Page 5 of Chase Me

“Shut up,” I hiss, but I don’t really want him to stop. Not ever. Despite all my protests, his words have my body humming. I’m already longing for him to touch me again, to spread my legs open this time and fuck me.

“What, little doe? Are you embarrassed that you want this? That the idea of being fucked out here in the middle of the woods has your pussy dripping? A complete mess for me?”

Fingers dance along my thighs, threateningly close to the edge of my panties, and I hold back a whimper. I buck my hips, trying my best to dissuade him, but it’s no use. He presses a knee between my legs, widening them to give him better access to my core.

When his hand grazes over the wet spot on my panties, he hisses out a breath. “Such a naughty girl,” he croons, and the words only serve to make me even wetter.

Snapping the pocketknife shut, he shoves it back into his pocket, and I breathe a sigh of relief for my panties.

A burst of cool air meets my most sensitive flesh as he drags the material down my legs. I feel more exposed than I ever have, bound to a tree in the middle of the woods, while this stranger examines the most intimate parts of me. I try to squeeze my legs back together, but he doesn’t let me, instead keeping his knee in place and my pussy spread for him.

One strong finger slips through my folds, and I can hear how wet I am for this man. Embarrassment snakes up my throat, coloring me a bright red that I’m sure matches my hair.

“Christ,”he murmurs. “Such a dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

When I don’t answer, his free hand comes down on the curve of my ass, the crack echoing through the forest. I yelp, my body shaking in response, but he does it again. Three more times that have me crying out.

“When I ask a question, you answer. Understand?”

“Yes,” I murmur, the word nothing but a throaty whisper.

“Are you a dirty fucking slut for me?” he asks again.

“Yes.”

“Say it,” he demands.

“I’m a dirty fucking slut for you.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and his finger returns to my pussy, to my relief, sliding through the wetness before landing on my clit. He drags rough circles over the sensitive bud until I’m a trembling mess beneath him, my body begging for a release.

“I’m gonna come.” The word leaves my lips in a rushed plea.

His finger stops, abandoning me on the edge of my orgasm, and another cry bursts from my lips. “No!”

“Not yet,” he admonishes me. “When I let you come, you’ll be so needy, so fucking desperate for it, you’ll do anything. Begging me to let you come. And I don’t think you’re there yet.”

“I’ll never beg for you!” I hiss the words at him, knowing what a liar I am.

A deep chuckle leaves his throat. “Sure, little doe, you can believe that. But by the time I’m done here, this pussy”—his hand comes down to my core, cupping me—“will belong to me.”

His possessive words blanket me in a hazy warmth. It’s wrong, I think, how much I like them. How much I want him to own every inch of me. He’s barely touched me, and already I’ve determined this is the best sex I’ve ever had.

Connor’s fingers find my nipples again, pinching the two buds, then squeezing my heaving breasts. My back arches on its own, desire rolling down my spine in hot, wanton waves. He pulls on the peaks once more, and I gasp, then groan, writhing for more. The pain is too good, too delicious, and I’m already tempted to beg him to touch me lower again. But instead, a needy whimper finally escapes my lips.

Something about his hands on my body melts all my inhibitions.

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make, sweet girl.” Connor leans in, his scruff rubbing against my neck and chin before his lips meet mine. It’s not lost on me that he’s seen me naked, utterly vulnerable, before we’ve even kissed.

But he makes up for that now. His kiss is momentarily gentle, tentative, a total contrast to his tone and touch. And then, he fuses his lips against mine, melding us together with a hunger I’ve never experienced but have always craved. My brain is hazy, surrounded by fog as everything else melts away until there is nothing left.

The scent of his cologne, something earthy and rich, sandalwood maybe, mixes with the smell of pine needles and stale leaves. Our tongues clash as he invades my mouth, the taste of mint strong on his tongue, and I find myself pulling on my bound hands, wishing they were free so I could touch him. So I could run my fingers through the scuff on his face, over the ridges of muscle on his arms and back.

When he pulls away, I can see the edges of a sly smile on his lips. “So responsive,” he praises. "Do you want me to fuck you now, little doe?”

“Please.” I answer so quickly, not even thinking about it. I don’t have to. All I know is I want him.I need him.My body aches for him, for his touch, for his kiss, for everything he has to give me.

“Such a pretty”—he palms my breast—“perfect”—he drags his fingers up my chest over my collarbone—“desperate slut,” he murmurs as his gloved finger roams over my chin, lips, and then presses into my mouth. Without thinking, I suck on the leather, rolling my tongue over the tip. I’m needy with my desire, just like he knew I’d be, and I eagerly suck on his finger, wishing it was something else.

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