Chapter 282: The Prey Before Him
“Don’t run, kitten. You’ll beg for me soon.” Pierre watched Alison’s flushed cheeks, murmuring.
Her flushed skin made his pulse quicken.
Alison kept running. Her steps grew heavy and weak. Finally, she could run no farther and leaned against a tree.
When she turned, she saw Pierre right behind her, grinning wickedly. Even in the dim light, the hunger in his eyes sent a chill through her.
“Aidan…” she called out with all her strength.
Pierre sneered. “Your husband abandoned you long ago. Calling him won’t do you any good.”
He watched his prey struggle, fascinated. He’d never seen a woman fight so hard. After all, he’d already laced her drink.
“Aidan…” Alison tried again, but her voice was fading.
She bit her lip, fighting to stay awake.
Pierre’s excitement only grew. He stepped closer.
Alison lifted her face toward him.
He caught her chin gently.
“You’ll be mine,” he said, smiling.
When his fingers brushed her cheek, Alison let out a trembling breath.
Her chin brushed his fingers, and he swallowed hard.
The sound made him ache for her.
His lips finally descended—the moment he’d imagined again and again.
He kissed her forehead. Even that light touch jolted through him like fire. His whole body tensed, his breath catching.
He cupped her chin with one hand and slid the other around her waist.
“Mmm…” she breathed. The warmth of his touch only made the heat inside her worse. She pressed helplessly into him.
Her thoughts blurred. Only the closeness gave her brief relief from the burning.
“Listen,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Your voice is driving me insane. Why don’t we finish this right here, under the moon?”
He had meant to take her to a room, but the sight of her trembling body shattered his restraint.
“Ah…” Alison’s voice broke as her hands clutched his shoulders.
Pierre moved against her, the thin fabric between them useless now.
Each movement against him made her body react in spite of herself.
The drug had stolen her will; all she could feel was the aching need for closeness.
“Sweetheart,” Pierre murmured with a crooked grin. “Look at you—so beautiful, so desperate for me.”
He tugged at the gown.
With a sharp rip, the fabric tore. Another pull, and the sheer layers slid away, baring her corset.
He froze, drinking her in.
He left the last scraps of fabric untouched—it was more intoxicating that way.
But the cold air hit her skin and snapped her back to reality.
“Ah!” This time, it was a scream of terror.
Pierre’s face loomed close; panic took over. She fought wildly, twisting out of his hold.
Her knee shot up before he even realized—slamming hard into his groin.
He doubled over with a guttural sound.
Pain ripped through him.
He staggered back, clutching himself.
Run. The single thought cut through her haze.
Ignoring her half-torn gown, Alison turned and bolted barefoot into the dark.