Page 10 of Taken in the Tree Farm
Arousal.
I can smell it on her, that betraying scent that says her body knows exactly what it wants even if her mind is fighting it.
"Please," she whispers again, but this time it sounds different. Less like a plea for mercy and more like... she needs this as badly as I do.
I reach out slowly, letting her track the movement of my hand. She flinches when my fingers touch her wrist, but she doesn't pull away.
She just watches me with those wide eyes as I trace the velvet rope binding her wrists together.
"Such soft rope," I murmur. "I chose it specifically. Pretty and pink, just like you."
My fingers trail up her forearm, feeling the way she shivers beneath my touch. Her skin is cold from the snow, pebbled with goosebumps, but warming quickly.
"You're freezing," I observe, my hand moving higher, skimming over her bicep to her bare shoulder. "Should have worn something warmer."
"You—" Her voice breaks, her frustration obvious. "You dressed me in this."
"I supposed I did." I let my hand drift along her collarbone, feeling the way her breath hitches. "I thought you'd look beautiful as a sugarplum fairy. Was I wrong?"
She doesn't answer, just stares at me with those wide, confused eyes. My hand slides up to cup the side of her neck, thumb pressing gently against her racing pulse.
"Your heart is pounding," I say softly. "Are you scared, sugarplum? Or is it something else?"
"I don't—" She tries to turn her face away, but I hold firm. Not painful, just insistent. "I don't know what you want from me."
"Liar." I lean in closer, my mouth near her ear. "Your body knows. Even if your mind is fighting it, your body knows exactly what it wants."
She makes a sound—half gasp, half whimper—that goes straight to my cock.
I've been hard since the moment I saw her wake up in the snow, but this... touching her finally, feeling her warmth, hearing those little sounds she makes... this is testing my control.
My free hand comes up with the string of Christmas lights, and I let them slide across her skin. Down her other arm, across her chest just above the bodice of her costume, along the bare skin of her throat.
She shudders so sweetly.
"Let's see how pretty you look wrapped up for me," I whisper against her ear.
That breaks whatever spell was holding her frozen. She twists hard, using the bedpost as leverage, and manages to shove against my chest with her bound hands. I let her push me back a step—just one—because I want to see what she'll do.
She darts to the side, trying to slip past me toward the door.
Not happening.
I move with her, faster than she expects, and catch her around the waist. She struggles immediately, all that gorgeous fire finally igniting. Her bound hands beat against my chest and shoulders, her body twisting in my grip.
"Let me go!" She's panting, fighting hard, and it's exactly what I wanted.
I tighten my grip and spin us around, walking her backward until her back hits something solid.
Not the bedpost this time. The wall next to the fireplace, where I'd positioned one of the massive evergreen trees. It's wrapped in red lights that glow softly, and when I press her against it, the bark must dig into her back through the thin fabric.
She gasps, hands pushing against my chest, but I'm so much stronger. So much bigger. I press my body against hers, pinning her to the tree, and she has nowhere to go.
"Stop fighting," I say, but there's no real command in it. I don't want her to stop. I love this—the struggle, the resistance.
"Fuck you," she spits, and then her knee comes up toward my groin.
I block it with my thigh, pressing my leg between hers and forcing them apart. The move puts me even closer, our bodies aligned in ways that make her breath catch and my control slip another notch.
