Page 24 of Into the Woods

Since that can’t happen, I free my cock from the constraints of fine Italian wool. I’m so hard I could drive a three-inch nail into a stud with both hands tied behind my back.

I spit in my palm and give myself a slow, firm stroke twisting around the head before sliding back down. I do it again, my eyes never leaving Winnie’s image.

Giving in to the mental reel I have going of licking every inch of her body—nipping and biting at her tits, flattening my tongue against her pussy—is the only way I’ll find any relief tonight.

I tighten my grip, squeezing my dick the way I imagine her tight heat would. Jesus, I’ve never fucked a virgin. Don’t know that I could be patient enough not to just take her.

The thought of being anyone’s first fuck is not something that ever appealed to me. But being Winnie’s? The first man to feel her from the inside…theonlyman to feel her wrapped around my cock… That is something I could get behind.

A groan slides up the back of my throat as my hand continues to abuse my dick. The base of my spine burns with the need to come. I drive the pace, faster and faster wishing it was Winnie’s delicate hand—fuck, her mouth—stroking me.

I imagine sinking into her, pushing deep until my hips meet the backs of her thighs, my balls tight against her ass.

My head falls back, eyes half closed, as my hands tighten. I barrel toward a release that’s not at all close to what I want. I growl my frustration as I blow my load, thick ropes of jizz painting the panes of glass in front of me.

I loosen my hold on my dick and tuck it away. My gaze drops to the floor. Winnie is maybe twelve—fifteen?—feet away from me and the only relief I got was from my own fucking hand. Disappointment isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel.

I tilt my phone, still tightly gripped in my other hand. I want one more look at Winnie. Maybe having her image burned into my brain will allow me to find a handful of hours of sleep. If anything can bring me peace, it’s her.

What I find on the security feed takes my breath away.

Instead of Winnie’s sleeping form, relaxed and peaceful, she’s staring at me through the screen. Her eyes wide, lips parted, almost as if she knows I’m watching her, that I just came harder than I think I ever have before.

And the smirk she’s wearing, like she knows she nearly brought me to my knees.

Chapter 11

Damaged

Winnie

My locked dooropens for the second time today, revealing the man who stole Tru away from me at the cemetery. He nods to me, staid and solemn, then steps to the side allowing me to see Tru, tear-stained and cowering behind him.

It’s been almost twenty-four hours and she looks petrified, absolutely panicked.

“Tru,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. I can only imagine just how on edge she is right now. Call me a mother hen when it comes to her, but she hasn’t spent a night away from my house since I got her back.

The years she was away—first stolen, then recovering—were absolutely hell for me. After Christophe disappeared, and my father started using me for his business deals, Tru was the only friend I had. Until she was gone too. What happened to her during that time…I don’t know that I can ever fully understand it.

I get no reaction and step closer repeating her name and getting the same response. Non-response, really, because she gives me absolutely nothing.

I glare at her tall, copper-haired escort and whatever hate and vitriol is running through me, tempers just the tiniest bit. His stoicism is softened with the way he looks at her.

He offers me a small smile and ushers Tru through the door, settling her on the oversized chair angled toward the warmth and flames radiating from the fireplace.

“What did you do to her?” I bite out on a whispered hiss. “Where has she been?”

My instinct, my gut reaction, is to put myself between this guy and Tru. To protect her, shield her from everything and anything bad in the world. I failed her once, the thought of doing that again is unfathomable.

But I stop and look. Really take in the dynamic between them.

He’s different—gentle, caring…attentive and in tune with the darkness that lives inside her, with her needs.

He shakes out the soft, thick throw from the back of the chair and tucks it around her, brushing her baby fine hairs back from her face.

There’s something there—something more. Somethingintriguing, but I don’t know that I have time to think about it now.

Later. Later, I’ll try to parse things out, ask Tru…you know, when she’s able to string together coherent thoughts and speak.

---