Page 5 of Run, Little Rabbit

He came forward.

Although my heart was beating pretty fast and hard, I tried to keep my breathing even. I didn’t want him to see I was terrified. But it was an instant reaction. I retreated another step. Then one more.

He came closer, following me, his enormous body stalking like a wild animal.

When the door stopped me from retreating further, I held my hands out, my cell phone still gripped in one of them.

“I’ll scream for help.” I knew it wouldn’t do any good. There was too much noise in this place. No one even heard me banging on the door.

His hand struck like a snake as he grabbed my phone, and I cried out, trying to get it back, but he was fast. He had a hand gripped around my throat a second later, tucking my cell in his pocket with the other.

“Shhh,” he said. “Youcouldscream….”

But they’ll probably think my screaming is just part of the attraction.

For long seconds, we were at a standstill. Me just staring into his skull mask, his hand around my neck, my heart like a racehorse behind my ribs.

“I saw you staring.” His voice was low and deep—deeper than anything I’d ever heard before—and I watched him reach behind his back. I’m sure he felt as much as he heard my gulp when he pulled out a knife, revealing a blade that was matte-black, the grip big enough to fit his large hand.

He brought it closer, and I held my breath, feeling my eyes widen as I stared at him.

The overhead light glinted off the very tip of the blade, the only part the matte finish had seemingly worn off, and something in me twisted, my belly warming, turning liquid. I shifted on my feet, my back pressing hard to the door.

Maybe he could read my body language because his rough chuckle had another rush of heat moving through me.

He slowly brought his hand forward, the knife so close to my face that I sucked in a sharp breath. I didn’t dare move, too terrified of what he was going to do… and of how I was feeling in this moment.

My body shook, but honestly, I couldn’t describe exactlywhatI was feeling. This felt wrong on every single level. There was this maniac wielding a knife in front of my face, yet here I was, my panties starting to dampen from my fear. From my excitement.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the first touch of that sharp tip against the side of my throat. It was right over my pulse point, and I knew he could see it beating right below my ear, my heart racing as if I were a rabbit in the woods running for its life.

“Look at that,” he murmured, and I could sense his face so close to mine, even as I kept my eyes tightly shut. I could hear his heavy breathing.

He slid the blade down my neck, along my collarbone, and rested the tip right over my heaving breasts. My top barely concealed the mounds, and all it would take was one flick of his wrist, and the material would slice in half.

“You’re terrified, but your cunt is drenched. Isn’t that right, my little whore?”

I turned my head and exhaled, whimpering, because what I felt was very much fear, but there was also a sick pleasure laced with it.

There’s something wrong with me.

I was fucked up.

“Fucking look at me.”

I shook my head. “No.”

He tightened his hold on my throat to the point I couldn’t breathe. I did open my eyes then, a survival instinct I had no control over.

I don’t know why I listened, why I obeyed. But I faced him and opened my eyes, and a second later, my jaw went slack when he shoved his hand that was around my throat—still covered in that leather glove—between my thighs. I didn’t move, though, because he still held that huge knife steady between my breasts.

The skirt was so short that he barely had to push it up before his fingers were pressed to my panty-covered pussy. I rose on my tiptoes at the instant feeling of shock and sinister pleasure. And when he started rubbing me like a fiend, my mouth opened. His body heat went straight through the leather glove and straight to my core.

“If I take this glove off and slide my fingers through your slit, would it prove you’re my dirty, fucking slut?”

I heard him inhale, although there was no way he could smell anything.

“Leave me alone,” I whispered, my hands fisted at my sides. I should be calling out for help, or, at the very least, be trying to push him away.