Possess: Protect Book 3
Page 9
“You’ll be glad,” I say, spooning the last bit of oatmeal into my mouth. “I’ll be back before you’re done.”
Rushing through dressing in a white tee shirt and black ski pants, I manage to keep my word. I have two dark thick sweaters, but I don’t want to overheat while we are still inside. So, I just hold onto them, casually tucking them under one arm.
Entering the living room just as she eats the last crust of her wheat toast, I smile at the way she looks at me. Wide-eyed, like she’s just done inventory and found that she has double of her most precious commodity.
She blushes and looks away. I feel more myself than I’ve felt in a long time, making her blush like that. It feels fucking great knowing that I still have that kind of power over her.
“Come on,” I say, jerking my head toward the staircase that leads down to the first floor. “We’re not going that far, but it will still be an adventure.”
Feeling the puzzlement in her eyes, I head downstairs. Opening the door that leads to the rest of the first floor, I head inside. When I flip on the lights, a washer and dryer are illuminated, as well as various gardening tools and snow removers. There, in the corner, is what I am looking for…
Two brand new pairs of cross-country skis with the accompanying ski boots and poles. I feel Rue behind me, taking in the skis silently. When I glance back at her, I see an embarrassed expression.
“What?” I ask, walking over and picking up my ski boots.
She turns deep red. “I’m a terrible skier. I’ve only been on skis twice, and both times it was a massive failure.”
“So what? No one is going to see you but me.” I wink. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She gives me a resigned look, pulling her ski boots on slowly. I take a moment to pull my sweaters on, then get my boots on. Neither of us has gloves, but there is a basket of gloves and scarves next to the washing machine.
Armed with everything we need, we both head outside with our skis. It’s colder than I expected, the wind bracing. The sun isn’t doing much to help the situation either, hiding behind the clouds.
After clicking my boots into place in my skis, I spend a minute helping Rue to get her skis on. Then I grab my poles.
“Ready?” I ask her.
She looks at me, her face already bright pink in the cold air. “Yes.”
“Follow me,” I caution her. “We’ll go slowly at first.”
I use my poles to push off, my muscles already burning. The snow is light and fluffy as I make my way over the side of the hill that we are standing on. The freezing air whips against my skin, giving a new life to the words biting cold.
Rue is better at skiing than I’d imagined, her breath puffing in the cold air as she skis after me. I spend more time looking around at the snowy terrain than I had planned on, which is kind of nice. The ground we’re crossing is mostly level, with a few uphill slogs and a few downhill slides.
“It’s beautiful here,” Rue says, trying to catch her breath.
I skate a glance at her, my lips curling. With the white background silhouetting her, she is stunning. Pink cheeks, red lips, red hair… “I agree.”
She rolls her eyes and makes an annoyed sound, but she picks up the pace a little. I push forward a little more, my muscles complaining though we have only been at this for a mile. As I start breathing a little harder, I admit to myself that this is a whole different level of exercise, especially when you’re not used to it.
I spot the little cabin from a distance, nodding toward it. “That’s where we are going.”
Rue raises her brows, but doesn’t say anything. She is too engrossed in skiing to stop and converse with me. As we get closer, I see that the cabin is just as described: a one-room log affair with a gently steaming smokestack.
We make it to the cabin’s porch, Rue giggling when I stumble trying to take off my skis. When I look at her, she laughs and shrugs.
“It’s nice to know that you aren’t great at every single thing all the time,” she explains. “Makes it easier being your friend.”
“Are we friends?” I ask, intending levity. I look down at my boots for a moment, struggling to get them off. “I wasn’t under the impression that I had friends.”
Glancing back up, I see my joke didn’t quite land. Now it’s gone into defining what we are territory, which is definitely uncomfortable.
Rue bites her lip and glances out over the wintry hills. I head toward the door of the cabin, eager to put the gaffe behind me. “Come inside where it’s not freezing cold.”
Rue follows me inside the cabin, which is a tight little space. My head almost hits the ceiling just standing here, but at least the heater is on and working.
Across from the woodburning stove stands are two pottery older wheels, a tiny sink, and a kiln. In the corner stands a tall metal cabinet, where I presume most of the clay and tools for making pottery are stored. There is also a small refrigerator next to the tall cabinet, and a table and a couple of chairs. Closing the door behind me, I head to sink into one of the chairs and take my boots off.
Taking her cue from me, Rue takes the other chair. “What is this place?”
The gloves are the first thing to go, then the scarf and sweaters. Better to be cold now than hot and covered in clay a few minutes from now. I pull one of my boots off with a grunt. “It’s a pottery studio. I thought you would enjoy making… well, whatever kind of vase you feel like.”
She pulls off her boots slowly, looking at the pottery wheels as if they had done some suspicious. “I’ve never made any pottery before.”
Rubbing my hands together, I get up and wander over to the woodburning stove. Rue takes off her outer layers but leaves on the oversized pink sweater. I eye her outfit.
