Page 55 of Ravage

I could hide under the desk, but that's too obvious.

I keep moving, deeper into the maze.

Another door—a supply closet, too small.

Another—a conference room with a long table.

I crawl underneath, pulling chairs to hide myself better.

I hear him in the distance, counting down: "Five... four... three... two... one. Ready or not, little lamb."

I can hear him moving methodically through the area.

Doors opening, closing.

His footsteps unhurried.

He knows I can't escape.

This is his domain.

"I can smell you," he calls out. "Your fear. Your arousal. You're dripping for me, aren't you?"

I am.

The terror and excitement mix into something intoxicating.

I press further under the table, trying to control my breathing.

His footsteps get closer.

Pause outside my door.

The handle turns.

He enters, and I hold my breath.

Through the chairs, I can see his expensive shoes moving around the room.

He stops at the table.

"I know you're here," he says softly. "I can hear your heart racing."

I burst from under the table, trying to dodge past him, but he catches me easily, spinning me against the wall.

His body pins mine, and I can feel how hard he is.

"Caught you."

"Please—"

"Fight me."

So I do.

I struggle against his hold, try to knee him, claw at him.

But he's stronger, bigger, and he uses my struggles against me, forcing my legs apart with his knee.