenly I realize the difference between fantasy and reality.
“Every room and building on the property is open to you. There’s an electric fence that skirts the seven hundred acres of land so you’ll know the boundaries…if you get that far. There are plenty of places to hide.”
“Rhys…” his name trails off as I struggle to draw breath.
“I’m giving you a twenty minute head start.”
I collapse onto the edge of the bed, my legs feeling like noodles, my hands shaking. But Rhys is still there, in my head, his voice quiet and low. Sexy. Exciting…menacing. “I suggest you run.”
Chapter 2
I sit for thirty seconds before I move. My brain is whirling, my heart pounding and my extremities feel as if they’ve got sand in them. Not enough blood. The result is I stumble twice while hurrying down the stairs. Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do? I stand for a moment in the foyer, breathing hard, trying to think, trying to remember…
“Tell me another one,” Rhys whispers in my ear while he holds me down, his fingers sliding in and out of me.
“Mmm…” I wriggle under his touch. “There’s one where I’m being chased.”
“Chased?”
“Stalked.”
His fingers withdraw, circling damply across my thighs. “What are you wearing?”
“A white dress, flowing skirts—I don’t know why—that’s the image I have in my mind. Something pretty. Easy to run in.” I squirm beneath his expert touch. “Rip-able…”
He flips me over, spreading me, leaning on me so I can’t escape while he caresses me from behind.
“Are you caught in this fantasy?” he asks, hand sliding up my spine to my neck.
“Of course.”
“Tell me what happens when you’re caught.”
“No,” I groan. “You tell me.”
Oh God. Oh God, oh God.
This is it. This is the fantasy. I’m supposed to run and he’s suppose to stalk me. I remember very well what he told me he’d do to me when he caught me. Holy fuck! It’s one thing to talk about it while in the throes of passion, letting imagination heighten an erotic interlude, it’s another thing to actually…live it.
“If you don’t run, this will be a very short fantasy.” Rhys’s voice in my ear makes me feel as if my memories have come to life.
“But you can see me.” I turn a circle in the foyer, my arms stretched out. “Where am I supposed to go? You’re watching my every move.”
“I can only see you in and around the house and only while I’m here. Once you leave and once I follow, we will be left to our own devices.”
I stay where I am, staring up at the domed ceiling. Rhys is here somewhere.
“If you don’t want this, Tessa, say it now. Get in your car and leave. No hard feelings.”
I blink, turning. Searching. Thinking…or trying to, but my brain isn’t cooperating.
“If this is what you want, if you wish to live out this fantasy with me…then, the longer you stand there, the less time you have to hide.”
Oh God. Why can’t I control my galloping heart? Why can’t I make a rational decision about this?
I glance at the open door. It calls to me and…I answer.
I don’t think. Nope. I simply run for it, not even considering where I’m going, just letting my feet and gut guide me. I do not head back to the parking lot and my car. Instead, I follow the broken walk up around the north side of the house. There’s another path leading through the forest. I could see it from my window and that’s where I head. Some part of my brain—the fight or flight part—recognizes that the dense trees should be thick enough to provide cover. Once under the cover of the woods, I can change directions and Rhys shouldn’t be able to monitor my movement from the house.
The woods are criss-crossed with paths. Perfect. I don’t pay attention to which ones I take, I simply take one, then another, then another. The ballet flats make my feet feel light and free and soon I find the exercise invigorating. I’m not much of a runner. Normally I hate it; my joints ache, my lungs ache, pretty much it’s my idea of torture and I can think of a million and one more pleasurable ways to work up a sweat.
But this? This is different. I’m a different woman right now and I feel as though I am in a different time; racing through the woods, virtually barefoot, dodging branches and jumping over roots and logs, the running feels natural. Exhilarating. Primal.
“Ready or not.”
Fuck!
I don’t respond. I’m too out of breath. The exhilaration of a second before mutates into something close to panic.
“What are you going to do, Tessa? Hide in the forest or keep running.”
Shit. I knew he would be watching. I stop to lean against a tre
e, panting. The tall evergreens that seemed so lush and friendly, filtering the bright sun in a pleasant way, now cast shadows that flicker ominously across the path. Which way to go? Danger lurks behind every tree, within every shadow.
