by Logan Fox
Swallowing hard, she turned her head.
She couldn’t make out his features in the gloom of the overhang, but she felt his surprise when his muscles flinched against her.
“Go to sleep, Cora.”
She might have if he hadn’t said her name. The way it sounded with his rough voice…
Her throat let out an involuntary sound; a whimper, a mewl.
And that seemed too much for him to bear.
* * *
He slid his hand up Cora’s hip, his palm cupping every curve it passed. Her head fell forward again, and he burrowed his nose in her hair, inhaling her. His lips were too close to her neck; he was powerless to stop himself from tasting her.
His lips drove shudder after shudder from her as he cupped her breast through her flimsy t-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra — her nipples hardened at his touch. She closed her hand over his as if to make retreat impossible. It made him want to laugh; he was so far past the point of no return, he’d need a fucking telescope to find his way back.
She made that sound again when he ground his hips against her. So he turned her face to him and pressed his lips against hers. This way, he would feel the sound against his mouth the next time she made it.
He tugged the sleeve of her t-shirt down, baring her breast. Cora clung to his arm, nails biting into his skin when he tweaked her nipple.
A gust of wind pushed against them. She squirmed hard into him, as if it had made her cold.
But she was a seductress; the cold had barely ruffled her hair. She just wanted to be closer to him. And he tried to hold himself back, rather fucking valiantly all considering, until she moaned against his lips.
He fumbled with the button of her jeans, twisting it open. Opened her zip. He tugged her jeans down her legs, moving awkwardly in the narrow space the sleeping bag provided. He grabbed her shoulder and twisted her onto her back. Sank his weight down on her. Her breathing changed again, became short and hard. He was heavy, he knew, but he didn’t want her going anywhere.
Make her fight. She’ll never win, but won’t it be fun?
He ignored that malevolent voice in his head, doing his best not to agree.
His searching fingers slid between her legs and pushed through thighs damp with arousal.
He propped himself up on an elbow, letting her breathe, and then stole her breath with a ferocious kiss.
She bucked her hips, and his fingers touched her wet folds. Her body tensed under him and then relaxed. He slid a finger inside her — it was so unbelievably hot in there — and she stiffened. Relaxed.
Her mouth had stopped moving. He’d enthralled her, put her under some kind of spell. He tried urging her lips to move, but it seemed his fingers had all of her attention.
So he bit her lip. She gasped, making cool air move over his lips. He shivered. Not from cold, but with pent-up frustration. He wanted to be inside her. To fill her. To force her to moan again and again. To make her scream.
But then it would all be over. Morning would come, and this fragment of libertine escape would melt like snow in the sun.
And he never wanted the sun to rise again.
* * *
Why was he toying with her? Did he want her to beg? She would beg on her fucking knees if only he would end her suffering. Her lip still tingled where his teeth had caught it. The flash of pain had melted into pleasure. And she wanted more.
More pain. More pleasure. More of him.
She slid her hand down his stomach, fingers exploring every corrugated muscle they found. His body felt as hard as it looked, but it trembled, too.
And the lower her hand skimmed down, the more he shook.
He slid his finger out of her, leaving a trail of wet fire in its wake. And then he cupped her. Squeezed her.
She groaned, arching her back. Trying to press his hand harder against her. Her mind sparkled, her breath becoming uneven as he kept applying pressure.
As if he wanted to seal her off from him.
Was he reconsidering?
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.”
He made a surprised sound in the back of his throat. His lips touched her chin, the corner of her mouth, her brow. Delicate, hummingbird kisses which made the intense grip he had on her opening seem so much rougher.
She was going to come apart if he kept holding her like that. Her lips sought out his, but he nudged her head aside and bit her earlobe, sending another jolt of electricity through her. Her fingers touched the waistband of his trunks and warm air buffeted up from him in waves. They were both starting to sweat; no resistance between their bodies anymore. She tried to get her hand behind the fabric, but he moved, and the elastic snapped back.
She groaned in frustration as tendrils of pain flickered through her aching core. She wanted him inside her so badly that her body was squirming and arching like a fish out of water.
She tried again to touch him, her fingers making it less than an inch inside his trunks before he twisted his hips away.
“Don’t,” he murmured into her ear.
“Why?” she sounded breathless, frantic, to her own ears. “I want to feel you. Rub you.”
Her fingers skimmed over his trunks. She felt his dick, long and hard and so warm, pulsing beneath the thin fabric.
Finn growled at her and whipped his hand out from between her legs. Arousal blossomed from her in response, and she clenched her thighs hard, heat flashing onto her cheeks.
But he didn’t give her time to feel embarrassed; she’d pissed him off, somehow.
He grappled with her wrists, got them in one hand, and slammed them into the floor above her head.
Pain flicked through her, wrenching an indignant gasp from her. She writhed, wanting to inflict pain in return like a four-year-old child who just had their hair pulled by a boy.
Cold air spilled over her. He was on his knees, the sleeping bag around his hips. The neck of her t-shirt snagged against the bottom of her breast, and her nipple hardened as wind slid over it.
