Page 53 of Into the Woods

“Stop… Please…” I’m so sensitive, tears spring to my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

His thumb stalls and the torture is almost worse knowing it’s there, feeling the featherlight pressure but at the same time, not nearly enough.

I don’t want to climax again; I honestly think it would kill me.

Death by orgasm.

That would be a good song title or maybe even the perfect name for a band.

“What’s putting that smile on your face, huh?” Christophe continues his leisurely fucking but his thumb? …Nothing. He holds it perfectly, maddeningly still against my clit.

“You. You’re trying to kill me,” I whine. I fuckingwhinebecause that is all I’m capable of at this point.

His chuckle is dark, deep. Filled with promises or maybe it’s full of threats that I don’t want to think too hard on.

“I’m not trying to kill you, honeybee. I’m filling you full of life.”

As his words swirl in the air around us, the reality of what we’ve done, what I didn’t think about when it mattered or pay attention to in the least, washes over me.

We fucked. We fucked hard and took absolutely no precautions. None. Every single muscle in my body goes tight, and I press my palms against the hard planes of his chest.

“What did you do? Holy shit, what did you do?” I swat at him, pushing and writhing to get away. But it’s pointless. Nothing I do puts any distance between us, and the more I struggle, the more he laughs. And thrusts.

Before long, I’m moaning my way through another orgasm, Christophe falling over the edge with me.

And then I black the fuck out. Who knew five orgasms could take so much out of me?

I didn’t.

I had no idea, because until tonight, I was a goddamn, inexperienced virgin.

I come back to my senses, the few I have, to see Christophe lying on his side, staring at me, his large hand splayed across my stomach.

He doesn’t say a word, but a small, satisfied smile pulls at his luscious lips.

“That was?—”

“Fucking perfect.” He finishes my sentence for me, placing a soft kiss to the spot just above my heart before climbing from the bed.

But that’s not what I was going to say.

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes closed. I need a minute to process everything that just happened.

Tears sting and threaten to spill over onto my cheeks. It’s too much. All of this, everything…it’s just too much.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

I don’t know anything.

How did I go from trying to escape this life and do the right thing, to this? I literally went from a twenty-two-year-old goodgirl to being bought and paid for by the French mob. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.

Italian? Duh.

Irish? Absolutely.

Russian? Japanese? Yes. I knew those existed, but this? And in this little nothing of a town? No, I had no idea.

And what now? What does the fact that Christophe either bought me at the auction, or stole me from it, mean for me?

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