Page 69 of Like a Hurricane

I grin, “I can hear you, little storm,” I say it loud enough that it travels through the trees, “It’s like you want this to be over already. Are you that desperate princess?”

More snapping of branches and then a sweet little laugh that’s so quiet I almost miss it.

And then silence.

Clever girl.

Chuckling, I keep moving silently through the woods. We haven’t ventured too far into the woods, but it was denser here, the light dimmer since the sun couldn’t penetrate the canopy above.

I listen carefully, waiting for another snap from a branch, the crunch of rocks moving while my eyes watch every shadow for movement.

I was already fucking hard, desperate for my little storm. My fingers ached to be holding her, to be buried in her hair, my lips on her skin.

Sudden movement to the left has me swinging that way, ducking low to remain unseen but I have my eyes on her now. She moves quickly through the trees, softer and quieter than she was before, her nimble body working beautifully, and I lose sight of her as she dips into the shadows.

“I can almost taste how fucking perfect you are,” I call out, “I bet your greedy little pussy is begging to be filled. Are you wet, princess?”

She stumbles, the sound of scraping shoes and air rushing out of her lungs hits my ears. For a second, I worry she’s fallen and hurt herself, but she doesn’t cry out nor does she stop moving. It was only a matter of time before I catch her.

“I can’t wait to feel you dripping all over my cock,” I keep talking, teasing her with my words, “so wet as I slide into you so deep, you’ll feel me there for a week.”

She was up ahead, to the right and hidden behind a tree. So still and silent I’m sure she believes I’m never going to find her.

Dropping back, I step further into the density of the forest, using the shadows to my advantage as I stalk up to her, quiet and deadly. I see her right ahead of me, looking in the other direction.

She moves slowly to peer around the tree and that’s when I strike.

I lunge for her, gripping her by the back of the neck to spin her and press her chest against the tree.

She screams as I pin her there, grinding my cock into the curve of her ass.

“You’ve been teasing me with these tight as fuck jeans,” I rasp in her ear, reveling in her little whimper as I grind against her again, letting her feel how fucking hard I am for her right now. “Running through the woods like you actually want to escape me, but we both know you don’t.”

“Everett,” she moans, fingers curling into the tree as if she is trying to claw the bark right off.

“Are you wet, princess?” I growl, inhaling the scent of her hair, “Do you ache?”

“Yes,” she pushes back against me, “Don’t make me wait.”

“Needy little thing,” I praise, “I want to fill you up. Lose myself to you. Have I earned you now, baby?”

“I’m yours,” she looks over her shoulder, lids hooded over her pretty eyes, lips parted as she traces her bottom lip with her tongue.

“That’s fucking right, little storm, you are mine. My own little hurricane.”

It was cold but damn if I felt it right now, no, I was burning for her, my blood running so hot it was almost unbearable. I drop my hand from her neck, curling it around her hip to bring her further back from the tree, letting my other hand flick the button on her jeans and dive it inside, and beneath her panties.

She’s fucking drenched, “What a mess you’ve made, princess, and all of this is for me.”

“Rett, please,” She rolls her hips against my hand as I slip a finger inside of her, pressing against her clit with the heel of my palm.

“Stay still baby,” I order and when she obliges, I crouch, tugging at her pants until they’re around her ankles. I remove one shoe and then the other before I take her jeans completely off, leaving her in just a white pair of lace panties. Turning her, I press her back against the tree, her jacket still done up. She breathes heavily, her cheeks bright with a mixture of the cold and her need. I tug the zipper down but leave the jacket on before I reach into my boot and pull out the hunting knife.

Her eyes widen, “What are you doing?”

“Shh, princess,” I whisper, “Hold still.

Taking the neck of the sweater, I pull it away from her skin and place the edge of the blade to the material. The razor edge slices through the fabric as if it were nothing more than butter, and when the material parts, I take in the soft mounds of her breasts behind the white lace bra and trace my finger down the center of her stomach. Her muscles jump under the contact of my finger and when I look back up to her, desire burns so brightly in her eyes it almost flays me alive.

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