Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Already soaked.” Shaking his head, he lifts one leg and gives my ass a sharp spank. “Naughty little Emma.”
I moan, my breath catching as he dips his head and inhales like I’m his first meal in weeks. My clit’s throbbing with anticipation.
Then, heat.
His mouth covers me—hot, wet, relentless—his tongue slowly dragging up my slit, flicking over my clit in a rhythm that makes my hips buck. His arms lock around my thighs, holding me open, helpless to the cadence he sets.
He groans against me, like this is the only thing that matters.
I arch, one hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick waves as he sucks harder, slower, deeper, then lifts my legs and gives my ass another sharp spank—one, two, three.
His tongue circles, then presses, then flicks, and my vision whites out.
My legs tremble. My thighs quake. My ass is on fire, and my clit is throbbing. I’m going to come, and I can’t stop myself. His hand glides over the sting of the spank, just before he gives me another erotic smack of his palm, hard enough to make my thighs quake and a whimper escape my lips.
“Please.” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for.
But he knows. He always knows.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. He cups my ass and squeezes, then lands another spank.
“Come for me, Emma.”
He buries his mouth against me again, his tongue working in perfect, devastating pressure until the wave breaks.
I come hard and loud, shaking.
My back arches off the bed. My cry echoes off the cabin walls. But he doesn’t stop, just keeps licking me through every pulse, every aftershock, until I’m wrecked.
When he finally pulls back, his mouth is glistening, his eyes molten.
He crawls up my body, kisses my throat, my cheek, my mouth.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
And for once, I believe him.
“No more rules tonight, Emma,” he says, holding me to him. “Just me. And you. And how fucking good it feels when you’re mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Owen
The fire’s low, just red coals and pulsing heat. My god, I know the feeling.
Emma’s asleep on my chest, her breath warm against my skin, lashes fluttering with dreams I can’t see. I want to wake her, just to hear her say my name again. But I won’t, not yet.
Because something is clawing up my throat, heavy and sharp—something I haven’t let myself feel in years: fear. Not for me, but for her.
Two men. Two fucking men, in this cabin with her. If I’d been just a minute later—
I don’t finish the thought. I can’t.
She screamed for me. God, Emma screamed my name.
It did something to me. Ripped something open and rearranged it, like the storm outside wasn’t the only thing howling.
I press a kiss to her hair. She stirs, but doesn’t wake.
She still trusts me. After all this. After the years and the distance and the things I’ve done to keep her here.
She chose me tonight. But for how long?
Because those men weren’t the worst thing out there. Not even close. I know what’s out there—the predators in pressed suits and shiny shoes. The ones who don’t need axes. The ones who smile while they ruin you.
Fucking husbands who use you and convince you you’re worthless, only to fuck around behind your back.
I’m the one who brought her here. Who’s kept her, lied to her, and held her while she cried, telling myself it was love and not possession.
But it is. It is possession.
Because I want to take that manuscript she’s writing and lock it away somewhere no one can ever find it. Not because it isn’t brilliant, but because it’ll pull her back into a world that will eat her alive.
And I want her here. Safe.
She shifts again, murmuring something.
I tuck the blanket higher on her shoulders. My voice is gravel when I speak. "Emma. Wake up."
She blinks at me, barely awake. Her hair is tangled, eyes soft. "Hmm? What’s wrong?"
"We need to talk."
She sits up slowly, pulling the blanket with her and wrapping it around her chest, looking both vulnerable and strong.
I trace a finger down her arm and feel the goose bumps rise. “What happened tonight—"
"You saved me."
I shake my head. "No. I was almost too late. And next time, it won’t be two drunk hunters."
Her breath catches. "Next time?"
I shake my head. No, no, I don’t want to talk about next time. I want to talk about us.
“What happens when you leave?”
She looks away, not meeting my eyes. “Been wondering the same thing,” she whispers. “What if I want to stay?”
My heart stumbles in my chest. It’s the exact fucking thing I was hoping for and the worst possible outcome. I shake my head.
“You can’t—”
But her face falls, and I feel like the world’s biggest douchebag ever.
“Listen, it isn’t you, it’s just that… the work I do would put you in danger.”