7. Saxon

7

SAXON

Every part of me freezes when those words spill from Brendon's lips.

You better run, little bunny.

Fuck. I've never seen a switch flip in a person like it just did in Brendon. This boy— no, this man— that I've known my whole life has always been the embodiment of boy next door. He's sweet and kind and generous. He's always there with a hug or a helping hand for anybody who needs it. He's bright eyed, bushy tailed, and practically leaks gentleness out of his ears.

Except now. Now, his eyes have gone dark. His jaw is rigid. He seems to have one single minded focus, and that focus is me. I don't want to question it. I don't want him to question it. I don't want to think about what just changed or how things will be different if I do as he says. I'm too keyed up, and from the look of chest rising and falling with heavy breaths under the cotton of his shirt, so is he.

Even so, I take a beat. If we were in the club, we would have filled out forms beforehand. There'd be discussions of safe sex and kinks and hard no's. As I think about it, I realize I don't want that. If I'm with Brendon, I don't need it. There is no person that I trust more, and no one that I know more about. We can both go into this knowing without a doubt that we aren't a risk to each other in any physical way, and that makes the fantasy all the more tantalizing.

When my feet start to move, I run like my life depends on it. My lungs burn as I pass through the clearing and into the dark, deep woods. I immediately duck off the path, cutting through a thicket where needly plants cut and scrape at my legs. A branch snags on my stockings and I stumble, falling forward onto my hands and knees. Something sharp— rocks, maybe branches, it's impossible to tell— cut at my palms as I brace myself. I wince, biting my tongue to tamp down the whimper of pain that wants to escape.

I lean into the fear, allow it to wrap itself around me. I don't want him to hear me. He can't find me. Heavy footfalls echo behind me, and I scramble back to my feet, cursing myself for choosing such loud boots. I try to run on my tip toes and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, trying to sidestep any leaves or cracking branches that will give away my location.

I know it's Brendon in these woods with me, but all rational thinking has been completely obliterated by the potent elixir of fight or flight adrenaline rushing through my veins. Fear and excitement pound in my chest, along with a heartbeat so loud I can feel it in my ears.

I slow down, ducking behind a large tree. I press my back to it and cover my mouth, muffling my heaving breaths. My mind is a chaotic whirlwind, and the only thing I can think to do is listen.

Listen and hide .

The wind whips, howling through the bare trees. Something scurries by my feet, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I throw my hands behind me, clinging to the old oak tree. The bark scratches at the fresh scrapes on my palms, and I can feel a warm trickle as blood beads on my skin.

Another heavy footfall, followed by another, and another. The sound gets closer, inch by inch, and somehow it steadies me. It reminds me of why I'm here. What I'm doing. What my task is.

Run.

I use the tree as leverage, pushing off and running like my life depends on it. This time, I don't worry about making a noise. My boots slap against the hard, untamed ground. The cold air burns my throat. My pulse pounds in my head, a deafening drumbeat, the soundtrack to my reality.

He's not being quiet, either. His pace picks up as mine does. He doesn't sneak or hide. He swings, pummels, thrashes at anything and everything that gets in his way. Anything that keeps him from cornering his prey.

I don't make it easy. I sprint, I change directions, I fall and get right back up. My thighs ache. My feet burn. Sweat sticks to my skin and the crisp air chills me to the bone. A cramp starts to ache in my side, and I whimper. This is it. This stitch is what's going to take me out. I'm the slowest gazelle in the pack, and as my predator draws closer, I resign myself to fate. I am prey. His prey. A large body collides with my back, and the wind is knocked clear out of me.

I fall forward, and my captor goes with me. I try to stick my hands out, to take the brunt of the impact of the fall, but a large arm wrapped around my center keeps my arms pinned to my body. Brendon pivots, maneuvering so that when we hit the ground his shoulder hits first and I fall on top of him. He grunts, and I exhale. His hold on me is tight, squeezing and violent, preventing me from taking a full breath. Still, I kick my legs like a dying bug. My heels connect with shin, and he hisses, loosening his grip just enough for me to push up and roll off him. I gasp for air as I scramble to all fours and start to crawl, hoping that I'll regain the strength I need to push back up to my feet.

