Buckle Up

Truth tastes better when you whisper it through clenched teeth.”

Damien was back at school.

Dominique noticed the moment he walked in. The hall didn’t change, but she did. Her breath shortened. Her heart drummed, fast and furious.

He didn’t look at her at first. Just glided past the lockers in his black hoodie, headphones slung low around his neck, shadow-eyed and unreadable.

But she saw it.

The flicker.

That sideways glance. A ghost of a smirk.

He knew.

At lunch, he passed her table without stopping.

Until she rose.

Walked after him.

Cornered him outside the janitor’s closet by the south stairwell, where no one lingered unless they were up to something.

Her voice was barely a breath.

“Got something to say, Wolf?”

He turned. Slow. Calm.

“I could ask you the same.”

Her fingers clenched at her side.

“Are you ghosting me or protecting me?”

Damien tilted his head.

Then, quietly—

“I’ve been getting messages, too.”

The door behind him creaked open.

A hand reached out and yanked him inside. She followed.

Dim light. Cleaning supplies. A forgotten mop bucket. The smell of bleach and secrets.

She closed the door with a firm click.

They stood close. Not touching. But the air between them sparked.

“You’re getting messages?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“From someone calling themselves Fox. First, I thought it was one of your followers... then I realized they knew about me. My real name. My address. Where I worked before I transferred.”

Dominique swallowed. Her throat felt dry.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes darkened.

“Because I was trying to protect you. But you... you’re never still long enough to be protected.”

She bristled.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m reckless.”

“Aren’t you?”

She stepped forward. Close enough to feel the heat rising off his chest.

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not judging.” His voice was quiet but deep. Low. “I’m watching. Same as him.”

That made her flinch.

“Don’t compare yourself to him.”

He stepped closer.

Their noses nearly touched.

“Then stop pretending I’m not different.”

The moment spun. Suspended. Their anger bleeding into something... heavier.

The silence thickened. Filled with something unspoken.

She could smell the cedar of his cologne. The faint salt of sweat. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was holding something back.

She didn’t move.

Neither did he.

But the electricity between them was undeniable.

“Say it,” she whispered.

“Say what?”

“That you want me.”

He didn’t answer.

He leaned in.

His lips brushed her ear.

“What I want… is for you to finally stop pretending you’re in control.”

Dominique’s spine straightened.

And that—that—was the moment something shifted.

They didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

But it was almost worse—almost better—that they didn’t.

Because when she pulled away, breathless and trembling, she felt something carved into the moment. Something sacred.

She adjusted her skirt. Smoothed her blazer.

“Meet me tonight,” she said. “But not as Damien.”

He understood.

“At the WREC room?”

She nodded.

“Bring the red collar.”

Later that night, in her room, she stared at her monitor.

Two windows open.

One was the chat for her Domica stream.

The other? A file sent by Damien. No message. Just a folder titled:

Fox-Pattern-Logs.

She opened it.

Inside: timestamps. Screenshot messages. Coordinates.

Someone was tracking her.

Not just watching.

Studying.

Her stomach flipped.

But she wasn’t scared.

She was ready.

She whispered to the screen:

“You want a game, Fox? Fine. I’m the prize, the hunter, and the one who writes the rules.”

And she clicked “Go Live.”

............20 minutes prior.........................

The first tap on her window was soft.

The second was unmistakable.

Dominique pushed aside her blackout curtains, annoyed—until she saw the boy in the hoodie standing on her front lawn, his hand halfway to another small pebble.

She cracked open the window.

“Are you serious?”

He looked up, shadowed beneath the brim of his hoodie.

“Come down. Just for a minute.”

Her instinct said no. But the look in his eyes wasn’t arrogant or smug.

It was troubled.

She slipped on her jacket, slid down the staircase without waking her parents, and met him outside in the quiet street.

His car was idling.

The air smelled like rain and gasoline.

He opened the passenger door wordlessly. She hesitated… then climbed in.

