Chapter Nine
I t’s weird to be back at the house. God, it’s weird—like walking back into a dream you used to have as a child, one that you only half-remembered and are suddenly plunged back into with every single detail: the driveway, the columns, the massive windows, the deep green of the woods whispering around it, and the calm that comes over me in spite of myself. The scent of Sherwood, so familiar and so foreign all at once.
The ride in from town had taken maybe ten minutes. LJ had wrapped himself around me, a wall of muscle, accelerating the bike to 60, 70, 80 miles an hour on the streets, slowing only once we got into the safety of the forest and the sirens had faded. We said nothing the whole time—not that there was any way to talk above the roar of road noise, and I couldn’t hear much, since he insisted I wear the helmet. Then, when we got to the house, I felt exposed without him protecting me—vulnerable, even though we were the only two people around here.
Now—
LJ pushes something into my hand, and it takes me a second to realize what it is: a key and a small plastic fob. It’s encased in a small leather case, pale blue, with the letter M engraved on the back. I clutch it in my palm so hard I feel the metal digging into me, pressing it to my chest.
“Where did you—”
“I insisted,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes. “First thing after we lost you. Not that I had any reason to think you were coming back, but if you did...” With that, he meets my eyes, and the intensity of his stare makes my knees wobble. “I wanted you to be able to leave again, anytime you wanted. For any reason.”
His mouth is firm behind his beard. “And fortunately, those other fuckers didn’t question me on it.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice sounding watery and weak.
I realize I don’t even know what time it is. I don’t remember the last time I had a drink of water or something to eat. And even here, in the cool of the woods, it’s beastly hot. It is July in Virginia, after all.
There’s a beat of silence—nothing but the sound of distant, lazy birdsong and the tiniest breeze fluttering the leaves around us.
“I can take you to your room if you want,” LJ says hesitantly. “Your old one. It’s still—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I don’t want to see it. I just want to... you.”
LJ nods. “Come with me.”
He’s telling, not asking. And I don’t want to disobey. He reaches for me but doesn’t touch me, just ushers me toward the garage and the side door. We slip in, and my heart squeezes at the line of cars, all there right where I left them—gleaming, stationary, untouched, and still in need of fixing. Not that that’s my job anymore.
I avert my eyes and just focus on LJ walking in front of me as he makes his way to the side staircase leading up to his apartment. We mount the stairs in silence, and his door slides open. The air up there is cooler, fresher. The setting familiar, even though I’d only been there once—a man’s space. Spartan, tidy, regimented. A place to build strength and be alone.
And if I’m honest, that’s just what I need right now.
LJ turns to me and shuts the door. “I won’t let any of them come in here,” he says. “Not unless you say it’s okay.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
Then it hits me.
At first, it’s like I’ve missed a step coming up the stairs. Then, like the floor is sliding from under me. Vertigo—wicked and steep—and the tingling rush in my ears. My fingers clamp so hard around the envelope that I’m almost ripping the paper. I take a staggering step forward, flinging out a hand, which lands right on LJ’s chest.
He wraps a hand around my wrist, not too hard—just supportive. When I tip my dizzy gaze up to his face, his features are etched with concern. His eyebrows lifted, his lips slightly parted.
“It’s happening,” he says. “Again. You’re—”
“I’m fine,” I cut him off.
His grip around my wrist tightens. He lowers my arm to my side and grips his other hand around my waist. “No lying,” he orders. “You don’t need to impress me, Princess. You’re tough as shit—just knowing what you’ve been through the last few weeks, let alone what those assholes put you through.” He flicks a glance in the direction of the house. “You sit.”
He guides me over to a low armchair by what passes for his kitchen and opens the gleaming black door of his fridge. My temples throb as I try to fix him in focus—to not pass out, to not succumb to whatever it is that overwhelms me.
Even as I do, a spark of realization lights in my brain: if anyone can help me figure out who or what I am—what kind of powers I have (as ridiculous as it is to even think that sentence)—well, they live in this house in Sherwood Forest.