But it's no use. A large, calloused hand grips my throat while another fists my hair. I'm yanked to my feet, and he squeezes the hand around my throat, robbing me of any breath I might still be hanging on to.

"Please, let me go. Don't do this, please." I rasp, barely able to get the words out.

"Shhh," he breathes against my ear. He loosens his hold on my throat but tightens his fist in my hair, pulling my head back. His nose trails up and down my neck before he bites down hard on my neck, right where my pulse flutters on my skin.

"I want to go home," I whisper as tears start to pool in my eyelids.

"Don't fight me. It will be over much quicker if you just take it." His knee connects with the back of my thigh, knocking my feet out from beneath me, and then I'm on my knees on the ground. He's there too, behind me, crowding me, invading my space as I try to break free from him. He traces his fingers across my collarbone, dipping down between my breasts. He yanks at my dress, tearing the fabric down the middle. He finds my nipple, hard and aching and pinches it. I yelp, then throw an elbow back at him.

I can't help it. I want this, but I have to fight.

He curses when my elbow connects with his ribcage, and I take the opportunity to lunge out of his grasp. He's faster than me, though, and just as I start to crawl away yet again, I'm pushed into the ground. His palm connects with the back of my head, pushing it into the ground as his other hand lifts my hips. His knee comes between my legs, forcing me to open and make room for him between my thighs.

The ground smells like dirt and rotting leaves and my own blood trickling from a cut on my cheek. He flips my dress up, and the chill hits my burning center.

I'm wet, I'm aching, I'm on fucking fire. A tear drips down my face.

"I told you not to fight me," he growls as he thrusts forward, pressing himself against my ass. I buck, and he grinds my face further into the ground. My pussy is throbbing, begging to be filled. I've never felt so painfully empty. He rears back, and I think he's going to thrust again, but instead, his hand comes screaming down, whipping through the air and smarting me right on my ass cheek. I sob as the pain rushes through me like molten lava and my clit throbs.

"Please," I moan into the ground, and even though it feels like I'm begging for him to stop, I arch my back as best as I can under his hold. I need his hands on my pussy more than I need air in my lungs.

"That's right, give in. Be a good little bunny and take what I give you."

His voice is deep, growling and angry. Completely unrecognizable to the point where, for a moment, I think that maybe it's not Brendon on top of me. Maybe by some cruel twist of fate, I've found myself in real danger.

But when he leans over me, bracing his arm by my head on the ground, I can just barely make out the sunflowers inked on his forearm. Relief swirls into the cocktail of fear and lust thats making my brain hazy, and I give him the last bit of fight I have left in me.

"Don't do this," I croak as a sob rips through me. He lets go of my hair and slides his hand down my back, a soft, stark contrast to all the roughness. He continues down over my ass, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my thong and dragging it down to my knees. Pleasure runs through me as my body tightens, spooling and coiling in my center. I'm close, right on the edge of release as if I've been working myself over for hours. But he hasn't even touched me yet. I can feel my wetness spilling, dripping through my folds and over my swollen, tender clit.

I hear the fumble of his belt buckle and the slide of his zipper as he works his pants open. I brace myself, ready for him shove himself into me, but he doesn't.

I take the opportunity to kick back, knocking my foot into his stomach and sending him backwards just enough for me to start to wiggle away. I'm not quick enough though, because before I can push to my feet he's back behind me. He grips my middle and flips me to my back.

He nudges a knee between my legs, spreading me wide and then his hand comes down, hard and stinging right on my pussy, his fingertips smarting my clit— three quick swats one after another, and I come. Like an animal in heat, I buck and rut against the air as the orgasm rips through my body, dizzying me and blinding me, all from one brief touch of his skin.

"Oh fuck!" I cry out, and my captor chuckles darkly behind me before wrapping a leather strap around my face.

"Bite."

Tentatively, I open my mouth and let him shove the belt between my lips. Behind the mask, I see the persona Brendon's put on slip for a second. In the moonlight, I can see the gentle caring gaze in his otherwise dark eyes. I bite into the leather, and Brendon softly grazes his knuckles over the apple of my cheek. I can feel three decades of love and admiration in the simple touch.

I lean into it, and right as I do, his switch flips and he's shoving me back to my hands and knees.