“It’s cold!” God, she sounded like a petulant child.
Finn ignored her. He dipped his head down, nipping the side of her neck, her collarbone. He found her hardened nipple and teased it with his teeth.
It hurt, and she twisted her shoulders to try and break him off. He growled again, deep in his throat, and pressed her hands harder into the cave floor.
A flicker of panic raced through her.
What if she wanted to stop? There was no way she could get out from under him, not with him pinning her down like this. She wanted this — God, how she wanted this — but what if he hurt her? He seemed oblivious; sliding his hand over her, biting her, sending a confusing mingle of good and bad through every square inch of her body. She writhed, desperate for his heat, desperate for him to end her delicious suffering.
Finn moved back and shoved a knee between her legs.
Now, when she tried pressing her legs closed, she couldn’t.
Air rushed over her, cooling the wetness seeping from her core. Finn settled against her, his dick flush against the back of her thigh. Ominous and warm and too thick; he’d tugged his trunks down, exposed himself to her.
His hand slid between her legs, scouring over her with three stiff fingers. One went inside her, the other two parted her folds.
Her stomach twisted. Her breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat. An owl hooted, and its mate returned the call.
Why was he stopping? She shifted slightly, took a massive, unsteady breath, and bucked her hips.
Which, it seemed, was the invitation Finn had been waiting for.
24
Her Broken Cage
Pinned like this, this cartel princess felt more his prisoner than ever. His to do with whatever he wanted. But all he wanted was to be inside her. To claim her as his, even if it was just for today. To desecrate her, and then have her move against him until she came. Until he came.
She kept trying to close her legs; from mod
esty or in an attempt to tease him, he couldn’t care. He yanked his dick out of his underwear, gave it a hard pump, and then forced her legs open with his knee. He ducked his head, catching a nipple between his teeth. She didn’t like it, twisted away from him. So he grazed the side of her neck instead.
He parted her, holding her open.
And, with his throbbing cock less than an inch from her warm, sticky snatch, he froze.
Why wasn’t there more light? He could barely make out her face. He wanted to see her. Her breasts, her belly, the pink slit between her legs.
Her honey-gold eyes. He wanted to watch her, have her watch him, as he thrust into her. Right now, she was just a shape in the darkness. A warm hole for his dick.
But then she did that thing with her hips. Grinding into him. Urging him to do his worst. To punish her for being impatient.
So he did.
Parting her wider, making sure there would be nothing to impede him, he dipped his hips and pressed the tip of his cock against her. He gritted his teeth and pitched his hips forward.
She was too tight. Keeping him out through sheer force of will. He pushed harder, finding his way an inch inside her.
Cora gasped and went ramrod straight. She began quivering around him like he’d electrified her. Her gasp became a moan, became a sob.
Her fingernails found the back of the hand pinning her down. Scraped him, drew blood.
So he went deeper.
She cried out, her back arching so her breasts flattened against him. He found her mouth, caught her next cry, and then thrust his tongue into her mouth, willing her to lie still.
But she didn’t. She fought him — just like his beast had wanted her too.
Her hands slipped free, lubricated by sweat, and she dug her nails into the back of his neck. He hissed through the pain, bit her bottom lip as recompense, and received a gouge down his arm for the effort.
She became a wild thing under him, twisting and writhing and making so much noise he didn’t know if she was crying or whimpering or panting.
Maybe all three.
So he took her face in his hands. Found her lips. Kissed her long and hard and deep.
And drove himself into her up to the hilt. Filling her entirely.
* * *
Deep, hot pain tore through her. Cora struggled to get free, to get out from under Finn’s body, but he held her trapped. And then forced his way in. It was the single most intense thing she’d ever experienced. Pain and pleasure, intertwined and indecipherable from each other, lashed through her.
With his mouth on hers, she couldn’t scream. He seemed oblivious to her nails. To how she fought him.
And then she wasn’t fighting him anymore.
She was drawing a ragged breath as he moved back — perhaps to take his own breath — and cold air spilled between them. He still had her face between his hands, holding her as gently as if she was a crystal decanter. His gentle touch contrasted with the line of fire he pulled through her as he slowly tugged himself out of her.
Her muscles went limp. The furious throbbing inside her had changed to something somber and insistent, but her core stung fiercely from his first thrust.
Was that it?
Was it over?
It had been so violent and qui—
Thoughts shattered into a thousand shards of crystal, splintering against the floor as he thrust into her, hard and fast. Wrenching a dazed cry from her. He moved a hand over her throat, the other grasping at her breast. Commanding her full attention. Her silence.
Her submission.
Her breath turned into a pant. He moved against her, sliding into her at a rhythm which made her mewl like a wounded kitten.
Abandoning her breast, his fingers began strumming her clit. Her mouth fell open as she gasped. She grabbed his chest, digging her nails into him. Wanting him to stop. Wanting him to fuck her harder. The pain melted away. Or, perhaps, pleasure had overridden it. Every circle of his fingers drove new, tingling bliss through her. She grabbed his shoulder, tried to urge him down.
