“Two minutes, little deer,” Shane calls, his voice booming across the yard as I slip into the safety of the trees.

My sole focus is getting as far away as possible, as fast as possible. The woods feel as familiar as the house. I’ve learned which deer trails lead to walls of briars too thick to squirm through without losing a layer of skin and which are clear. I know where the ground gets too marshy to move fast, and four different trails to the lake.

I take a hard left at a fallen tree dotted with moss and mushrooms. The path I follow now is less of a deer trail and more of an absence of trees. Following the natural path will take me in a horseshoe to the far side of the lawn behind the house. I’ve never led Shane down it, and I think it will confuse him. He won’t expect me to head back toward the house, not when I’ve always gone for distance.

As the path grows narrower, I slow my pace to a walk. Ears pricked, I listen for the sound of Shane. I know he’ll be on my trail, tracking me by my footsteps and the branches I break.

Even though I’m facing forward as I navigate the trail, my focus is behind me, alert for any hint he’s closing in and it’s time to run again. I’ve learned he loves the chase best when I let him get close and give him hell. Glancing over my shoulder, I scan the trees to make sure he hasn’t managed to sneak up on me.

No Shane.

I turn back to the trail in time to see Shane come flying around the bend ahead of me. He’s at a dead sprint. It doesn’t matter that he’s too far away for me to see the glint in his eye or the hard set to his jaw; I know they’re there.

“Bastard,” I breathe, pivoting to bolt back the way I came. He’s fast, and this trail’s wide enough to let him build up speed. This isn’t going to last half as long as I’d hoped, which means I’ll need to make it tough for him in other ways.

The odds of him coming up the trail from the other way are too slim. He had to have cheated, likely saw where I entered the woods and guessed I’d end up here. He needs to pay for that. Darting from the trail, I head for the thickest patch of brush I can find. It’ll suck, I’ll be scratched, but it’s worth it because I’m faster through the brush than him.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls from way too close. I’m almost to the brush. Three more steps.

So close.

Just as I reach it, my arm is grabbed, ripping me back to him. I throw an elbow, enjoying his grunt when it connects with his abdomen. Shane doesn’t let go. Every time I pry a hand off me, another takes its place. He doesn’t say yield, so I don’t, thrashing and fighting like he’s a stranger. Like I’m not already dripping for what’s to come.

Thunder rolls in the distance, the sound startling me. I freeze for a second. That’s all Shane needs. He spins me, hurling me up and over his shoulder before I can do anything but yelp. I’m so stunned he can carry me that I forget to fight. The world is upside-down, and my head is inches from his ass. That’s when I realize he’s wearing work clothes. Dress pants, dress shoes, and what looks like an undershirt.

The one benefit of being carried in this undignified position is that he’s left his ass vulnerable. I smack it so hard my palm stings. He makes an annoyed sound.

“Where are your hunting clothes?” I ask, adding another smack at the end of the question.

“No time.” He spanks me, and I realize my ass is as vulnerable as his.

Damnit.

I smack him again anyway, then try to roll off his shoulder. It works, almost. When Shane tries to catch me, he loses his balance. As he staggers sideways, I throw myself to the ground. This time, it works, but too well. I crash onto the ground with a rock stabbing me in the ribs, and Shane sprawled on top of me. There’s no time to inspect the damage. Scrabbling from beneath him, I shove to my feet. Then I’m being yanked by the ankle, pulled back to the ground. I wrench my leg free and run.

EIGHTEEN Claire

He must be slow to get up. That’s the only explanation for how I make it as far as I do. That, and maybe his work shoes. I burst from the woods into the yard. Then his arms are around me, and he’s pulling me to his chest. It’s an elegant capture, so smooth it surprises me. The physical poetry is gone the next moment.

I hit the ground, and there’s only brutality. A tugging sensation, the sound of fabric shredding as he takes my T-shirt in both hands and rips. Goose bumps pebble my skin, the wind chilling me. His undershirt is streaked with dirt, his dress pants ruined. Somewhere along the way, he’s abandoned his shoes. He drags my leggings over my hips, robbing me of pants and sneakers in a move so effortless that all I can do is watch, baffled at how inhumanly fast he’s undressing me.

I’ve been reduced to the role of spectator, a mortal watching myself be stripped by a god. That’s what he looks like right now: a fallen god. Hard eyes, ropy forearms, massive hands. The promise of power about to be unleashed. Two storms are building above me, but I’m already wet for Shane.

He sheds his clothing. I snatch the opportunity. Jumping to my feet, I run again. Five steps. I get five steps before his arms wrap around my waist. Dropping to his knees, he pulls me with him. I keep waiting for him to say yield, but it doesn’t happen. One of his hands slips between my legs, the other gripping my hair. I’m on all fours before him, my heart in my throat, when he uses a knee to knock my thighs farther apart. Dragging his fingertip along my pussy, he leans forward till his lips are right behind my ear.

“So wet and needy, but still trying to run.”

One thrust. He’s fully sheathed inside me. Then his continued, unrelenting thrusts force a yelp from me. Nails digging into the ground, I brace against him. Not that it does any good, not that I want it to. He’s everywhere, all-encompassing, overwhelming my brain and body. Sweat-slicked chest at my back, callused fingers on my clit, and that thick, hard cock stroking so deep I can’t catch my breath.

The hand not feverishly working my clit is knotted in my hair. He yanks my head back, forcing me to stare at the storm clouds. They’re lower than before, as if they’ve moved closer to enjoy the show. Voyeurs eager to see what becomes of me, ready to watch him consume me. Thunder rumbles a warning. Take cover, it says, a storm is coming.

Shane’s teeth graze the side of my throat, my pussy convulsing around him. It takes conscious effort to resist when electricity pulses everywhere his skin meets mine. I don’t want to fight him today. I want to give in, let him have the pleasure he’s trying to rip from my body.

When he bites down, sinking his teeth into where my neck and shoulder meet, I make a sound that’s impossible to mistake for anything but raw, reckless pleasure. He releases the bite with a groan, or maybe it’s a growl. I can’t tell over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

“Scream for me. Show me how much you love this.”

I sink my teeth into my lip, unwilling to give him another sound that isn’t pure defiance.

“Let it out,” his voice is a purr, its deep, throaty rumble tipping me close to the breaking point.

I can’t. I won’t.

Life or fucking death.

Right now, I want him to fuck me to death. The clouds open up as if Shane were telling them to let it out. I go from wet between my legs to wet everywhere in an instant. A shiver courses through me, and I know Shane feels it when he lets out a hiss.

Pushing past the pleasure, I call on the small part of me that knows my chances of landing another thirty days here depend on him still finding me a challenge. I jerk my head back. My hair whips his cheek as he dodges my movement at the last second. He’s learning my tricks.