“Should I tell you what I’m going to do to you once I catch you?”
A shiver races up and down my spine. One part pleasure. Two parts alarm. “If,” I say in between pants. “If you catch me.”
He makes a rumbling sound that seems to come from some place deep within his chest, echoing through the ear piece, down my throat and settling somewhere in the lowly recesses of my belly.
“When I catch you, Tessa Savage. When.”
Pushing away from the tree, I search the surrounding area. What do I do? Should I hide? Keep running? How long can I run before the burning in my lungs sets in?
“I will catch you. You know that, right?”
I don’t reply as I leave the path. Turning into the heart of the forest, I carefully pick my way over fallen logs and slip beneath low lying branches.
“Then, I’ll immobilize you.”
Immobilize me? I pause to crouch behind an enormous fallen tree covered in a thick, soft moss. I rest my cheek against it. “What does that mean?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead he says, “I’ll take you to a special place. Somewhere I can enjoy you at my leisure. Take you, just the way I want you.”
It suddenly feels difficult to swallow.
“Because that’s what you want, right Tessa?”
I crawl beneath the tree, getting dirt on the hem of my pretty dress. On the other side is an enormous conifer, a Douglas Fir maybe, or one of those Redwoods. I skirt around it, trying to put more distance between myself and the path. On the far side of the tree is a hollow, the entrance shorter than me. I bend low to take a look inside.
“Tell me. Is that what you want?”
The inside of the tree is completely gutted out and smooth with age. I slip inside, breathing deeply of the woodsy scent. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “What are you going to do to me?” The words tickle up my throat as if hesitant to leave my body, to give myself away, to admit that I want what he’s suggesting and I want it badly.
“I’m going to torture you.”
Gulp. “How?”
“With my hands. My mouth.”
I clutch my stomach as I fall back against the inside of the tree.
“Making you scream. Making you come.”
I close my eyes, forcing myself to take slow, easy breaths.
“You will do my bidding, you’ll have no choice.”
Hol-ee fuck.
“Your nipples will be hard for me, begging for my touch, my mouth…my teeth.”
Images of Rhys, his broad shoulders, his powerful hands taking my breasts and owning them, squeezing, sucking, biting. Oh God!
“The lush, round globes of your ass will be mine. Your skin so pale and perfect, warmed and reddened beneath my hand.”
I clench my thighs together as I focus on his voice, his words painting an erotic picture in my mind.
“I’ll spread your legs and your pussy will be so ready for me.”
The sound that sneaks up my throat is more animal than human.
“In fact, you’re ready right now, aren’t you?”
I suck in a breath and force it out in one long exhalation.
“Touch yourself, Tessa.”
Bunching my skirt around my waist, I snake my hand between my legs and work two fingers inside my panties. Beyond the swollen lips of my pussy is a wet, slippery heat that throbs around my fingers in excitement. God! The man is somewhere else completely and yet already I do as he demands…without complaint, as if he’s right in front of me, seducing me with that killer smile and wicked intent.
“Tell me,” Rhy’s voice demands.
“I’m wet,” I whisper.
“How wet?”
“Fucking wet.”
“Good. I can’t wait to touch you. Taste you. Finger fuck you until you scream my name.”
I’m about to scream his name right now as I involuntarily enact his words with my own fingers.
“You won’t be able to move, you’re just going to have to take it until I make you come. Over and fucking over again.”
I gasp, on the verge of an orgasm.
“Only then will I undo my fly. Stroking myself while I watch you.”
I grunt, my hand moving fast beneath my skirt, a clear image of Rhys standing over me, watching me with a grim expression while he works his cock.
“Before you finish, I’ll sink myself into you. All the way. Nice and fucking deep. And before you have a chance to come down, I’ll make you come again by fucking you hard—nice and hard—just the way you like it.”
That’s it. His words push me over the edge and I clench my thighs around my hand as my pussy shivers and quakes in ecstasy. I don’t know if he’s still talking. I think he is, but I don’t hear words because all I hear is the sound of my panting breath and the little moans that slip from my lips.
