2. Lily #2
What the hell is wrong with me?
I tear myself away from the window. I have to get out. Before I do something insane, like press my hand to the glass and beg him to notice me.
The front door is out of the question of course, but I move fast, checking the corners. The shelves. The stone hearth and dining room. No easy way out. All the windows seem to be bolted shut and way too high out of my reach anyway.
I reach a large door, and my pulse spikes when I turn the handle and find a room.
His bedroom.
A bed dominates it.
Massive, rough-hewn wood frame, the mattress wide enough to swallow a dozen of me whole. At the far wall, a simple dresser with two weathered,supersizedboots similar to theoneshe’s wearing. I don’t even need to snoop to know the drawers will contain denim and no-nonsense plaid shirts.
The space smells of pine and smoke and him. Masculine. Animal. My knees wobble, my throat thickens.
I force myself to back out, heart pounding. This place is a mountain man’s lair. A feral testosterone cage. And I’ll suffocate if I don’t find a way out.
The last room down the small hallway at the back of the cabin turns outtobe a bathroom, with— hallelujah —a window cracked open, a darkgraycurtain fluttering in the breeze. Salvation.
I don’t look back and I don’t think.
Jumping up onto the vanity, I crawl through, ignoring the scraping of my palms on the sill, and drop to the ground outside.
The dirt stings my bare feet but I’m running, running, lungs burning, dress snagging.
Shrubs and small branches whip past but the sweet air of freedom makes me run faster.
For two blessed minutes I think I’m free.
Then it comes.
A roar.
It rattles through the trees, low and furious, the sound of something wild and wounded. It freezes me in place for stupid, precious seconds.
Branches snap.
With a yelp, I bolt again but the heavy footfalls thunder closer. And even before I’ve made ten more feet, I know it’s too late.
He bursts from the shadows like the beast he is, and I don’t even get the chance to scream before his arm bands around my waist, hauling me up against his chest.
“Got you,” he growls against my ear.
“No! Let me go!” I kick and thrash.
He doesn’t budge a single inch.
With barely a grunt, he marches me back to the cabin, drags me inside, and drops me on the floor.
When he turns to shove the bolt closed again, I scramble up and spin, heart frantic, eyes catching on the rifle above the fireplace.
It’s high up, I know, but I don’t care. I’m desperate.
So I take a runningleap, myfingerssnagging the butt. It slides off the wall and my fingers close around it with a burst of relief. When I yank it down, the weight almost tips me over. I’ve never held a rifle in my life, but damn it, how hard can it be?
Then I turn and aim straight at his barrel chest surging before me, filling every square inch of my vision.
“Stop right there, mister. Or I’ll shoot.”
He stops, looming there. His expression isn’t fear. Isn’t even surprise.
It’s half fury, half something like amusement.
Then he takes one more step. Then another.
Until the muzzle is pressed into his bare chest. Right over his heart.
Still he keeps coming.
My hands shake as he propels me back one giant step. “I mean it. I’ll shoot.”
“Then you better make sure it’s loaded and the safety’s off next time, little rabbit,” he says, voice rumbling.
The second my gaze drops to check the chamber, he knocks theweaponaway before my fingers reach anywhere near the trigger.
It was a wild bluff. I’ve never shot a gun before, and from the look in his dark brown eyes, he knows.
My cheeks blaze at the thought that he saw right through me. “I’m not a rabbit! My name is Lily,” I snap, breathless, furious at how small, exposed, and vulnerable I feel before him.
His fingers tighten hard around the barrel.
“Lily,” he repeats, slow and rough, like he’s tasting it. “Nah. Rabbit suits you better.”
“I’m not your rabbit.”
In a flash, he plucks the rifle from my hands, sets it back above themantel, then turns and snatches me up around the waist.
My body collides with his shoulder, my legs tangling around one of his tree-trunk thighs. That furnace inside seems to burst out to engulf my whole body, then I’m dumped across his lap as he sits on the chair where he tended to me earlier.
Shock jolts through me, my new position sending a wave of dizziness over me. I squirm and jostle, desperate to get off this crazy train. “What the hell do you think you’re?—”
His palm lands hard against my backside.
Itsmartssharp enough to scorch through the thin layers of my dress and panties.
A cry rips from my throat, half from the unexpected sting, half from the shock of being spanked by a stranger .
“Stop! God—what—why?” I stutter.
“You’re being punished, little rabbit,” he rumbles, calm as ice. “For a list so long I’ll have to number it.”
Smack .
Heat spikes through me, shame tangled with something darker. My fists clench where they’re braced against the cold floor, ready to fight, but my body betrays me, hips squirming against him.
“Number one,” he says, voice low, deliberate. “You trespassed.”
His hand comes down again. My skin tingles as fire licks high through me.
“Two. You hurt yourself.” Another strike.
I bite my lip hard, refusing to give him sound.
“Three. You interrupted my chores.”
“Ch—chores?” My voice breaks high.
“Four. You tried to run.”
My face burns.
“Five. You pointed a gun at me.”
The next slap lands sharper. My breath hitches, eyes watering, not from pain but from the storm brewing inside me.
“Six. You snooped through my things.”
My pulse skitters. How the hell does he know?
“Seven.” His voice softens, almost intimate. “You never said thank you.”
My throat closes, a hot sting behind my eyes.
He pauses. Then his palm presses heavier against me, not striking, just laying flat against my stinging butt. And…did he just caress me?
Something in my chest lurches, and I tell myself the breathlessness is because of this absurd situation, not…not…
“Eight. Nine. Ten.” His breath fans hot against my neck.