But first things first. Magical powers are all well and good, but I need my money back. I need a life of my own. I need to not pass out here.
LJ kneels beside me and holds out a series of plastic bottles: electrolyte water, a protein drink, and something neon blue that promises lots of BCAAs and creatine. I almost laugh, and he must notice, because his mouth twists into a scowl.
“I don’t keep a lot up here,” he says. “Just the essentials.”
“Just the essentials. If you’re a meathead,” I say, cracking a smile.
He doesn’t smile—not quite—but the scowl dissipates.
“I’ll take that one,” I say, indicating the colorful bottle. “Blue is my favorite flavor.”
LJ nods, cracks it open, and passes it to me. As I take it, his gaze drifts down to the now-crumpled envelope in my hand.
“It’s my birth certificate,” I say, after a swig of the drink. It sure does taste blue. I’ll give it that. But it does make me feel better. “I...I needed it to—”
“You don’t have to tell me,” LJ interrupts. “I don’t care where you’ve been, and I don’t need to know any details. I don’t want to pry.”
I take another swallow and feel my strength—and perhaps my sarcasm—returning. “Oh, yeah? So what do you want?”
He fixes me with a hard, unwavering stare. “I want whatever you want, Maren.”
There’s nothing seductive in his tone, not even a hint of flirtation like you might get from Will or Rob or even Tuck. But still, in spite of myself, hearing him say that in his low, sincere, gravelly voice sends a white-hot pang right to the center of me. My fingers tense around the cold bottle as I remember the feeling of pressing into his body on the motorcycle—the rumbling beneath us, the pounding of my heart.
I cross my legs.
“You feel better?” LJ says, getting out of his crouch and standing as he nods at my drink.
I nod back and drag a wrist across my forehead. “Yes, thanks.” I give my head a little shake. “This is also surreal. I can’t believe that this morning I woke up in Guy Gisbourne’s house, and now I’m—”
“You should lie down,” LJ interrupts. “It’s been a long day. It’s hot, you’re dizzy. I don’t want you pushing yourself.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “I’m sitting down in air conditioning with a cold drink. I’m not pushing myself.”
But as I go to stand up, I wobble a little.
“I’ll watch everything,” LJ adds. “I won’t let them in.”
I didn’t realize that was the reassurance I needed until I hear him say it, but when he does, I lose all resistance. My body feels heavy.
“Okay,” I say, almost a whisper. I glance around. There’s no couch or anything—not even a recliner—only his bed in the corner.
“It’s yours,” LJ says. “And anything you need.”
Suddenly, the thought of a plush mattress underneath my aching muscles sounds better than sex. I nod and pluck at the waist of my damp, sweaty sundress. “Maybe a clean T-shirt, if you have one.”
LJ nods and strides over to the low dresser that sits beside his bed. He pulls out a black T-shirt, of course, and lays it at the foot of the bed. Then he takes a few strides away and faces the rest of the room, hands folded at his back waist, military style. It takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing, and then it clicks.
He’s turned around so I can change in privacy. His loft doesn’t have any walls, after all.
Feeling strangely meek, I pad over to his bed and shuck the sundress over my head in a single motion, the cotton releasing for me and letting in a welcome cool breath of air on my skin. It feels nice—so nice. I almost wish I could crawl into bed like this, in nothing but my underpants. But I know better; I did ask for the T-shirt.
I ball up the dress and chuck it into the corner, then shimmy the T-shirt over my head. It’s huge, the sleeves hanging down to my elbows and the hem brushing just above my knees, but it’s soft and comfortable. I can’t deny it smells comforting, like LJ.
“All done,” I say.
LJ turns around slowly. He looks from me to the wadded-up dress on the floor. “You don’t want to hang that up or something?”
I cast a sideways look at it. “I’d rather not,” I say flatly. “Don’t think I’ll be re-wearing it.”
