Page 11 of Stranded

I select a tactical half facemask as I want her to know it’s me behind it. And I slide it on, glancing in the mirror. Perfect. Turning my attention to my guns, I peruse them. I select a pistol and check it’s unloaded, before tucking it into my belt. And then I slip on a pair of black gloves. Once ready, I head out into the cold night, only to halt when I see Ivy’s cabin windows.

Motherfucker.

She’s shut all the curtains, blocking my view of her.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you playing at, angel?”

That’s it. I’ve had enough of this, anyway. Peeping through windows and watching on cameras is for amateurs. I’m no longer content to be a voyeur. I want to be part of the live show, not some rerun. Maybe Ivy is as bored of this cat-and-mouse game as I am. Maybe she’s ready for the real thing.

“I’m coming for you, angel,” I growl, a dark thrill surging through my veins.

The cold night air stings my face, as I cross the small distance from my cabin to hers in seconds, grabbing my key from my jacket pocket and slipping inside. It’s time for her to know the depths of my desire and the lengths I’ll go to claim her. Tonight, I’m a hunter.

Ivy is in the kitchen. I hear her slamming pots and pans around. I smirk and slip into her bedroom, knowing it won’t be long until she goes to bed as it’s almost ten o’clock and she’s like clockwork.

The huge closet on one side of the room makes the perfect hiding spot to surprise her. After no more than ten minutes of waiting, she comes into the bedroom, sighing heavily. I see her through the door slats as she bites her lip and shakes her head. “Stupid Ivy.”

I wonder why she would call herself stupid. It angers me. And I want to punish her for it. As she’s perfect. Not stupid.

She pulls off her robe, and my cock throbs when I see what she’s wearing beneath. A sexy red lace corset, matching garters, and belt, and when she bends over, I realize the Brazilian panties she’s wearing are crotchless.

Shit.

Is this what she was hoping for? To draw me inside behind the shut curtains. She’s about to remove the corset, trying to undo it, when I step out of the closet. “Stop,” I demand.

She freezes, a shudder racing through her. And then she turns to face me. “Maddox?” she breathes my name, and it sounds so fucking sweet.

Her vanilla and pine scent is so damn strong right now, casting a haze over my mind.

“Yes, Ivy,” I reply. My eyes trace the contours of her body from behind, the red lace accentuating her curves and inviting me in.

Her face is a picture of fear and anticipation. I walk toward her, slow and purposeful. I see her swallow as her chest heaves and her pupils dilate.

“I’ve been watching you, Ivy,” I confess, not breaking eye contact. I reach her and provocatively trace a finger down the exposed skin of her cleavage. “And now, I’m done watching.”

She lifts her head. “I’m done being watched. I want to watch you.” It’s a brazen admission. Especially considering I’m wearing a mask like some kind of criminal, but she’s not scared.

“Aren’t you scared?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“You should be,” I growl. “You’ve got no idea what you’ve started.” The threat is as real as the cold steel of the gun I carry, as tangible as the half mask that hides my face. I can’t wait to see how she reacts to my twisted games.

“Why?”

I smirk behind the mask. My eyes roam down the length of her body, making her squirm. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. I can already see the questions forming in her pretty green eyes.

“I’m a bad man,” I admit.

She licks her lips.

“Did you know that I was watching?” I ask, my voice dropping an octave as I move toward her, a predator closing in on its prey.

She nods. “That’s why I did it.”

I shake my head. “I don’t mean your little shows on the sofa.”

Her brow furrows.