Eventually, he did.
His mouth found hers again. And he stole her breath. Consumed her soul. And split her apart from the inside.
And finally released her from that now broken cage.
25
Protocol
It felt too good. Too wrong. Too glorious and too fucking unbelievable to stop. He found another inch of space inside her. She yelped in pain and then bruised his lips with her kiss. Her teeth came out, biting at him until he turned his head away. Then she attacked his ear, his neck. Nipping at him. Scouring his back with her nails. Panting into his ear and driving him into a renewed frenzy.
He was close — so fucking close — but every slice of pain she brought him pushed back his orgasm another few seconds.
Until he couldn’t feel pain anymore.
His body became numb, the only sensation still left to him that scorching friction where he penetrated her. Where she clung to him like she wanted them to fuse together.
The smell of them had changed, becoming musky and animal. Her arousal. His sweat. Her smell, not as sweet anymore but every bit as intoxicating. More, so. Copper tainted the air, too. She bucked hard against him, breath catching in her throat. Stiffened. Offered herself as a sacrifice as he pounded into her again and again. Then she collapsed, bones melting like he’d snatched every ounce of energy from her.
“You come, baby girl?”
She moaned, whimpered, and then began moving her hips. Trying to match his rhythm.
Always so impatient.
It made him want to slow down even more. Make her snarl with frustration at how long he was taking to finish. The image he had in his head of her exquisite face and the way she squinted in the sunlight. Her wide, frightened eyes.
Her moans, right before he’d pulled Bailey from the hayloft.
She’s yours now. All yours.
He grabbed her hips. Held her unmoving, perfectly positioned. Thrust into her a last time. And came deep inside her, while she quivered around him and whimpered into his ear and clung to his shoulders like she was drowning.
Maybe she was.
He was.
He was drowning and there wasn’t a fucking lifeguard in sight.
She said, “Oh,” like she’d just realized something. And then let out a small, faint sob.
So he held her. Stayed inside her until she relaxed and let him out. And then he nuzzled against her neck and kissed her mouth and breathed in her air until she was kissing him back.
He tasted salt. it could have been sweat. It could have been tears.
* * *
Finn used her t-shirt to wipe them down. Cora was shivering, so he tossed the damp fabric from their sleeping bag and pulled her close. She twisted, so her back was to him, and he molded against her without complaint.
She shifted against him, as if still not realizing the effect of even the slightest movement of her lithe body against him.
It took a long time for their breathing to even out.
But they were both asleep by then.
26
Should Have
When Cora woke, her mind spun like she’d been drinking so euphoric she felt laying there in Finn’s big, warm arms. His heart beating hard and slow against her back. An ache still throbbed between her legs. She shifted, and became uncomfortably aware of how sticky her skin was. A warm air current tickled her nose, bringing with it the scent of blood and sweat. She had to get clean. Hopefully, before he saw.
She’d have to tell him of course, if he didn’t somehow know. He’d probably figured it out. Else, why had he gone so slow in the beginning? Surely, he’d known. A smile found its way onto her face and refused to leave. It didn’t matter. He was a man; he’d just see it as something special. Like a gift. Right?
Carefully, she pried herself from the sleeping bag, doing her best not to wake Finn. She found her underwear on the rock where she’d left it last night to dry. It looked damp, but
it would have to do.
Her brain was as misty as the air above the hot spring when she came closer. And the air was still brisk; her skin broke out in goose bumps before she could sink into the hot water. It was delicious.
Cora began scrubbing herself clean. There was some pain, when the water touched her, like a carpet burn sting on a knee. But soon, the warm water soothed everything away; the pain, the confusion, the fear.
Why didn’t she feel different? She hadn’t intentionally been saving herself, but it wasn’t like she had a line of men standing outside her bedroom door.
Dawn was breaking on the horizon, cliff face hiding the sun. Shadows still clung to their camping site.
You should have told him.
Cora licked her lips and brought water up to her face. It stung when it touched her lip. She dipped her head, letting her hair fall in the water and splashing water up to wash it. He’d had a fist tangled in it.
You should have told him.
He wasn’t going to be happy. He wouldn’t see it as a gift. She shouldn’t have slept with him. Shouldn’t have encouraged him. Shouldn’t have wanted him.
The thought of Finn angry, angry at her… It was as terrifying as those nightmares that came to her at night. The whisper of rope on a wooden floor. The smell of manure and car oil. Shafts of light with dust motes sparkling through them. She’d loved staring at those diamond-dust rays. She’d try and keep track of just one mote, but they were always too small. They’d disappear in an instant, reappear somewhere else. Or just vanish into the ether.
Like she’d wished she could vanish.
She squeezed her thighs closed. She wanted to cry, but the pressure just kept building and building inside her without release.
* * *
The sleeping bag was empty. Finn turned onto his back and dragged his hands over his face. They smelled of him. Of Cora. Metallic and salty and musky. He lifted his hands away from his face, blinking hard to clear his vision. The sun was barely up, but there was enough light to see faint streaks of blood on his palms. His fingertips.