Page 17 of Hide From Me

“No,” I gasp without thinking. Why don’t I say yes? Why can’t I force myself to utter the one word that would give me everything I want: a safe space, a place where I can just go numb without the hassle of walls and barriers? He tightens his grip on my head, and I hiss at the sensation of each small, thin strand growing tighter.

“Taming a brat like you sounds so tempting.”

“Bet you won’t do it,” I taunt, my tongue darting out to wet my bottom lip.

"Games are my thing, baby, but I can't play them by myself." His gaze lingers on my mouth for a split second before his eyes return to mine. I wish I understood why the storm in them remains so contained—why he never lets the lightning crackle or the clouds take over his irises.

His words finally register in my mind, causing my brows to furrow. As I part my lips to ask what that's supposed to mean, he quickly shoves something into my mouth.

My tongue runs over the rough texture as I try to spit it out, but his hand clasps over my mouth.

"Well… um…" he starts, releasing my hair and using the leverage from my face to push my head back against the tree's bark. I've never heard him sound so unsure. He always exudes confidence and strength, but right now, something is building within him that I can't break into his head to figure out.“Look, sunshine, I'm not used to this position–the having to ask and not demand, but I’ll try to figure it out.”

What is he talking about? I want him to take over. I want him to lose control and ravish me like a man starved completely.

He clears his throat, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Why does something in my head warm as it finally clicks that he thinks my no was genuine? Lance just took andtookand never cared. Yet the man I'm so dead set on keeping at arm's length kneels before me with goosebumps on his skin and a raging hard-on,asking.

I nod.

“Don’t worry, baby. I just want to make you feel good. No feelings.” His motions are fluid and light as he pops the button of my jeans. I never knew a hand could hold so many callouses but as I shift to my arse to give him more room and his palm slips over my smooth mound, my lashes flutter from each rough bump on his skin.

“Shit.” he hisses as his fingers slip between my lips and my thighs clench around him.

“You’re so fuckin wet sunshine,” he rasps, his british accent more pronounced than I’m used to. Most days, he almost carries an American accent, but right now, his voice is so rough and smooth it makes me want to ride his fingers until the storm stops. His knee nudges my own, forcing my legs to part to where he can shift between them. It feels so taboo and wrong being spread out and soaked for a man in the middle of the woods with the rain pouring but I can't bring myself to care as he drags my arousal up to my clit. Each shallowbreath I take bounces back at my nose, and my vision blurs as water drips into my eyes from my brow.

“Is it for me?” his finger slips back again and barely dips into my cunt before pulling back. I whimper, but it's quickly muffled, and my cheeks heat.

“It better be.” He grunts and finally allows his knuckles to pass through, curling them at an angle that has my walls wrapping around him so tightly I have to question if I've starved myself of sexual attention for too long.

“Damn it–I mean...” his breathing shallows, gaze dropping to the steady rhythm he's creating within my jeans. In this light, he resembles the monster I imagine he's hiding within, but the way he stumbles makes me wonder if maybeI'mthe one who's wrong. It's like he's manipulating my impression of him without even realizing it. With every deep stroke, my body buzzes, but it’s only intensified as he presses his thumb firmly to my heated bundle of nerves. My nails dig into the earth as he speeds up, and his focus flicks back to mine the moment I moan against his palm.

“God, baby, you're making this really difficult for me. I’m trying to be good, but you keep making all those pretty little noises.” He grits through clenched teeth.

My legs tremble as he forces them to stay spread around him.

“If I let you go, can you try to be quiet for me?” His fingers loosen around my jaw but hesitate as if contemplating letting my mouth go. I swear to everything that is holy if he does I won’t make a fucking sound, I just want to keep this feeling of him hitting a spot I thought only I’d ever reach with such perfect precision that I cant focus on the dirt under my nails or the smell of rain on my skin.

“Please,” he begs.

Oh god. How can a man sound so fucking perfect sounding so desperate. I eagerly nod and reach for his wrist, trying to jerk it away.

“Can I fuck my hand while I watch you come apart around my fingers?” He asks through clenched teeth. He quickly follows the quiet demand hidden asa question, and starts working at his belt. My eyes widen as I flick my focus between him and his pants. Instead of pulling out what I'm so desperate to see, a pained look crosses his expression, and his biceps flex with restraint.

Judging by the very rigid outline around his zipper, I'm sure he's throbbing. If I keep pushing, will he snap? Will he finally let go of that good boy persona and show me who he really is?

I shake my head, and a broken moan is muffled by whatever fabric is in my mouth as he plunges his finger deeper and faster than he has yet. I'm enjoying desperate needy Moe and loving the power, but he’s slipping. I know all it'd take is just a little nudge.

“Please, baby,” he murmurs, his breathing shallow. Am I allowed to take this damn fabric out yet? I want to yell at him to treat me how Ineed to be treated.I want to scream that I didn't mean it when I said no, but he grips my wrist as I raise my hand to pull the fabric out.

“Fuck, please…” Moe trails off, breathing heavily as I clench and pulsate around his finger. It feels like my skin is burning, but the rain falling from the sky does little to extinguish the fire along my flesh. His head leans against mine, every fiber in my being begging me to close that space, but I can't.

“Please, please, please.” He mutters like a mantra, pumping into me with each begging breath he takes. He’s just as wrecked as I am, with his muscles coiled tight and body trembling with need. At this moment, I realize I don’t like all this power. I want what he can give, if it takes me saying yes for now on I’ll say it like a damn prayer.

My abdomen tightens, and I nod, my hands finding their place back into the soft ground below. I'm teetering too close to the edge and refuse to fall over without seeing him get off on how good he's making me feel.

I lean against the tree and close my eyes, willing myself to hang on just a moment longer, but the sound of spit has my focus lazily drawing back to his. There's that storm. His eyes are almost black with how dark they've become.

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