4. Fiora

One more night.

I'll stop after tonight.

No more sex with a stranger—a masked stranger.

I seem to say this every time I stand under the red light, waiting for the hunter to come. The fear never goes away. In fact, it seems to get worse because I know what to expect now.

The whistle from the forest will signal his arrival. The masked man will emerge, and I'll run in nothing but a thin white nightgown.

And though I'll run as fast as I can, he'll catch me. He'll toss me to the ground. And he'll hurt me. He'll hurt me in a way that will set my body on fire and make me beg for more. It becomes a vicious cycle, one from which I am too afraid to break free. The fear of him is eclipsed by my own desire for his touch.

So although I say this is the last time, I am also a fucking liar.

The whistle comes, and I watch as the trees part and the masked man steps into the clearing, his eyes from behind the bone mask locked on mine.

There is no guarantee I'll have the same masked man for each hunt, but this man keeps coming. I recognize the mask. His stance. His smell, and the way he growls his words to me. He has a tattoo of a Kraken on his neck. I've seen it before, and I see it now.

I'm happy it's him, but I am also terrified. It will hurt.

I draw a deep breath, my heart pounding as I turn and flee into the darkness, the thin fabric of my nightgown offering little protection against the night's chill.

His footsteps are behind me, each one sending a fresh wave of fear and excitement over me. I know what's coming, and yet I can't help but crave his hands on my body, how he makes me feel alive in a way nothing else ever can.

I run. I run fast. Sticks and stones tearing at the soles of my bare feet.

I hear him gaining on me, his footsteps growing louder and more urgent. I can't outrun him, and I don't want to. I want him to catch me. I want to feel his hands on my body, to be pinned beneath him as he takes what he wants from me.

He catches me quickly, his arms encircling my waist as he pulls me close, his hot breath against my ear. "I'm going to teach you to stop turning on the red light," he growls, and I moan in pleasure as he prepares to claim me once again.

His teeth sink into the flesh of my shoulder, marking me as his, and I shudder in response. My back arches against him, pressing my body closer to his as he pins me to the ground, his weight a comforting presence that grounds me in the here and now.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "You like it when I hurt you."

I can't deny it. The pain is a part of the rush, the adrenaline that fuels my need for him.

Maybe I'm broken.

Maybe all that is left of me is a million little pieces.

But right now I feel whole.

And so I nod, biting back a whimper as he trails his lips down my neck, his tongue tracing a path of fire along my skin.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through my chest as he continues to explore my body, his fingers leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "Beg for it," he demands. "Beg for me to hurt you."

The masked man's grip on me tightens, pulling a gasp from my lips as he rolls us over, his body now covering mine. His hips grind against me, the hard length of him pressing against my core through my nightgown's thin fabric. His desire for me is hot and heavy between us.

"Please," I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please hurt me."

His eyes blaze with a feral hunger. I have pushed him past the point of no return. He'll take me now, claim me as his own in the most primal of ways.

And I want it. Need it. Crave it with every fiber of my being.

With a growl, he tears at the fabric of my nightgown, rending it to shreds as he exposes my body to him. His fingers trace a path down my chest, pausing to tease my nipples into hard peaks before continuing their descent.

He cups my sex possessively, his fingers delving into my wet folds as he strokes me in long, languid strokes. Each touch sends a bolt of pleasure coursing through me, lighting me up from the inside out.

I writhe beneath him, desperate for more as he continues to tease me. He knows what he is doing to me, and he obviously revels in it.

"Please." My voice is hoarse with need. "Please."

With a wicked grin, he slides a finger inside me, pumping it in and out with slow, deliberate strokes that have me crying out in pleasure.

And then he is inside me, filling me completely as he begins to move with a relentless rhythm that drives me wild. Each thrust sends another wave of pleasure crashing over me, until I'm mindless with need.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper as I meet him thrust for thrust. His cock is big—too big. So big that my pussy stretches to accommodate him, the feeling painful but so, so good. I climb higher and higher, my body tensing as I near the peak.

His fingers find my clit, flicking it, pinching it, leaving me breathless and trembling beneath him.

"Mine," he growls against my lips, his possession of me clear and undeniable. "But next time I share. I share what is mine and will always be mine."

I cling to him, my nails digging into his back as I ride out the waves of pleasure. Each word he speaks only serves to heighten my arousal, the thought of being shared sending a new thrill of excitement.

Share. To be shared…

He continues to thrust into me, each stroke drawing a moan from my lips as he takes me higher and higher. The tension builds inside me, coiling tightly in my belly as I near the edge.

With one final thrust, I shatter, crying out as I come hard around him.

He follows quickly after, his own release triggering another wave of pleasure that leaves me soiled, filthy, and spent beneath him.

We lie there for a moment, our bodies slick with sweat as we catch our breath. And then like the times before, he rolls off me, pulls up his pants and leaves me lying in the dirt alone. Hunted and then taken.

But then he pauses, looks over his shoulder, and says, "You've made mistakes, fawn. Consequences happen for those."