“Fair enough.” LJ strides over, scoops it up with one hand, and chucks it into a nearby trash can. “You’ll never see it again.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “You never do anything halfway, do you?” I say.
“Not my style,” he replies.
His eyes drift back to me, and my skin prickles with faint heat. Even though it’s beautifully cool in here and I’m hardly exposed in any indecent way, I’m showing a decent amount of leg. And he notices. He’s trying not to notice, but he does. Even without that much skin showing, I’m not wearing a bra, and his eyes linger.
I let him look a beat too long because something in my resolve cracks. If I don’t lie down, if I don’t sleep now, I don’t know what’ll happen. And God, I am tired.
“Thank you,” I say again. “I won’t be here long.”
“Don’t worry about that now,” LJ says. “Just sleep.”
I swallow, nod, and watch as he steps away, closer to the entrance, to somewhere he can keep watch. I fall asleep before I realize how glad I am not to be alone right now.
I WAKE UP WITH A START . It’s quiet, dark, and cool. At first, I don’t even realize where I am, and then realization comes over me in waves.
All the lights are off, the only illumination a silvery streak of moonlight drifting through the rice paper shade on the window near LJ’s bed. LJ’s bed. I push myself up, still half-asleep, shoving my hair out of my eyes in the dimness. I smooth my hand over the other side of the mattress, but it’s empty, still covered by the slate-colored bedspread.
I sit up further and squint out into the room. A few paces away, on the stained rectangle of carpet, I see him asleep—but on the floor.
My heart twists. That can’t be comfortable, I think. Not that LJ would ever complain. He doesn’t even have a blanket, and his pillow looks like a couple of boxing gloves stacked together.
I press my lips together as I draw my knees into my chest. I can’t tell if I’m still tired or not. I feel drained, but not necessarily sleepy.
I know sleep won’t come if I lie my head back on the pillow, so I decide to tiptoe over to the kitchen area and get myself a glass of water—the poor man’s warm milk. I find glass tumblers on an open shelf just to the left of the sink and fill one with as little noise as I can manage. I’m mid-sip when I turn around and find myself staring at LJ. He’s awake, sitting up on the floor and staring at me.
“Shit. I didn’t mean to do that,” I whisper, padding back toward the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” he says. “I’m a light sleeper.”
I stare at him. “Yeah, and you’re sleeping on the floor,” I say. “Come on, you don’t have to do that.”
I feel strangely sheepish. LJ draws himself to sit cross-legged, criss-cross applesauce style. He only shrugs. “I’ve slept on worse.”
I squeeze the tumbler of water a little tighter. “But this is your home. You shouldn’t have to—”
“Princess, if all we got in life was what we should get, then I’m not sure either you or I would be here.”
I close my mouth. He has a point.
“You should be sleeping,” he says after a beat.
“I know,” I say. He’s right. I take another sip of water and look at the bed. It’s big and soft and a lot of things that the floor isn’t.
I take a step toward it, then pause. I pivot, look at LJ, and hold out a hand. “Come with me,” I say, my voice trembling.
LJ just stares at me, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve crossed a line, said something inappropriate.
“With you?” he asks.
I nod. “Just to sleep,” I say haltingly. “I can’t let you sleep on the floor of your own apartment, and I know you won’t let me sleep on the floor either.”
“You’re goddamn right,” LJ says. He lets out a long, considered sigh and stares at his hands. He gives his head a little shake as he stands up. He doesn’t say anything more but walks to the bed alongside me.
We get in wordlessly—me back where I was on the left side, and him on the right, on top of the covers. I scoot down and put my head on the pillow, but LJ doesn’t. Instead, he sits with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and his back against the wall that serves as his headboard. For a moment, we stay like that—me on my back with my hands on my chest, staring at the ceiling, and him looking straight ahead.
“Thank you,” I say at last.
“For what?”
