Chapter 4 #2
My hands move with ruthless efficiency. I grip the zipper of her winter jacket. I rip it downward. The teeth part with a sharp sound. I shove the lapels aside, exposing the thermal Henley she wears underneath.
My knuckles graze the underside of her breasts.
She bucks against my thigh again. The friction is maddening. My own cock is rock hard, straining violently against the zipper of my trousers. The pressure is a dull, throbbing ache. Each time she moves, each time her hips grind against my leg, the ache sharpens into pure, blinding necessity.
"Santi," she gasps, her fingernails biting into my shoulders. "God."
"Quiet," I say, my lips grazing her jawbone. I bite lightly at the skin just beneath her ear. My teeth scrape over her pulse. "Let me."
I slide my hands under the hem of her Henley.
The shock of her bare skin against my calloused palms stops my breathing.
She is burning hot. Her skin is silken, quivering under my touch.
I map the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the tense muscles of her abdomen.
My thumbs drag upward, following the curve of her ribs until I find the aching weight of her breasts.
I engulf them. My hands easily swallow her generous curves. Her thin cotton bra is the only thing between my hands and her skin beneath the thermal layers. Her nipples are hard points pressing through the fabric.
I roll her nipples fiercely between my thumbs and forefingers.
Reese screams my name into the darkness.
The sound is muffled by the howling wind, but in my ears, it is the only thing left in the world—pure destruction in the shape of my name.
She thrashes against me, losing the practical, unsentimental discipline she guards so fiercely.
The pilot who calmly crashed a helicopter into a mountain is gone.
The woman writhing in my arms is consumed by the same obsession eating me alive.
I grind my hips flush against hers. My aching erection presses directly into the cradle of her thighs.
She rocks her hips forward, chasing the friction.
"Yes," she begs. It is a ragged demand. "Please."
The word nearly breaks my mind. The urge to rip her clothes away, to tear my own pants off and bury myself to the hilt inside her heat, is a roaring avalanche in my brain.
I want to penetrate her. I want to claim every millimeter of her body.
I want to stretch her tight walls and fill her with my seed until she forgets her life before me.
But we are freezing. We are exposed. A sudden plunge in body temperature from stripped clothing would kill her before morning.
The agony of restraint is a physical torture. I am a man standing at the edge of what discipline can hold.
"No," I say, my voice raw against her lips. "Not yet. I will not freeze you to death."
"I'm burning alive," she whimpers, grinding her center desperately against the rigid length of my cock through the wool.
"I know." My hands tighten on her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. "I know. Let me give you this."
I pull one hand out from beneath her shirt. I trail my fingers down her stomach, tracing the seam of her flight suit at her hip. She is trembling violently. I slide my hand lower, cupping the soft mound of her sex right through the layers of fabric.
Even through the gear, I can feel the swollen, aching heat of her clit.
I press the heel of my palm hard against her center.
Reese's head falls back against the rough bark. Her breathing is a series of ragged sobs.
I begin to grind my hand against her in a relentless, brutal rhythm.
Up and down. Hard, punishing friction aligned with the frantic thrusting of her hips.
Every movement is precise, aimed to break her open.
My thumb finds the position of her clit through the seam, pressing down, circling with relentless pressure.
"Take it," I command, my voice rough in the pitch black.
I crush my mouth against hers.
It is not a kiss. It is an invasion. My tongue sweeps past her lips, invading her mouth with the same violent possession I intend to wreak upon her body. She tastes like adrenaline and survival. I devour her gasp. I tangle my fingers in her hair, holding her head still as I plunder her mouth.
My other hand continues the brutal, agonizing friction against her center.
Grind, press, circle.
Her hips snap forward in a frantic, disjointed rhythm. She is spiraling. The wetness of her arousal soaks through her inner layers. The scent of her climax building is an intoxicating perfume in the cramped space.
"Santi," she cries out against my mouth, her teeth clashing against mine. "I can't—it's too much—"
"Shatter for me," I rasp against her wet lips. "Fall apart."
I increase the pressure of my palm. I thrust my thigh aggressively between her legs, spreading her wider against the wall. The pin is absolute. She cannot run. She cannot hide. She can only burn.
Reese hits the precipice.
Her body bows off the bark wall like a drawn bowstring.
A long, keening moan rips from her throat, swallowed by my mouth.
Her vaginal walls clench violently around empty air.
The spasms rock through her entire frame, rippling into my own chest. She climaxes with brutal, breathtaking intensity.
Her fingernails gouge into the fabric of my jacket as she rides the violent waves of her release.
I hold her tightly against the wood, absorbing each tremor of her climax.
My cock throbs with agonizing urgency against her thigh.
Precum leaks into my boxers, a hot, sticky reminder of my own desperate need.
The restraint required to keep my zipper closed is a monumental feat of willpower. My muscles shake with the effort.
She sags against me, boneless. Her lungs heave, dragging in the freezing air.
I keep her pinned. I wrap both my arms around her, burying her face in the warmth of my chest. I drop my chin to the top of her head.
"Rest," I whisper into her dark hair.
The quiet violence inside me paces endlessly. The tease was a temporary measure. It did not quench the fire; it only poured gasoline on the embers. I am fully obsessed. I will never let her walk away from me.
We stand there in the dark. The heat of her body warms the tiny space. My heartbeat slowly begins to decelerate, the raging adrenaline tapering off into a low, thrumming hum of territorial satisfaction.
Then, the wind drops for half a second.
A sound cuts through the stillness.
It is low. Guttural. A heavy, rolling growl echoing just beyond the bark wall of our shelter.
The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up.
Another growl answers from the right. Then another from the left.
The wolf pack did not just track us.
They have surrounded the shelter.