Into Temptation
Page 73
“Give me your hands.” Just issuing the command makes my dick throb.
She holds up her arms, her eye contact as captivating as her obedience.
I lace her wrists together with swift movements. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” She purses her lips. “I’d love you a whole lot more if you were naked.”
“I’ll give it to you when I’m ready.” I want her so badly I’m damn near punching a hole through my zipper. But I need her to beg for my cock before I pull it out.
Unwinding the rope to the tree, I loop it around the trunk, tighten it, knot it, and give the binding a hard yank. On her back with her arms stretched overhead, her wrists are fettered together against the trunk. She’s not going anywhere.
I edge back, rise to my full height, and stop breathing. Seeing her like this… My God, it’s morally wrong. Unholy as hell. And absurdly, wonderfully right.
Arms bound and thighs spread, she’s all curves and forbidden crevices, flesh and trembling breaths, soft mounds and tight holes.
Blood surges to my cock, and I stroke myself through the jeans. My muscles tense, fighting against the impulse to fall on her like an inexperienced boy.
While I might be inexperienced, I’m not without discipline. I’ve had years to think about this, plan it, and make it good for her. But I wasn’t prepared for this…this feral, liberating reaction to the sight of her naked and tied up. It’s a compelling, possessive sense of power, flexing and stretching inside me like a pair of wings.
“You’re beautiful.” Inadequate words for the image before me.
“Please, Jake.” She plants her feet on the blanket and twists her wrists against the rope. “Stop teasing me. I need you with me. In me. Please, hurry.”
Her begging balances me. My legs move on their own. My knees land between her thighs, and I yank down my zipper, rubbing and stroking my boner while trying to pull it out. Soothing the painful throb, halting the oncoming release, I don’t know what I’m doing beyond the mindless need to fill her.
Her breathing accelerates as I blanket her body with mine. Desperation overrides control. My pulse skyrockets, locking my jaw and pounding my eardrums. I crush my mouth to hers, and the last shreds of my restraint evaporate.
I sweep my tongue past her lips, seeking her depths, craving something I can’t name, aching for the hot wet of her mouth and the clenching grip of her cunt.
“You’re shaking,” she breathes into the kiss.
Mindless happiness vibrates my entire body. My dick’s in my hand, and I’m sliding the head along her slit. She’s bound and nude beneath me. I’m inhaling her sweet breath, seconds from experiencing the squeeze of her pussy. Of course, I’m fucking shaking. I’m hemorrhaging nerves and drunken desire.
With a fumbling hand, I line myself up and find her eyes.
At the edge of my periphery, her tongue touches her lip. Her chest heaves, jiggling her tits. Her thighs quiver around my hips. Oh, the things I want to command her to do…
Finger your cunt. Choke on my cock. Bend over. Ass up. Take it. Beg me.
The space between us narrows and closes. Our lips connect. My cock brushes against her dewy heat. My brain stops working. I’m in a zone. A skin on skin, mouth to mouth, carnal, reckless, crazed animal zone.
Until I hear something.
Movement beyond the trees.
I go still, listening.
Nothing.
Did I imagine it?
The air shifts near the trail, and I jerk my gaze to Barnabe. He doesn’t twitch.
“What is it?” She follows my gaze.
Water babbles through the rocky creek bed, splashing the ravine in noise.
“Thought I heard something.” I return my attention to her warm, wet center.
I only need to push, and I’ll finally be inside her.
A crunching sound drifts from the trail.
Footsteps? I grit my teeth, head tilted, and hold my breath.
Barnabe flicks his tail. His ears. His neck.
He senses something.
My heart rate kicks up.
“A coyote?” Her wide eyes scan the perimeter.
“Shh.” I sit back on my heels and fight the zipper over my erection as my hearing tunes in to the dark.
Silence.
I don’t trust it and drag my abandoned shirt over Conor’s body. It’ll just take me a second to check it out. As I reach for the rope on her wrists, a twig snaps behind me.
She gasps, and I swing around. My gaze collides with my brother’s through the trees.
I jump to my feet and try to block his view of her body. “What the hell are—?”
Jarret stumbles into the clearing, hands clasped on his head, eyes stark, and mouth stuffed with something soft. A bandana? The chilling look on his face screams, Run, run, run!
Confusion steals my breath. Shock paralyzes my limbs. Denial scrambles my brain.
“Jake!” Conor kicks my leg as panic shrieks through her voice. “Untie me!”
Quicker to react, she must’ve seen them before I did.
Two men in ski masks. Swift, threatening strides. Shotguns ticking between everything that moves. Lorne emerges from the trail between them, hands behind his back and a gag in his mouth.
“What the fuck?” My voice cracks, and my stomach bottoms out. “Lower your guns!”
I have no weapons. Nothing to fight with but my hands.
Conor doesn’t even have that.
“Don’t move.” One of the masked men rushes forward, his rifle trained on my chest.
I don’t recognize the voice and don’t waste time inspecting the eyes in the mask. I launch toward Conor, falling to my knees and diving for the knot on her wrists.
Goddammit, it’ll take forever to untie her. Fuck fuck fuck!
“Told you not to move.” Footsteps advance, kicking gravel and hardening my stomach.
The second man ushers Jarret and Lorne closer, jabbing their backs with the barrel of the gun. They shout behind the gags and trip over rocks. There must’ve been a scuffle on the ridge, because neither are wearing their hats.
“Hurry.” Conor scoots toward the tree, attempting to put slack on the rope.
The wheezing sounds of her breaths reinforce my number one priority. I’m nothing if not her protector.
“Don’t come any closer.” I tear at the knot, unable to loosen it. I made it too damn tight, and my sweaty hands keep slipping. “Just tell me what you want.”
A boot rams into my side, shooting pain through my ribs and knocking me onto my back.
“Help! Somebody, help!” She screams at the top of her lungs and fights the rope, causing the shirt to fall and expose her nudity.
Motherfuckers are going to pay for that. Rage crashes through me as I roll back and grab her hips, desperate to cover her.
The masked man towers over me. “Sorry about the headache.”
I glance up. “What—?”
He slams the stock of the shotgun into my skull.
Pain captures me in its fist and rattles my teeth.
I lose my hold on Conor.
Blackness crashes in and sinks me into the ground.
I lose my hold on everything.
————————————
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Two is a Lie
Three is a War
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Dirty Ties
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New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.
EMAIL: pamgodwinauthor@gmail.com
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