“You’re going to want to strip down more before we start.” I smile evenly, letting her see my teeth. “We wouldn’t want you to be overdressed, would we? You’ll get clay everywhere trying to get your sweater off. Believe me.”
She gives me a look that is exasperated, her cheeks beginning to warm once more. She peels off the heavy sweater she is wearing, folding it. She is left in this tight white camisole that hugs her every curve.
When she notices me staring, I swear I can see her nipples pebble through the thin material. It’s not the time for me to fuck her though, not yet. I must drag my eyes away from her tits.
I notice that she isn’t nursing her hand anymore. “Your wrist is feeling better?”
She nods, her eyes on the ground in front of her. She’s still scared of me I think, even though she doesn’t jump anymore every time I so much as move.
“Okay, come on,” I say, gently guiding her shoulders toward the pottery wheels. “We’ve got some pottery to make.”
She casts doubtful eyes over me but lets me move her around. I’ll take that, as an entry point.
Now I just have to take that leap and pray that I stick the landing.
18
Rue
I’m more than a little bit confused about why Dryas brought me out here to do pottery in this artist’s studio, if I’m honest. It feels like a ploy of some kind, especially every time I catch him looking at me with hunger in his gaze. Cursing my choice of the thin camisole top, I shiver as he guides me over to the pottery wheels.
His touch is scalding hot against the bare skin of my upper back. I expect him to grab me around the waist or something, but he doesn’t. He just releases me, opening the cabinet instead.
“I have no idea what I am doing, by the way,” he says, rifling through the contents of the cabinet. He pulls out a plastic bag containing a square hunk of white clay. “Does this look good?”
Pressing my lips into a line, I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Works for me.” He sets the clay on one of the wheels, fishing around in some bins inside the cabinet.
I start to examine the wheels themselves, which look pretty basic. You sit on one part, very close to the part that turns. Below that there is a pedal on
each wheel. When I test the pedal, the whole machine jerks to life briefly, humming. Then I jump back, and just as quickly the power dies again.
Dryas comes up with a wedge and a sponge from searching inside the cabinet, as well as what looks like two little handles strung together with wire in the middle. “These look like they will be helpful. There are a thousand kinds of different shaping tools in there, but we want to just start with the basics.”
He pauses, giving me an exaggerated wink. “I looked this up online, so I’m basically an expert.”
I have to smile at that. “It seems like it.”
“Good. I definitely know what I’m doing,” he says with a low chuckle. “Now get over there on one of the pottery wheels. I’ll pass you a chunk of clay.”
A few minutes later, he’s managed to use the wire to cut us each a piece of clay. I touch it, feeling its clammy consistency. Instantly, my hands are covered in white chalky residue. I don’t say it out loud, but Dryas was right about the clothing.
He hovers just at my shoulder as I sit down and try the pedal again. It fires the wheel to life, spinning the clay, and I put my hands into it timidly. It feels creamy and very, very thick under my touch.
Dryas moves a little closer and goosebumps raise on my arms and the back of my neck. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. I glance up at him.
“Aren’t you going to work on yours?” I ask.
His yellow-green gaze hovers on my face. “Maybe I will eventually. For now, I’m just enjoying watching you.”
Something in the way he says it is distinctly carnal, sending a shiver down my spine. Blushing, I try to focus on the clay. For the next few minutes I try to shape it, adding a little water from a cup that Dryas hands me.
“I’m failing at this, I think,” I surmise with a frown.
Apparently, Dryas was just waiting for this, because he smoothly takes the seat behind me, pressing his hard body against my own. “Here. Try this…”
He’s so much bigger than I am, his arms taking their place beneath mine. He uses his hands to form a divot in the middle of the clay, gently broadening it. There is something sexy about what he’s doing, something about shaping the clay that is virile.
Just as I think that, he drops a single kiss on the back of my neck. I gasp and he laughs. “Don’t pretend you aren’t thinking about the way my body is pressed against yours, little bird.”
Little Bird. My heart flutters at that. It’s been a long while since he’s called me by my pet name.
I demur. Maybe he can read my mind where sex is concerned, but there are still things between us that haven’t been addressed. It’s important not to let that fact slip through my fingers.
I make a promise to myself that I’m not going to let Dryas derail an important conversation that we need to have with sex.
“You’re letting it get too wide,” I point out, nodding to the pot.
“Mm.” He doesn’t even pretend to care. Instead, he wipes a hand off partially and then uses it to draw the curtain of my hair back. When he brushes his lips over my neck, finding the pulse point and sucking lightly, it feels so good. I want to lean back into him, but I struggle to remember what I just promised myself.
“Dryas…” I say, my words as much a breathy moan as a protest. “Dryas, stop. Please.”
He straightens, his chest is so firm against my back. When he speaks, I feel it as much as I hear it. He rasps his words, so close to my ear.
“What, Rue? Why are you stopping me from doing something that we both want?”
I swallow painfully. How do I even begin to answer that question? “Because.”
