“I told you I’d catch you.” His dark laugh sends a tingle down my spine, and he grinds our hips together. I want to squeeze my legs shut to stop the building ache that only grows damper with each second, now that the predator has trapped his prey, and all that’s left for him to do is play with his food. “I hope you’re ready to be devoured.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the moan wanting to break loose. “Please,” I whimper, wiggling around without actually trying to get away, but all it does is add friction to where our hips connect.
He pushes his hand down my panties, and I buckle beneath him, breath rasping and lids heavy. Rough fingers sink into my core and curl up. There’s no way to hide the evidence of what his words and commanding touches do to my body.
I don’t remember tag being like this. But I think it’s now my favorite kind. Nothing I do frees my hands. He isn’t going to let go, and I don’t want him to.
“God, you’re fucking wet. Does my girl like being chased?” He clicks his tongue tauntingly, making my breath hitch. “Dirty girl.”
His fingers move, and his palm digs against my center. With my nerves soaring and the anticipation of being caught rushing through me, his touch feels better than it did at the house.
I’m sure I’m possessed. I must be. That’s the only reason to explain why I start grinding my hips.
“Fuck. Your cunt is drenching my hand.”
I moan at the sensations unfurling low in my stomach, kindled by his sharp thrusts. I shouldn’t want him like this when I haven’t fully forgiven him for what he’s done. Especially not when my wounds are still fresh. But it feels so good to have him here, above me, like he was three years ago.
This is exactly how it should be, with both of us panting and sweating, so starved for each other that candles and refinery mean nothing. It’s always been raw and primal, so full of passion that it’s sometimes hard to breathe.
I never needed the grandeur of fairy lights and picnics. I love them, but as long as I had Mickey there, it could be a real haunted house and it wouldn’t matter.
I want him in his element, and now he’s here before me. This is who we are; predator and his prey; Mickey and his mouse.
“Roman,” I plead, staring into his gray eyes, hoping he can read my mind without me saying what I want. My blood grows hotter because I can’t see his face or how he’s reacting because of the mask.
My teeth sink into my lip as he works his fingers faster. Just like he said, I’m drenched. Some sick, depraved part of my mind begs for more when my body is already shuddering and stretching to accommodate the intrusion.
“Say ‘Roman’ if you want me to stop.” He doesn’t stop plunging his fingers into me as he says it, and there isn’t a single cell in me that wants to be left on edge.
His fingers slide out of me.
He’s giving me a chance to back away, but I can’t deny that I want him to keep going. I’m showing both of us that I want all of it—all of him.
“Please,” I beg again, shaking my head.
Thick fingers circle around my entrance, dipping in—just the tips—and pulling out. I lift my hips, trying to guide him where I need him to fill me.
Then he removes his skillful fingers. My eyes snap completely open, and I have to bite back the frustrated groan rising in my throat.
Roman lifts his hand to his mouth and licks me clean from his fingers, letting a heady noise reverberate from his chest. “I knew you’d be my favorite meal.”
His masked face lowers inches from mine as a strong hand digs into my waist, holding me steady. Air rushes into my lungs with a gasp when he rubs himself against me.
My eyes widen. The layers of fabric between us do nothing to disguise his size.
He grinds his hips again, pushing against the very part of me that his fingers abandoned. “Say my name.” The command reverberates through my body.
“Mickey,” I moan, moving my head from side to side against the fallen leaves. “Please…” I can’t find the words I want to say. I want him to take all of me, but I’m frightened to give him more than he’s already taken. My heart has already felt too much pain.
He shoves his hand under my shirt, grabs my breast like he owns it, and has the deeds to prove it. “I warned you, Isabella. I promised you,” he snarls. “I’ll be claiming you once I catch you. You ran, Princess. You. Ran. You thought you could leave me? You thought I wouldn’t hunt you down? Now, I’m going to claim my prize.”