Once the orgasm subsides I stay there, resting against the inner wall of the tree, focusing on my breathing. My hand is still wedged between my legs, cupping, until the pulsing stops. Slowly, slowly I work my hand out. God. I’m so, so sensitive.
I open my eyes. Everything seems quiet. Unnaturally quiet.
Too quiet.
“Rhys?” I whisper. When he doesn’t answer, I repeat his name again.
A twig snaps nearby, then I hear his voice. “Still can’t keep quiet when you come, huh baby?”
Oh shit! Is that his voice in the ear piece or do I hear him so clearly because he’s standing right outside the fucking tree?
Chapter 3
I realize how confined my hiding place is, how obvious it is. If I stay, Rhys will find me here, if he hasn’t already. There is only one thing to do.
Run.
I shoot out out of the tree like a ball out of a cannon. Rhys is not standing directly outside as I feared but I sense his presence nearby, feel him gaining on me as I try to navigate the maze of fallen debris, bushes and roots. Of course I’m making too much noise as I struggle through the underbrush, my skirts getting caught on everything. Because I’m so loud, I can’t hear him, but I can feel him and every time my skirt gets snagged, I gasp, fearing it’s him. The scratch of a branch against my bare arm is Rhys’s hand reaching for me. The breeze on the back of my neck is Rhys’s breath, taunting me, letting me know how close he is.
Suddenly I’m caught and I squeal, the sound part fear and part laughter bordering on hysteria. But it’s just a sharp protuberance from a tree. The broken branch looks like a two-fingered hand and I hastily tug at my dress, tearing the beautiful skirt in the process. I laugh uneasily at my mistake and take a quick glance over my shoulder.
Is that a shadow? Yes. There’s definitely someone behind me, flitting in and out between trees, wearing fatigues so as to blend in with the forested surroundings.
Holy hell! This whole thing feels too fucking real! The line between the panic of being chased and the thrill of being chased is imprecise; Rhys just talked me into an amazing orgasm minutes ago and now I feel as if I’m running for my life.
Jesus! I’ve never felt more alive.
Or…more lost. I have no idea where I am but there’s no time to stop and get my bearings. I just have to trust my instinct and let my feet guide me, not that I have any back country experience to rely upon. Yep. I’m in big, fucking trouble.
“You’re very agile.”
My already roiling tummy twists at the sound of his voice. “Where are you?” I gasp.
“Right behind you.”
Fu-uck!
I head toward a clearing and find that it’s actually the opening to a path. While it’s the obvious route, going is so much easier along the path than through the forest, I take it, casting furtive glances over my shoulder every few seconds. One minute I think I see him, the next I don’t, making me wonder
if he’s heading along a different path intent on cutting me off. The thought boosts my adrenalin and I run faster than I’ve ever run before in my life. Until I get to a fork where I skid to a halt.
Dammit! Which way?
As if reading my mind, or watching me from very close proximity, Rhys says, “What now, Tessa?”
Of course I don’t answer. For one, I’m too out of breath, for another, I don’t want to give my position away in the unlikely event that Rhys is not as close behind me as I think he is. I take only a second to decide and then follow the path on the left. I hope I’m heading back towards the estate, but I’m so completely turned around, I basically have no idea.
The winding path takes me up and then down a hill where the trail switches one way and then the other. Before each blind corner, I slow my pace, both fearing and hoping Rhys will surprise me on the path ahead. To my relief…and disappointment, he’s doesn’t.
The path opens up—finally—and I’m flying down a slope, my skirts billowing out behind me, my legs spinning beneath me like the roadrunner in the Looney Tunes cartoons—beep, beep! By the time the ground levels out, I’m laughing like a kid, giddy and out of breath. There’s a small wooden structure to my right and the pond—which is more of a small lake—directly in front of me.
No Rhys.
I head for the boat tethered to the wooden dock, my slippers sliding on the smooth, bleached wood. Skidding up to the mooring where the boat is tied, I stoop to untie the rope, but it’s too wet and stiff.
All the running means that my hands are shaking. Add to that the fact I hear the crunch of boots on gravel, and my fingers fumble on the knot. I don’t turn around. I don’t have time. I grunt, struggling to loosen the knots.
