Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 95765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
I’ve no air to cry out, but he clamps his hand over my mouth anyway.
I’ve nowhere left to run, but still he crushes me until it hurts.
“Quiet,” he growls, and I try to nod.
He doesn’t take his hand away. Part of me hopes he never does.
The monster carries me easily up the track to the car park. I wonder if he’s going to fuck me over the railings, but he passes them by.
And then I see the hulk of his metallic black truck in the shadows.
“Don’t make a fucking sound,” he growls again as he pins me to its side. My cheek presses to window glass. I see my own misty breath. My wild eye looks at itself in the dark reflection, and behind me I see him.
And he’s beautiful.
He looks wild. Even wilder than me.
Dark and angry and coiled tight.
Dangerous.
He opens the passenger door and I wonder if I’m supposed to get in.
I’m not.
That’s obvious enough when the rope comes out.
I’ve never been tied up before. I protest before I can stop myself.
I’m a whimpering mess, begging please, no, but he doesn’t even look at me.
My handbag comes off over my head in a flash and he tosses it into the footwell. I try to pull my wrists from his grip, but he tugs them up behind my back and binds them tight.
He wraps the rope around my waist, around my thighs too. My pussy clenches as he threads the rope between my legs.
My clit throbs as he pulls it tight and I swear I almost come.
He pulls it again on purpose, I know he does, and I moan for him. I fucking moan for him.
I wish he’d touch me. Wish he’d use me right here, with my cheek pressed to the window.
I wish he’d fuck me so hard I’d scream for more, for less, for hurt.
He shunts me aside unceremoniously and opens the rear door. I’d stumble if he didn’t have such a solid grip on my arm.
He’s going to leave bruises.
And I’m going to love them.
He wrestles me roughly into the rear footwell. I squeak as I realise where this is going – just me, trussed up in rope, wedged behind the front seats.
It’s tight. Claustrophobic enough to make me beg.
“Please…” I whimper. “Please, not like this… I’ll get sick…”
“Shut the fuck up,” he says and the door slams at my feet, and the driver’s door opens soon after. The seat moves against my back as he climbs up. I hear the groan of the leather as he settles into position.
I curse as the ignition comes on. Beg some more as he reverses out of there.
I don’t stop begging for miles – lost in this crazy footwell hell. Scared and battered with feet sure to be bleeding. They feel like they’re bleeding.
My imagination runs riot, wondering if he really is some kind of psychopath.
I have no idea how he found me. I have no clue how he knew exactly where I’d be.
Still, my clit keeps on throbbing. My thighs are slick even though I’m freaking out so hard I could vomit.
I know we’re out of town, even without windows. I feel every cattle grid. Every winding turn in the road.
And then we stop.
The quiet is ominous once he kills the engine.
My breath whistles in my ears. My heart pounding crazy all over again.
He clambers out of the front seat, and I’m whimpering to myself before he’s even on me.
Cold air grazes my thighs as he opens the rear door.
I kick out on instinct as he grabs at my feet, but he’s stronger. He drags me out easily.
And then he lets me go.
He unwinds the rope from my wrists before I’ve even got my bearings. He tugs it from between my thighs so quickly it burns.
My eyes blink and focus.
Darkness.
So much darkness.
Just the moonlight overhead.
And fields. So many fields. Fields upon fields.
I twist my head as he tugs the last of the rope from me.
Fields and soil and trees in every direction.
We’re in the middle of nowhere.
“Run.”
One word. That’s all he says.
He shunts my shoulders and says it again.
“Run.”
And I do.
I run through soil and grass and heather. I scrabble up a hill on my hands and knees and take off again at the top.
My rational mind is too fucked up to keep a grip. I’m lost to endorphins and adrenaline and terror. This isn’t a quick sharp shock like being slammed into the shutter doors. This is drawn-out. Exhausting.
More terrifying than anything I’ve ever known. And that’s because I’m doubting him.
He’s going to kill me.
He’s going to fuck me so hard and leave me to die.
I can’t hear him behind me but I keep on running, images of my dying self, sprawled naked on a hilltop, flashing through my mind, my pussy an unrecognisable mess. I run and run until I stumble and fall. I drag myself up and curse myself through tears, knowing full well I’m losing any grip on my own crazy reality.