Page 37 of Breaking Rosalind
I burst through the French doors and into the outdoors. Up ahead is the pool and the sun-drenched lawn that stretches up to the mansion. On either side of me are the newly pruned bushes that surround the pool house.
Darting to the right, I duck beneath the shrub and crawl toward the back of the building. My arms feel like rubber and my fingers are less nimble than sausages. The only part of my body that seems to be functional are my legs.
All I need is a few minutes to find a place to hide.
When Cesare charges in one direction, I’ll launch myself in the other and keep evading him until I find a way to escape.
Twigs and stones scrape my hands and knees as I crawl around the pool house, and branches scratch my skin. My heart pounds hard enough to make every limb tremble, and my traitorous pussy throbs, seeming to think we’re playing hide and seek.
She’s forgotten how Cesare fired a pistol into us and now only remembers all the pleasure. She’s under the impression that he’s determined to give us lots of intense orgasms.
Thank fuck I’m ruled by my survival instincts, which can recognize a deranged predator.
Heavy footsteps pound across the nearby stone tiles, coming to an abrupt stop. He’s looking around, trying to work out where I’ve gone.
“Rosalind!” he bellows. “You better run fast because when I catch you, those holes are going to hurt.”
My stomach lurches. I crawl faster through the bushes and round the corner of the pool house. Sunlight filters through the foliage, its warmth on my back a beacon guiding me to safety. I clutch the shirt in one hand, ready to wear it the moment I find somewhere to hide.
When Cesare’s footsteps thunder in another direction and eventually fade, I poke my head out of the greenery. The space behind the pool house is mostly forest land with plenty of potential hiding spots. Straightening, I sprint toward the trees bordering the estate. Leaves rustle overhead, and twigs snap underfoot as I speed through the evergreens, searching for the perfect spot.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, and my heart clambers like a mouse fleeing a feral tomcat. My gaze lands on a tree with branches low and sturdy enough for me to reach. Clenching Cesare’s shirt between my teeth, I launch myself up the trunk.
Rough bark scrapes over the sensitive skin of my belly and inner thighs, but it’s nothing compared to what I need to escape. Hoisting my upper body up to a thick branch, I swing up my right leg to get a foothold.
Just as I’m about to raise my leg to join it, a rough hand grabs my ankle and yanks me down with a powerful tug.
Cold shock barrels through my chest, and my lungs release a scream.
My body slams into strong arms that wrap around my torso like an iron vise, trapping me against a broad chest. Cesare stares down at me, his eyes wild and manic, his features twisted into a sinister grin.
“Going somewhere, pet?”
Dread plummets in my stomach like a stone, hurtling my psyche into a pit of terror. I elbow him in the gut, but it only makes him tighten his grip and cackle.
His hot breath scorches the side of my neck as he growls, “Tag. You’re it.”
“This isn’t a fucking game,” I say from between clenched teeth.
He snaps a handcuff around my wrist, making my panic spike. I slam a fist into the side of his head, but he snatches my other arm and secures it with the cuff.
His thick erection grinds against my ass, making my pussy clench. He bites down on my earlobe hard enough to make me whimper.
“Why are you so eager to leave? We were having so much fun.”
His fingers close in around my nipples, twisting and pinching them until I squirm. I can’t tell who’s the bigger psycho. Him for carving his name into my skin and chasing me across the woods, or my pussy for getting so desperately aroused.
My survival instincts rear to the surface, screaming with alarm. This is life or death, not foreplay. At this rate, there’s no way I’m getting out of this alive.
I need to stay calm. Remember my fucking training. I have to picture Cesare as a cold-hearted mercenary and not a man capable of giving me the most intense orgasms.
Planting one foot into the ground, I sweep my leg behind his ankle, drop my weight, using his momentum to force him onto his spine.
Cesare crashes on his back with a thud, releasing a spray of leaf litter. I jump to my feet, grab the shirt, and loop it around his neck as a garrote.
He gazes up at me, his eyes glinting. “Don’t fight it, pet,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “This is happening, whether you like it or not.”
I pull the shirt tight, cutting off his air. “Think again.”