Chapter 17 #2
Something inside of me breaks loose. My feet move before I can think, the hem of my dress tearing wider as I bolt forward into the dark, my thighs starting to burn at the effort, along with my lungs.
Thud, thud, thud. The steady sound of him running after me gets closer. My breath catches, my eyes widen.
A steady pulse thrums between my legs. Making me ache for him.
“It’s kind of sweet,” he calls out, his voice way too close for comfort. “That you think you can get away from me.”
“Leave me alone,” I shout out. Half instinct, half playing.
“You really want me to?” His voice is thick. The bastard isn’t even breathless. “You know how to stop this, beautiful.”
Yes, I do. And I don’t want to.
I want him to catch me. I want him to touch me.
I want him to do all the things I know I’ll never have after tonight.
I slow enough to turn around, and he’s so close my breath catches. Every cell in my body screams at me to run, but I can’t.
I’m mesmerized.
He’s so beautiful, even masked. I can see the sharp lines of his cheeks, the narrowness of his gaze.
I feel it washing over me, like he’s slowly assessing his next move.
He closes the distance slowly, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. The sound of his thick, laced boots on the earth is maddening. I can taste the night air, sharp and green, the mix of salt and pine.
“Are you finished running from me?” he murmurs.
I take another step back, my chin jutting out. “No, I’m not,” I say roughly, then I turn and try to run again. I make it less than three yards before his strong hands close around my bare arms, the heat of them searing into my skin.
I let out a soft cry, and he laughs.
Bastard.
Then he pulls me back against his body, his hands wrapping around my waist.
“Got you,” he whispers, his voice low and dark. I can feel the thickness of him pressing into me, the hardness of his muscles as they contract around me, imprisoning me.
I try to wrench free, because that’s my job, after all. But there’s no escaping his hold. Okay, there’s one way. But the truth is, I don’t want to escape. It feels scarily good.
He pulls his mask off and leans down, his nose against my neck, and breathes me in like his life depends on it. God, that’s sexy.
“You’re going to be a good girl and do exactly what I say,” he murmurs, kissing my neck.
A shiver snakes down my spine. I feel like I’m on fire, burning from the inside out.
“Will you let me go if I do?” I whisper.
I swear I feel him smile against my neck. “Depends on how well you behave.”
“Okay,” I breathe. “I’ll be good.”
With his arms like a cage around me, he manhandles me into the forest. Far enough that if anyone came walking on the path they would never see us. It’s dark here, and a couple of times I stumble, but he holds me tight, lifting me up, protecting me.
“Put your hands against that tree,” he tells me, when we stop in front of a huge trunk. I do as I’m told, placing my palms against the rough bark.
“You scared?” he asks.
“Kind of.” It’s true. I’m scared and I’m turned on and I’m desperate to look at him.
“Good.” There’s a smile in his voice. He steps close enough for me to feel his body heat on my back, then he runs his fingers down my bare arms, leaving a trail of fire, before he runs them over my stomach, my hips, my breasts.
I let out a soft groan. My nipples are so hard they’re pressing against my dress. He runs his thumbs over them, pinches them.
My head falls back against his chest.
“You’re not wearing a bra.”
I shake my head.
“What about panties?”
“No,” I manage to squeak.
I hear his chuckle again. “Such a good little girl.” His voice is full of approval. God, I want this man so much.
This time, he runs his hands down the dress, along my thighs, then between them, his hand cupping me through the silver sequins.
“This is mine,” he tells me.
“Yes.” I nod.
“And I’m going to fuck you, hard. But not yet. You’re not ready for me yet.” He nips my neck with his teeth and I can’t help it, I have to look at him.
I turn my head and our eyes clash. I see my desire reflected back at me. And something else, too.
A kind of softness that doesn’t belong in a scene like this. And yet… God, it slays me.
He lifts a brow. I nod. Because I want this. I need it. Too many years taking care of myself in every way, means I’m starving for him.
I’m still holding the tree as he pushes my dress up, over my thighs, his hands almost too soft as he presses against them, making me widen my stance. Then he touches me. Just the briefest of touches, enough to know how wet I am for him, but not enough to calm my aching desires.
“No,” he murmurs. And for a second I think he’s going to stop. But instead he lifts my hand from the tree and turns me around until I’m facing him.
And the expression on his face steals my breath away.
It’s like I’m the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen. Like he can’t tear his eyes away from me.
Well, ditto. Because I can’t look away from him either.
“You’re supposed to be fighting me,” he says, a smile on his lips.
Oh yes, I forgot about that. I make a weak half-assed effort to push him away, my hands pressed against the hard planes of his chest.
Dammit, even his muscles turn me on.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “You can be rough. I won’t mind.”
Well okay then. I answer his challenge with a frantic movement of hands. Pushing them under his t-shirt, my nails scraping against the muscles of his abdomen.
His eyes darken.
“Try harder.”
So I do. I hit him. I push him. I lean in and bite his neck. God, I’m so wet. My body aches with the need of friction.
Then I look up at him and I’m stupidly breathless. I scrape my teeth along his jaw and he lets me.
I wonder if he’d let me do anything, the way I’d let him do the same to me?
I kiss the corner of his mouth. His eyes close, a groan rumbling deep inside his chest.
And then I press myself against him like the cat in heat that I am.
“You okay?” he asks again.
I nod, breathlessly. I’m not sure it’s the truth, though. I’m so excited by this man it’s painful.
“Want me to make you feel better?” He cups my face. And I nod, because I need it. I’m stupidly achy and needy. He smiles softly.
And then he pushes his hand down, between my legs, and touches me right there.
“Ohhh!” The sound escapes my lips. His fingers pull back, finding the center of me, and he pushes two inside. I grab onto his chest, because I think I might either fall or fly.
He dips his head, kissing my brow, his thumb feathering me. I pulse around him and he smiles.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. I don’t think anybody’s ever touched me like this. Certainly not out in a forest. I think I might die if he stops.
“You’re taking my fingers so well.” He kisses my neck again, his teeth scraping my skin.
His fingers move lazily, his thumb circling me at the same speed. The sensation is too much.
And then I feel it. Violent in its intensity, an orgasm that explodes from my belly to my toes, making me shake, making me gasp, making me scream out his name.
I convulse around him, my muscles so weak my body nearly collapses, and he has to catch me in his arms as I come, his mouth finally seeking mine.
His lips are soft, almost reverent as they brush against mine. He holds me tight, his hand caressing my skin, his mouth swallowing my sighs as I go limp against his body.
At first, he kisses me with aching restraint, like he’s afraid to ruin something fragile. Then it deepens, slow and searching, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of my neck. My fingers clutch at his shirt, desperate to keep him close. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, fast and uneven.
When he finally breaks the kiss, he stays close, his forehead pressed to mine.
His thumb brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, lingering for a heartbeat too long.
His breathing is rough, but his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“You shouldn’t make me feel like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
And I think, neither should you. But I never want it to stop.
He stays there for a moment, still holding me, as if he’s fighting with something inside himself. The air between us hums with everything unspoken. Then his hand slides from my cheek to my lips.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he whispers.
And for a second, as he starts to kiss me again, it feels like this is real. That he means it.
That I’m not the only one who’s been caught.