“Is deserved punishment because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
And I know in my bones—five years without a woman—that you being here,” his voice roughens, primal, and yes, this time his fingers close around one cheek, gripping it tight enough to make my breath catch, “you’re about to bring chaos on my head, little rabbit. Aren’t you?”
My body quakes. My mouth opens, but no words come out.
His hand lifts again, and he adjusts me better on his thick thighs. And that’s when I feel it.
The thick, hard ridge beneath me, pressing against my stomach.
He’s aroused. So aroused it scares me.
Because that thing feels impossibly massive.
He brings his hand down in three sharp raps, the hardest yet. Hot tears sting my eyes as even hotter stings erupt to life between my legs.
I barely register that he’s loosened his grip on me before I’m tumbling off him to the floor. I crab walk backward once again on my elbows and heels, gasping and breathless.
My hair is all over the place, and I know I look a sight with my dress around my thighs.
“You…you can’t do that!”
He widens his knees, plants his elbows on them. “Can. Did.”
Unbidden, my eyes droptothe thick log threatening to rip through his fly. He’s ragingly aroused.
But when my eyes fly back to his face, he doesn’t look ashamed. Doesn’t look like he cares I’ve noticed. His jaw is tight, his eyes blazing, and his whole body hums with feral power.
My chest heaves, heat flooding places I swore I’d never let another man touch again.
He leans closer, eyes raking up and down my body, lingering on my bare legs, my chest, my mouth. Then, in a gruff rumble, he whispers, “Now. You ready to behave, my little rabbit?”
And I know I’m in more danger than I’ve ever been in my life.
Knox
I can still feel her body writhing across my lap, her small fists pounding at my thigh. Can still feel the heat of her, the way every sharp cry threaded fire straight into my blood.
I told myself I’d never let another woman close. Never risk the kind of obsession that rots a man from the inside out. But here I am, spanking this girl like she’s mine, and the truth’s burning through me—my lines began to blur the second she fell into my snare.
She’s trembling on the floor before me now. And it’s not just from fear.
The gift of being in Eagle’s Crown for this long is that it sharpens the senses. And the fucking curse of it…from going without pussy for so long is that I can smell it—sweet and sharp, her arousal curling through the air.
My little rabbit is fucking wet from getting spanked, and it makes me groan low in my chest, makes me want to bury my face between her thighs and lick until she’s screaming for mercy.
But I don’t make a move toward her. I force my hand to still. I’m already too close to the edge.
Plus, while I don’t like it, there’s also real fear in her face.
Because, face it, we’re strangers. I rescued her, yes, but I could be a fucking psycho for all she knows.
And from those glances she keeps casting at my raging hard-on aside, she doesn’t know if that’s the body part I’ll use… maybe even force on her next.
I rise, and she scrambles back farther. Her breath’s coming fast, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. Fuck, she’s pretty.
Stealing a deep breath that’s…fuck…laced with the scent of her juicy pussy, I close the distance, snatch her up by the waist, and set her carefully on her feet, then guide her to the sofa.
When I push her down, I see her nipples are pebbled against the thin fabric of that buttercup dress, pointy and impossible to ignore.
Christ.
Okay, so maybe her reaction is less fear and more…something else.
I should be thankful. Sure, I’m an animal, but I’m not a ravening, rutting beast.
And yet my cock aches, heavy and shameless in my jeans, and I catch the way her gaze drops to it again. The way her lips part, tongue darting out before she jerks her eyes away.
My little rabbit, pretending she’s not hungry.
I drag a hand over my jaw, force myself to step back before I do something I can’t take back.
When she tries to move, I fix her with an unequivocal stare.
Stay.
She freezes. I return to my armchair.
And for a moment, all I can do is stare. Because fuck me to hell and back, she’s so fucking pretty. Small and curvy and the opposite of how I like my women.
Until today.
“You wanted me to say something?” My voice is gravel. “Fine. Answer my questions.”
She blinks at me, lips still parted, breaths still panting, but then she squares her shoulders like she’s bracing for another blow. Or a fight.
“How did you end up on my mountain?”
Her throat works. “I told you. I got lost.”
I growl, low and warning. “Don’t lie to me. People get lost, they head down. Not up.”
She shifts, fingers knotting in her lap. She chews on her plump lowerlipfor a second. “Okay. I…left someone. That’s all.”
The words slice at me, stirring old wounds I thought I’d buried.
Left someone.
A man. Always a man. Fucking women. They run from one to another, spinning stories and breaking hearts along the way.
And a woman as stunning as this, I bet she’d left a trail of broken men behind her.
My jaw clenches, heat simmering into anger.
“Not good enough,” I bite out.
Her eyes flash, defiant even though her voice trembles. “Tough. It’s all you’re getting. I made the mistake of trespassing onto your precious mountain. That doesn’t mean I owe you my life story.”
My gut twists. Lust and fury tangled until I can’t tell one from the other. I want to rip the rest out of her, force her to lay every secret bare. But the coil of mistrust is louder— women can’t be trusted . I learned that lesson in blood and broken bones.
I stand and step closer anyway, looming over her. She stiffens, but her chest rises quick, nipples straining harder against the fabric. Her scent thickens, unmistakable.
“You’ll tell me,” I promise, voice rough. “One way or another.”
Her chin tips up, eyes sparking, but she doesn’t speak.
I should be furious. I am furious. But my cock throbs at her defiance, my hands itch to touch her again, and every breath she takes feels like it’s filling my lungs instead of hers.
Dangerous. Addictive.
Exactly what I swore I’d never let happen again.
And yet I can’t make myself stop.