Page 23 of Into the Woods

“But she’s resting?” Winnie’s friend may not be my main concern, but I can’t have her in distress. No more than she wouldbe in a situation like this, but that one is a wildcard. I’m glad he contacted the doctor I keep on retainer.

Teague meets my eye and nods once, his natural warmth flipping to icy protectiveness. He sinks into his stance, broadening his shoulders and flexing his hands. It’s a flex, sure, but it’s apparent he’s staking his claim on her. One less thing for me to concern myself with.

“Good. Whatever she needs,” I tell him. “And when she’s up to it, take her to see Winnie, yes?”

“Of course.” He lifts his chin and steps back toward the door. “You need me for anything?”

“No.”

The single syllable barely tumbles from my mouth, and he’s out of my office. Strong, steady steps echo behind him as he stalks down the hall—away from my office and toward the residential wing of the mansion.

I have no doubt that he’s going straight to Tru’s suite. I just hope he knows what he’s getting himself into. I trust Teague with my life, but I need his head in my game, not bouncing around his own fantasies of playing hero with his little damsel in distress. Because there is not a single doubt in my mind that that girl is broken. Maybe beyond repair. Everything points to the fact that she’s lost in a darkness I want no part of.

I step behind my desk and do a quick scan of security, checking camera feeds from around the perimeter of the property and systematically working my way into the interior feeds. I linger on the view from outside Winnie’s suite.

The temptation to look inside is strong. There’s one camera in the corner of her sitting room that offers a partial view into her bedroom. I should have planned better—held her up in my office longer so security could have added a camera to cover the full view of her room.

Fucking stupid.

Or maybe, just fucking psycho. From what I hear, the leap is not a long or particularly arduous one to make.

I pour a solid three fingers of whiskey into my glass and shut down my computer. I could drive myself off the deep end wondering—wanting—but I can’t do that. I need to get my head in the game and lock down my next move.

Without a sound, I step out of my office and saunter toward my private rooms, though I deliberately pass the main staircase, winding through the hallways of the guest suites.

I pause outside her room and lift my glass to my lips. It has to be my imagination, no way it could still be lingering, but I inhale as I sip, pulling her scent deep into my lungs and savoring the memory of her taste.

Silence greets me as I stand, waiting, talking myself out of storming through the door and feeling her again firsthand.

Seconds turn into minutes before I finally step away and go find solace in my corner of the mansion.

The master suite takes up the entire wing above the guest suites. I shed my suit coat and loosen my tie, tossing the items to the sofa in front of my fireplace as I settle in. I pop the top buttons of my shirt and gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A full moon illuminates the dark night casting a cool glow on the woods lining the edge of the property. My gaze is drawn to where the tree—our gnarled oak—stands deep in the grove.

I walked away from her there, no intention of ever going back. Hell, it’s been years, and I still haven’t been back to that tree, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t kept it in my sights.

The longer I stare out into the dark and sip on my whiskey, the more I find my mind lingering on the woman sleeping below me. Did she finish what she’d started after I left her in the tub? Did she get herself off thinking of me or cursing me? Either way—as long as I was on her mind.

My dick thickens at the thought of her pinching her nipples, playing with her sweet pussy.

God, I want to dirty her up. Ruin her for everyone else. Fuck, the thought of another man touching her, tasting her, makes my blood run cold.

I pull my phone from my pocket and pull up the security feed on the app. The angle is shit; I can only see the top corner of her bed. But moonlight streams through the window, the beams casting half her face in shadow.

She rolls to her back, throwing an arm above her head, the other tucked beneath the covers, resting low on her stomach. The flimsy slip of a nightie she pulled on after her bath is twisted around her body, revealing the swell of her perfect tit. It would take no effort to snap the thin strap holding it in place. Barely a tug.

A normal person might think it’s creepy that I’m standing here watching a pretty young thing sleep—that she’s completely unaware of what’s happening. But I’m anythingbutnormal; I’ve proven that over and over and over again.

What normal person would walk away from an innocent child’s crush only to resurface years later—after sending food when she needed it, money when it was scarce, keeping her safe—and tell her she’s going to be sold at a skin auction? None. That person does not exist, because there’s no way a rational, ordinary person would do that. Only a sick bastard could do those things, and on the day she buries her useless parents, too.

Yeah.

My eyes trace the moonbeams, lingering where they touch her skin. The curves and dips are nothing short of exquisite. Her nipples peak, the buds visible through the delicate fabric, almost as if a cool breeze is swirling through the room.

I want to wrap my lips around one and pull it into my mouth, sucking it deep. I want to trap the peak between my teeth andrevel in the sounds my bite would pull from her. Something tells me it would become my favorite melody.

Blood rushes south, causing my dick to chub up. It’s trapped at a bad angle, pressing painfully against the teeth of my zipper. And when I reach down to adjust it, I give myself a tight squeeze, not that it helps. The contact just makes me want her even more.

---