“For bringing me here and getting me out of there,” I reply. “I don’t think I would have left that alley if you hadn’t shown up. I wasn’t going to go with the rest of them.”
LJ snorts. “I’d fucking hope not.”
“But I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I rush on, “and you probably knew that, so...” I bite my lip. “Thanks for being insistent, I guess.”
Even though I can’t see him, I feel like I can hear him smiling. “Sometimes a princess just needs to be told what’s best for her,” he says. “Even one as smart as you are.”
I don’t know what it is about that sentence that sets me off. The pet name, the hint of humor, the sly compliment to my intelligence. But whatever it is, it tips the scales, and I feel a tear trickle down my cheek.
“You were always watching out for me,” I say, my throat feeling thick. “Even when I didn’t know it. Even when I was kind of a bitch to you and—”
“Don’t,” LJ says. “You don’t need to rehash the whole thing.”
“But I do,” I say. “I don’t think I ever would have gotten the chance to say thank you otherwise. Not if I’d made it out of there.”
I pause, gathering my thoughts. “I probably would have just moved on without a second thought, shoved everything into the black hole of trauma in my past, you know?”
I hear LJ nod against the pillow. “I wouldn’t have,” he says softly.
I smear away the tear, leaving a salty streak on my skin. “What?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t have moved on.”
The words send a plume of emotion too deep and real to comprehend down my chest and into my gut.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I missed you, Maren,” he says. “I knew you had to go. I was glad you got out of here, but I missed having you around. Seeing you, hearing you rattle around in the garage down there, listening to the shit you’d say and how fucking funny you could be without even realizing it. And then...”
He pauses.
“I missed you badly, Maren,” he says, his voice almost cracking. “I guess all of us did, but fuck the other guys. To be honest, I was worried, and they were worried, but it was different. I could barely fucking sleep, not knowing whether you were safe or not, and I couldn’t look any of those bastards in the eye. None of them realized how good they had it with you. None of them realized how goddamn lucky they were to get to...”
He trails off, and I feel his weight shift subtly on the mattress.
I roll to my side, my heart stuttering in my chest. I look at him, though I can barely see his face through the dimness.
“To get to what?” I prompt.
The silence is an eternity.
“You know what,” LJ grinds out, finally. “They got to... be with you. To have you, Maren. They didn’t fucking deserve it, and yet they still did.”
There’s a pause, and I hear him exhale sharply. I shift around, feeling my bare thighs rub against each other under the covers.
“I’m not a cuddly guy, Maren,” he says. “You’d have to go to Tuck for that shit. I’m warning you...”
His hand fists the bedspread. “I don’t always have that much self-control.”
“I don’t care,” I say. Then I correct myself. “Actually, no, I do care. Because that’s what I want.”
And it is. I’ve been through so much and changed so many times and gotten my hopes up down and sideways only for them to dash that I don’t need to be handled gently. I don’t need kid gloves or cotton wool.
I need him. LJ. Hard and firm and sure and in control.
Finally, agonizingly slowly, LJ looks at me. I can feel the burn of his stare through the dark. “Are you sure, Princess?” he says, a gruff whisper.
A liquid surge of heat pulses through me. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, I think.
“I’m sure.”
The next thing I hear is a gruff exhale and the sound of the bedclothes being shucked back. Cool night air pours over me in their place as LJ stands on his knees on the mattress beside me, towering over where I lie.
“I want that off of you. Now.”
His voice is stern, almost harsh, but laced with just the barest hint of huskiness. I push up, reaching for the hem of the T-shirt, but he beats me to it. One broad hand plants itself on the pillow by my head as the other grabs at the collar and pulls down, hard.
The threads snap and give as the seams split, and LJ rips the shirt right off my body.
Fuck. I’m awake now, alive, pinned down under his massive form and already slick under my panties.
His face is inches from mine, and I tip my chin towards him, as if he might kiss me—but he doesn’t. He leans back, one knee on either side of my hips.
“Take off my belt,” he orders.