He goes still behind me. “Because? Is this some sort of game?”
Shaking my head, I push myself up and out of the seat, swinging my leg over the pottery wheel in order to move away. Already, my eyes are starting to mist over, but I fight it.
Dryas deserves to hear what I have to say to him, not just my crying. I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“We can’t go back to the way things were at the castle,” I say, my voice shaking.
Both of Dryas’s eyebrows rise. “No?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, no. Just because you want to pretend that you didn’t… that I didn’t get kidnapped—”
Dryas looks like I slapped him. “I thought we had moved past that.”
Looking down at the floor, I steel myself. “I can’t just move past it, Dryas. I won’t. You…” I pause, my tears overwhelming my voice for a second. “You choked me. You strangled me. I looked you in the eyes as you did it. You intended to hurt me. And I… I thought I was going to die.”
For the first time, I see a flash of shame and embarrassment cross his face. “I am sorry, Rue. You have to know that I wasn’t in my right mind—”
“That doesn’t matter!” The words burst from my chest, hard and harsh. “What if you had choked the life out of me? Would you just shrug and say that you weren’t in your right mind then?”
I look at him, tears running down my face. Imploring him, asking him to tell me the truth. Asking whether or not my life even matters to him at all. Would he mourn my absence if I was suddenly gone?
I’ve caused him pain, that much is evident by his expression. He looks down at his clay covered hands, answering me quietly. “If I killed you, I would’ve thrown myself off the castle cliffs. I had a plan for… for if you didn’t make it. It’s not the first time I have…” He pauses, clearing his throat. When he continues, his voice is tight with emotion. “It’s not the first time I’ve hurt you so badly that I thought you might die.”
Wiping my hands off on my pants, I am distraught. “What?”
When he looks up at me, spearing me with his chartreuse gaze, I can see a single tear running down his face. “I thought you might die from your wounds, when I kept you down in the dungeon after you ran away.”
So much information from him, most of it new or incorrect. I raise my hand, halting him from speaking. “Wait. You did?”
He looks ashamed. “Yes. I don’t expect you to remember because you had a fever, but…”
I cut him off. “It wasn’t your fault that I got wounded, Dryas. Although we should really talk about what happened again—”
“It was my fault!” he insists, his expression stormy. “I let you lay down there, untended. I was still punishing you for running away.”
Squinting my eyes, I shake my head. “Maybe you should have taken me to a doctor. But you disinfected my wound several times…”
“Stop making excuses!” he roars, rising from his seat. “I am trying to tell you that I’ve almost killed you more times than you even know about, and you just keep trying to fix things for me. You can’t fix me!” He closes the few steps between us in a flash, grabbing my hand and using it to thump a spot on his chest over his heart. “Can you not tell? Do you not see that I am broken?”
Looking at him, seeing the pain and despair in his eyes, it’s almost too much to bear. This close, I can almost feel the indignation rolling from his body. I answer, my voice low and stained with my tears. “No.”
“You should be repulsed by me,” he says, his voice rough. His eyes search mine, looking for what I do not know. “You should hate me.”
“I could never hate you,” I whisper, wishing that I could ease his anguish. I smooth my hand against his chest, covering his heart with my fingers. “It goes against everything inside me, no matter what you do.”
He swallows, his throat working. I slide my arms around his big body and hug him tightly. Resting my face against his chest, I remind myself that I should feel safe here. He buries his face in my hair.
“I am sorry,” he says, his words muffled a bit by my hair. I listen to the words coming through his chest. “You have to know that.”
“I know,” I say, wiping away a tear. “Just… promise you will be better.”
He drags in a breath. “I will try, Rue. I swear I will.”
He puts his hands on my ass and lifts me up, carrying me over to the table. Laying me down, he pulls my shirt off over my head and then strips my shoes and my pants off, leaving me buck naked.
When I blush and try to cover myself, he pushes my hands away.
“No,” he grits out. “None of that. Be a good girl and hold still, because I’m about to make a meal of you. You are my feast, Little Bird.”
Chills race down my spine as I sit back and wait.
19
Dryas
The tears are still fresh on Rue’s face as I carry her over to the little wooden table, stripping her until she is bare before me. With every article of clothing that I remove, I am greeted with a bounty of her creamy, freckled skin. The tight pink buds of her nipples call to me as I strip off her shirt. I put my mouth on them and taste the salty sweetness of her flesh as I rip at her pants.
She makes the sweetest little moans, gripping the table’s edges. When she is bared before me, I take a moment to step back and take her in. Her mussed copper curtain of hair, her piercing blue eyes. Her heaving chest, her slender belly. Her gently freckled legs, split by the glimmer of red hair that protects her pussy.
“Mine,” I murmur, almost to myself. I look up to catch her electric blue gaze, repeating the sentiment. “You are mine. Only mine. Do you hear me?”
She catches her full bottom lip between her teeth and nods, her eyes darkening just a hair. She nods, breathless. “Yes.”