29. Levi
LEVI
Little Fox, oh, Little Fox. How much do I want to hunt thee?
I’m biding my time.
I came to the conclusion that my father was right, and I don’t want to scare her off while she still has the ability to run.
That he allowed her to go into town and be seen by the locals while driving his vehicle was not a smart move on his part, and it makes me wonder what his motives were.
Did he want her to be seen? Is that his way of protecting her, because he has feelings for her?
I knew it was a mistake bringing someone he already had connections with to Windridge Hall.
Despite knowing all this, I find I can’t make myself wish he hadn’t brought her here.
Something about her has captured my attention.
I note how she struggles to meet my eye, how she sometimes mirrors my body language, and then there was the mess with the cake today.
I didn’t even know it was possible to screw up a cake mix that came out of a packet, yet she’d managed it.
She’s hyper-focused on her art. It’s as though it occupies all her waking thoughts and perhaps her dreams, too.
I can understand why. Not only is she very talented, but my guess is it’s the one part of the world that makes sense to her.
She doesn’t have to try to decipher the meaning of an image like she does the rest of the world.
Yes, she intrigues me, fascinates me. I can’t seem to get my mind off her. Even when I’m doing the things that normally focus my attention, such as butchering that deer, or fishing, or chopping wood, I find my mind strays to thoughts of her.
I think about her saying she’d gotten lost in the maze and note how my father never mentioned it to me.
Does he know? I assume so. She said someone had been following her, but, in the light of day, she’s convinced herself it was nothing.
It’s so human to want to justify the bad things that happen to us, to convince ourselves that something was nothing.
It’s the reason people put off seeing a doctor even when they know all is not right.
They’d rather lie to themselves than face the frightening truth.
That’s what Aspen is doing now, and what I hope she’ll continue to do. She’s so desperate to stay here, to make a home for herself, that she’ll overlook so much. I hope she’ll continue to do that until it’s too late.
I reach my bedroom door and let myself in.
Aspen mentioning her sweater only served to remind me of it, and it kickstarted a need I now want to sate.
I know exactly where I’ve hidden her sweater, under my mattress. But I don’t need that right now. No, I’ve taken something else from her.
I slip my hand into my pocket and retrieve what I stole.
A long lock of red hair I’d snipped from her nape while she’d been distracted by her sore fingers.
Bringing the hair to my nose, I inhale her scent.
Her smell is distinctly her—and I’d enjoyed making the most of it when I’d been standing behind her and holding her burned fingers beneath the cold water.
I praise myself for my restraint in that moment.
All I’d really wanted was to jam my cock against her ass, pinning her against the sink as I’d ground up on her.
I’d known my father hadn’t been anywhere nearby to save her—he’d gone to the other side of the property to check out some fencing that had come down.
She could have cried and screamed all she’d liked, and no one would have come to help her.
But then she’d have left for sure.
My cock grows hard at the mental image of me fucking her against the sink, of pinning her there while she cries and tries to get away. Being able to smell her hair only makes my fantasy feel more real, and I unzip myself and pull out my cock.
With each passing day, the weather grows a little colder, and soon the day will arrive when the first snow falls and the pass will be closed off.
Then she won’t be able to run.
I tighten my hold on my cock, running my hand up and down its length. I pause at the tip, swiping my thumb over the slit and gathering up some precum.
Maybe if I’m nice to her, she’ll let me fuck her anyway. Would getting inside her tight little pussy be worth it? It wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as the chase or feeling her struggling beneath me while I forced myself between her thighs.
Will I get away with sneaking into her room and stealing her dirty panties to add to my collection? While I love having her hair, and her sweater, worn panties would be better. I’d press them to my face and inhale the scent of her pussy, or stuff them into my mouth and suck off her taste.
I climb onto my bed and lie on my back, my dick still in my hand.
I wrap her long hair around the base of my cock, pulling it tight, and work myself hard.
The sensation of having a part of her strangling my dick turns me on even more.
I don’t know how much longer masturbating is going to be enough for me, but it’ll have to do.
I wish she was a virgin, but perhaps it’s best that she isn’t.
I like the thought that she has her own sexual needs and desires.
Does she ever think about me, even if it disgusts her?
Has she ever put her hand inside her panties and fingered herself while imagining it’s me between her legs? Or is it my father she really wants?
I don’t need to kid myself. He’s definitely the one who’s gotten to her.
Perhaps the thought should deflate my erection a little, but it doesn’t.
I want to see Aspen well and truly fucked, her legs spread and her pussy swollen and wet and on display with cum leaking out of her.
I picture her red hair disheveled around her face and her pale cheeks and chest flushed.
I don’t care who does it, as long as I’m involved somewhere along the way.
Who am I kidding? I know exactly where I’ll be involved. I’ll be the one tracking and chasing her as she tries to escape us. I’ll be the one who catches her and pins her down in the dirt.
A groan erupts from my throat at the thought, and my cock grows even harder in my grip. Fuck, I’m not far off now.
At the thought of me rutting into her in the dirt, pleasure explodes through me. Hot cum erupts up my cock and rains over my stomach.
I slump back, breathing hard, and then carefully unwind her hair from my dick.
I reach over to my bedside drawer and slip it inside.
What else of hers can I take? I picture myself gathering pieces of her for my collection—nail clippings, her used toothbrush, a dirty cotton pad she’s used to remove her makeup.
The thought excites me. I need to get hold of those panties sooner rather than later.
Or even better, I’ll get my hands on the real thing.