Page 50 of Into the Woods

“You like that,chère?” He squeezes his fingers, and the edges of my vision start to fade.

My grip on his wrists slackens and I feel myself fading. My bravado slipping away along with my grasp on the here and now.

“That’s better. Save your energy, honeybee. You’re going to need it.”

Christophe dips low and tosses me over his shoulder carrying me into his house. The last thing I see before the door closes behind us, are the taillights of the town car fading in the distance as it roars down the driveway.

His firm grip on my thigh keeps me in place as he bounds up the stairs. How he manages to scale them—two at a time—all while stroking his thumb across my center is beyond me.

He turns and stalks down the hallway, entering a huge suite that’s got to take up the full wing above mine, slamming the door shut behind us. He shifts and in slow motion I slide down his body feeling every perfectly formed dip and bulge along the way.The bulge.

Seconds tick by and he simply holds me in place. Staring. Breathing us in.

My muscles tighten, desire coiling deep in my belly as I tell myself my reactions arenotokay. Because while I should be fighting for my life, trembling in fear. My wet panties are proof that something else is making me tremble.

Minutes pass and I shift my weight, pressing my thighs together desperate for friction. I drop my gaze to his mouth; his lips are plump and perfectly still. Not a twitch. Nothing.

Hours.

Years.

A lifetime passes before his mouth crashes against mine. With my hands against his chest, I push at him. Not because I want to, but because Ishould. Everything about this screams at me to resist.

I don’t stand a chance.

He presses me to the wall, his body flush against mine from our knees to our hips, our chests to our lips. And while he towers over me, even in these ridiculously high stilettos, there is nothing but packed planes of solid muscle beneath my palms. When he pushes his hips in close, I can’t help but gasp.

He licks into my mouth as he thrusts his cock, hot and hard, against my belly. He kisses me stupid. Devours me. Makes me want to give in and work off my parents’ debt—by pennies, not dollars.

When I’m good and breathless, and obviously suffering the effects of oxygen deprivation, he pulls back just enough to grumble, “Now, get rid of this.” He slides a thick, blunt finger under the silk band strategically wrapped around my chest.

Broad shoulders bunch and shift as he works his tie loose, carefully folding the bloodred silk and tossing it to the back of his sofa.

“Now, Winnie. Do not keep me waiting.”

I side-step him and strut across the room, twisting awkwardly to lower the side zipper that somehow manages to keep this sad excuse of a dress in place. The silk falls from my body leaving me in nothing but my thong and heels as I approach the wall of windows. The view from my room is similar, but with the elevation, the view is so much clearer. The focus displayed much more prominently by the dark wood frames. It’s so beautiful, so meaningful that Christophe wanted it perfectly framed.

“Lose the thong.” His tone is dark, somewhere between pissed off and lust, but it has the right effect.

I want his hands on me.

I want to feel his touch everywhere.

I hook my thumbs in the scrap of lace and shift my hips sliding the fabric down my body. I kick my panties to the side and shake out my hair, blonde curls spilling down my bare back, and start to toe out of my shoes.

Christophe

“Those stay on,” I say, impressed with how steady my voice comes out. Because sweet little Winnie could very well bring me to my knees with that fucking body.

I tried to resist her. I fucking tried to let her go, but there was no way in hell I could do that.

Fuck, the minute I tasted her honey mixed with my whiskey, I knew she had to be mine.

And now, I’m done waiting.

I stalk toward her and take her mouth. Our tongues tangle, warring with each other.

She arches into me, tits firmly pressed against my chest, her sweet little nipples hard against me.

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