A hot shiver skates over me. No one’s ever spoken to me like that. And I wasn’t prepared for how much I’d like it.
“ Take it off ,” he roars.
Pulse throbbing, I push myself to my elbows and sit up, fingers fumbling at the buckle. As I do, LJ reaches down and cups one breast, then the other, and I feel a moan fight through my lips when my nipples stiffen, scraping against his callused palm.
“Good girl,” he growls. “Are you wet for me?”
I nod, throat too thick for words, as I loosen the buckle and tug the belt free. I’m reaching for the button on his black jeans when LJ pulls back. Rocking onto his heels, he grabs my hair in his fist and tugs my head back so I’m staring into his eyes.
“Answer me,” he says, lips inches from my ear. “Are you wet for me, Princess?”
“Mm...mhm,” I manage. But it’s not enough. He tugs my hair harder. “Yes,” I gasp. “Y-yes, I’m wet for you.”
The words feel strange coming from my mouth, but powerful. And the gleam I catch in his eyes shows me he feels that power too.
His fingers slacken in my hair just a little. “Show me,” he says. “Now.”
Swallowing hard, I lean forward again and find his left hand. I circle my fingers around his wrist, which I can barely hold, and guide him to the top of my panties, brushing his rough fingertips over the lace before plunging them down the front.
He wastes no time. His thick finger sweeps across my clit and inside, filling me sharply. I gasp, and LJ’s eyes close, his right hand gripping my hair and pulling me back, arching my body in front of him as he drives deeper, deeper.
“You like how wet I get you,” he murmurs, thrusting in and out in a rough rhythm, his palm pumping against my entrance as he does. “You’re dripping down my hand.”
“I...” Stars wheel in my vision. My hips arch toward him, needing this, needing him.
“Say it,” he barks.
“I l-like it,” I stammer, barely mewling out the last syllable as he swirls a long, hard stroke inside me. “I like how...how fucking wet you get me.”
LJ, finally, lets out a moan of his own, raw and primal, which only sends another surge through me to drench his fingers. He lets go of my hair and—to my harsh disappointment—withdraws his hand from my legs.
“Bend over for me.” His hands are flying down his button and zipper, his jaw tight as he speaks. “ Now , Princess. Don’t make me fucking wait.”
“I...” I push a loose hank of hair behind my ear. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t quite know where he wants me. Like, feet on the ground, bent over the bed, or—
“You fucking cocktease,” he growls. “Here.”
Strong hands grab my hips and pull me into place, bent on all fours in front of him, then wrap around me to roll my aching nipples between his fingers. A low, rolling shudder erupts from deep in my throat as the sensation crests across my bare skin.
Then, almost without warning, he slams into me.
Stars. I see stars. And again, brighter, his hips driving against me. I’m full, stretched tight almost to the point of ache, and yet it feels...
A yelp escapes my lips as his right hand tucks around my hip and finds my clit.
“That’s it,” I hear him say. “Tell me what you feel, Princess. Tell me how good that cock feels inside you.”
Goddamn. The low rumble of his voice, and those words, those words , and I can’t...I can barely...
“S-so thick,” I choke, almost slurring my speech. I’m spiraling, drowning, lost to oblivion as he takes me like this, claims me.
“More.” He removes his hand, holding me steady by my left hip now. “Tell me more.”
No, I want to cry, I want to beg for him to touch me again, but now he’s wrapping his right hand in my hair, pulling, pulling hard , and the tight strain is too distracting, my neck arched too tight. With his left hand, he grinds me against him, roughly yanking my hips to an angle that lets him plunge even deeper, and I sputter again, unable to find words, unable to focus on anything but the way my body is screaming in response.
He’s so close that I can hear the harsh exhales and the raggedness in his breath, the way it catches as he drives into me.
And then his voice is back, his mouth almost brushing my ear.
“I can feel you,” he says, “you’re so fucking close. But you’re not there, are you, Princess? You’re not there until I tell you. And you’re not going to get to come until you tell me how much you love it when I take you like this.”