Inside, it was warm. Dim. A small sanctuary.

Damien sat still in the driver’s seat, his hand gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.

“Then why are you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared through the windshield.

“Because you’re in danger, Dominique. And not the kind you can flirt your way out of.”

She scoffed.

“You think I don’t know how to protect myself?”

“I think someone out there is playing a longer game than you realize.”

He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

Unfolded it.

It was another foxglove.

Pressed. Fresh.

“This was left in my locker. No note. No name. Just the flower.”

Dominique stared at it, heart sinking.

“They’re getting closer,” she said.

He nodded.

“And bolder.”

“You think they’ll try to stop the stream?”

“I think they’ll try to stop you.”

A long silence followed.

His voice dropped lower.

“Please be careful tonight. Don’t give them what they want.”

“And what’s that?”

He finally looked at her.

Eyes sharp, yet soft.

“You. Unmasked. Alone.”

The words landed harder than she expected.

Her breath caught.

“You still coming?” she asked, quieter now.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “But not as your fan. Or your shadow.”

“Then what?”

“As the one person who’ll never let you burn alone.”

She didn’t say anything.

Just looked at him.

And in that moment—when words failed—his hand gently found hers.

He gave it a small, grounding squeeze.

Not possessive. Not lustful.

Just real.

The interior of Damien's car was a cocoon of darkness, the windows fogged with their heavy breaths. Dominique leaned in, her lips finding his in a hungry, demanding kiss. Her tongue explored his mouth, tasting him, teasing him. Damien's hands roamed her body, his touch firm and possessive. She straddled him, her skirt riding up to reveal her thighs, the horn blaring beneath her as she settled on his lap. Damien's hands found their way to her shirt, slowly lifting it to reveal her ample breasts, her nipples already hard and begging for attention. He cupped them, his thumbs brushing over her sensitive peaks, making her gasp into his mouth. Dominique ground against him, the friction of her skirt against her clit sending sparks of pleasure through her body. Damien's hands moved to his pants, unzipping them with hurried movements. His cock sprang free, already hard and ready. Dominique smiled wickedly, her eyes locked on his as she lowered her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, tasting his precum. She took him deep, her mouth working him with skilled precision, her head bobbing up and down. Damien's hands gripped her hair, his hips bucking up to meet her movements. She pulled away, her lips glistening, and positioned herself over his cock. With a slow, deliberate movement, she lowered herself onto him, both of them moaning as he filled her completely. Dominique's dominatrix side took over, her eyes flashing with a mix of power and desire. She reached for the seat belt, wrapping it around Damien's neck, the metal buckle resting against his throat. "You like that, don't you?" she purred, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You like being at my mercy." Damien's smile was challenging, his eyes never leaving hers. "Tighten it, Dom," he dared, his voice strained with anticipation. She did, the belt digging into his flesh, his face flushing red with the restriction. Damien's hands found her hips, his grip tight as he thrust up into her, his movements hard and fast. Dominique met his thrusts, her body rocking back and forth, the seat belt digging into her own flesh as she rode him. Their moans filled the car, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Dominique could feel her orgasm building, her body coiling tight. "Cum with me, Damien," she commanded, her voice a low, desperate plea. And they did, their bodies convulsing together, their cries of pleasure echoing in the confined space. Dominique felt her release wash over her, her body clenching around Damien's cock as she creamed all over him. Damien exploded inside her, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his seed. As their orgasms subsided, Dominique leaned down, her lips finding Damien's in a soft, lingering kiss. "Be ready for the stream," she whispered against his lips, her voice a low, sexy promise. And with that, she pulled away, adjusting her skirt and shirt, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she left the car, leaving Damien breathless and spent in her wake.

When she finally stepped out of the car, she didn’t look back.

But she knew he was still watching.

And this time… so was someone else.

From the trees. From the dark.

A flicker of something behind the hedges. A breath.

The game had changed.

And Dominique was about to raise the stakes.