Page 40 of Into the Woods

I felt more when he caught me trying to escape.

I mean, I felt a lot of things: power rolling off of him, muscles twitching where my fingers skated over him. And his cock. I couldn’t help but to feel that pressed against my stomach. With all the things he said to me—the threats, or maybe promises—of what his uncle will do if he wins me, my focus was firmly on Christophe. What he could do to me. With me.

Instead of falling into thosewhat-ifsand losing myself in delicious fantasies of Christophe, I got to spend yesterday with the man whose head I tried to bash in. That was freaking awkward as shit. And when I asked to see Tru, if she could come to my room and hang out with me, Garrick just poured me another whiskey and steered the conversation far, far away from her.

Thinking back, he was obviously there to distract me. Or maybe it was punishment for letting me get one over on him, if you can call the broken vase and lump on his head that.

All I know is I had a super chill day when it should have been anything but.

Then, as soon as I was alone behind the locked door to my suite, I crawled between my sheets, shoved my hand between my legs, and tried to make myself come.Tried.

Maybe it was because of how drunk I was, maybe because now that I’ve been ruined by Christophe’s touch, mine pales in comparison—I don’t know—but a failed orgasm in my time of need did me in. And now, nursing a serious hangover after a restless night, I’m on edge.

Self-induced releases are nothing like the magic Christophe is capable of.

I ache.

I throb between my legs.

I’ve done nothing but pace and fret and try, try, try to relieve the tension buzzing through me.

There’s literally nothing I can do in this lush prison to alleviate this…this…misery.

Every step highlights the need in my core.

Every thought spirals pain through my head.

The door opens, startling me, pulling me from the lascivious thoughts of just exactly where I want to trail my tongue acrossmy captor, tasting him. And where I want to beg for his tongue to glide across me.

I whip my head around to find Garrick, looking considerably less hungover than I feel, stepping into my room once again.My room.When the hell did these become my rooms? When did I stop dreaming of how to escape this house? My plotting and planning have turned from fleeing Christophe’s clutches to crawling closer and losing myself to him—in him.

“Excuse me, Miss L’Ourson, Mr. Robicheaux has requested your presence in his office.” The butler’s smile is tight, his hands clutched in front of him as though it’s taking considerable effort to keep from wringing them. He looks nervous, or maybe unhappy, shifting his gaze around the room, never quite meeting mine.

“Am I in trouble again?” I don’t bother trying to keep the sass from my voice. I’m wound tight and there’s only so much I can keep locked down at one time.

His eyes wrinkle and a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Not that I know of, miss. But he did request I escort you to him right away.” He takes a step toward the door and pulls it open.

I glance down at the leggings and wrap shirt I threw on when I dragged myself out of bed. My hair is up in a messy bun and I’m not wearing a stitch of makeup. Why my appearance concerns me, I’d rather not spend too much time or effort examining. I don’t need to face that kind of introspection today. Or ever, maybe.

“Do I need to ‘dress’ for this meeting?” I air-quote the shit out of that, joining Garrick as he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Not at all.” He sweeps his free hand toward the hallway, indicating I should go ahead of him. “You look perfect just the way you are.” He’s so sweet. Wrong in his assessment, but absolutely the sweetest.

When all is said and done—when I’m long gone after this stupid skin auction—I might actually miss him.

We walk side-by-side to Christophe’s office. Garrick allows me to enter first and then softly grasps my elbow, halting my progress. “It has been a pleasure, Miss L’Ourson. I wish you”—his eyes cloud and he clears his throat—“I wish you all the best.” The last bit comes with a harsh glare toward Christophe. It seems as though Garrick is less than thrilled with his boss.

I throw my arms around the kind man, comforted when his hand rests on the center of my back and he pulls me close. He’s been nothing but kind to me. Almost fatherly in the time I’ve spent under this roof, other than the part where he’s delivered me to Christophe time and time again but maybe bashing him over the head balances those transgressions out.

I step into the office, images of the last time we were in here together crashing through my mind. My heart stutters in my chest and desire swirls in my core, tightening my belly. A laugh bubbles up from there and gets stuck in my throat.

Christophe is beautiful. He’s powerful and electric. But he is not the same boy I fell for all those years ago. He’s selling my body to the highest bidder to—what?—impress his uncle? Stay in that vile man’s good graces?

Even knowing that, I can’t shake this overwhelming desire I have for him. I hate the fact that I want him.

What I want doesn’t matter.

What my body is begging for is inconsequential.

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