I want to, want to find the words, but all I can do is choke out another low moan as his fingers find my clit and start moving, rubbing me hard.
“Yes,” I hear him groan. “You like that. I can feel it.” Another swift, sure pull of my hair. “Tell me how much you like it.”
“I...” I’m panting now, trying to hold on, to hold it back, but my body is too hot, too alive, every inch of me buzzing and thrumming with need.
“Tell me,” he growls again, and this time the pull is tighter, his thrusts are rougher, and it’s so fucking good .
“I like it,” I manage. “I love it.”
He says nothing in response, just growls. “What do you want, Princess?”
“I w-want...” I stammer, unable to form a coherent fucking thought, too lost in his every stroke. “I want...want...y-you to...please...”
“Please what ?” He releases my hair, a flood of light pain tingling over my scalp, and clamps both massive hands onto my hips, so hard the flesh is pressing into bone.
“Please—oh... fuck .” The words are a low, strangled sound. Each thrust rams me hard enough to bruise, and yet it’s not enough. “Please let me come. I-I need it, I need...”
He groans and reaches down to grab a handful of my hair again, dragging my head back with a savage pull. “Then come,” he orders me. “Right. Fucking. Now.”
My world explodes in a haze of bright colors, and a sharp, keening sound pierces the air. LJ slams me to him as I convulse and clench and shudder, an electric line of sensation shooting from my throbbing scalp to my aching clit, and my entire body feels alive, shot through with pleasure.
And just as I begin to drift back down, his hand tightens at my hair once more.
“Again.”
He pulls. Hard.
“Ah!” I wince this time, the pain real, sharp.
But not enough to kill the heat inside me.
“You heard me.” His voice drops lower, harsher. “Come for me again. I won’t be ready to come until you pull me deep into that sweet little pussy one more time.”
I shake my head, the motion cut short by his grip on my hair.
“No,” I gasp. “I-I can’t.”
“Wrong.” The hand that’s still on my hip shifts, the vice grip dropped, and moves to stroke my clit, and this time I can’t contain the sharp cry.
“Please.” I don’t know if I’m begging him to stop or not. “Oh god, please...”
“You can and you will,” he tells me, and now his hand on my hip is gliding, smoothing, almost caressing the wet heat at my center. “Come for me, Princess. Let me feel you.” His voice is a low growl, almost hypnotic, and his fingers are relentless. “Because I can’t be patient much longer.”
“Oh...f-fuck...” It’s all I can manage. I’m shaking again, vibrating against him, the sensation so intense that I’m sure he’ll stop, that I’m going to give out somehow. But somehow I can’t.
“Come for me.” A soft murmur against my skin, and now his lips are at my neck, his beard scraping against the skin there, and I’m shivering all over again, the combination of sensation and pain and searing urgency making me dizzy, drunk. “I’ve got you, Princess.”
That’s all I need. I break, the tension inside me shattering and cascading like glass, and the scream is ripped from my throat as I come, hard, so hard that everything is blurred, and I’m shaking so violently that I’m afraid he’ll let me fall.
But he won’t.
His hand tugs, and my neck arches, and I feel him pump into me once, twice, three times. A raw, rumbling moan echoes through the room as his cock pulses deep and hard, his warmth flooding me.
We stay like this, frozen in the moment, our breathing harsh and jagged, until finally, he pulls out and releases his hold on my hair.
My arms tremble as I sink onto the mattress, the sheets cool against my overheated skin, and LJ slides onto the bed next to me, gathering me in his arms and stroking my back, murmuring soft sounds against the top of my head.
Seconds pass, maybe minutes. Slowly, gently, LJ extracts himself from me, smooths me back onto the pillows.
Kisses my temple. And turns out the light.
I sink easily toward sleep, spent and tender and dazed. But even as I do, one thought shines clear.
There’s no going back now.