by Wyatt, Dani
I asked about her art and I want to see every painting. Know every brush stroke.
She told me her mother passed away from pancreatic cancer, and from the crack in her voice she’s still raw, so I didn’t push that subject. But I had a feeling it was connected to her asshole stepfather, so at some point I’m going to deal with him and find out his damage, and make sure he never gives her a second of trouble again.
I asked her how she picked her place to camp, seeing that it’s on Emmett’s property, and she told me about her grandparents and how they used to come up to the Manistee State land, but the road is closed right now. Which is true. So, she took the next road she found, headed up what she thought would be the same mountain and public land.
That’s fair enough, and an honest mistake, but knowing Emmett, if he’d found her there first...well, he may not have been so understanding.
Her favorite foods are Oreos, and thanks to her Irish grandparents, corned beef sandwiches. I devoured every morsel of information, storing it away for later.
As much as I felt I could carry her around on my shoulder like that for the rest of our lives, when we got to my place, I finally set her down, as much as it pained me to release her.
Standing here now with her ice blonde hair hanging in a mess around her shoulders, perfect doesn’t come close. Her haunting, sky blue eyes are unlike anything I’ve seen before, and it feels like her gaze is piercing straight through my waking heart.
There’s only dim light coming from the sky now, the sun only a shred of orange banding low in the trees, and the breeze is blowing her hair across her perfect face as her hands come up to fuss with the errant strands and secure them behind her sweet ears.
She licks her flawless, deep pink lips, and each breath is a struggle as I imagine what her mouth will taste like. Sugar, honey, cherries...and every sweet and perfect thing in this world.
We stand there for a long moment, assessing each other, the memory of her pointing the rifle at my face edges the corners of my lips upward and I see her narrow her eyes.
“Something funny?” There’s a hint of fear in her face, but she’s brave too, and that combined with her tiny stature, sweet round cheeks, ‘End of Days’ t-shirt and pink combat-style boots, I’ve never seen anything like her.
“No.” I can’t help but close the small space between us, reach down and touch her shoulder, then run my rough fingertips down her arm until I reach her hand, toying with her fingers, lost in the sensation of her soft skin.
She looks down where we are connected, then up at my face, and I wonder if she sees a monster like most do. I’m not conventionally handsome by any stretch and I never much cared. I just don’t want her to be scared. Or repulsed, because that could sure put a damper on what I have planned for her.
For us.
When her eyes fall away, a chill shakes me and I feel a loss until she looks upward again, her wild eyes on mine, eyelashes fluttering. Her face is as perfect as a porcelain doll, round and innocent, and the contrast with her baggy jeans, womanly curves and windblown hair, fresh face with no pretense, only hardens my cock more and makes my pulse race and throb in my temples.
The uncertainty in her eyes is mixed with curiosity, and my need to possess her is taking over as I struggle to keep my shaking hands from reaching out to rip the clothes from her body. A low growl spills from my lips as I think about lifting her back up, only this time, mounting her on my shoulders with her pussy firmly attached to my watering mouth.
I’ve never felt settled. There’s no trauma in my upbringing, but I’ve battled my own demons, nonetheless. A constant sense of tension I could never quite quell.
But her eyes, her being, brings me a peace I didn’t know I was seeking. Until right now.
In contrast, she’s released a beast inside of me. Her innocence is my muse. Her flesh is my canvas, where I will show the world she is possessed by me. Red and purple marks from teeth and fingertips, clutching around her neck...the thoughts make me feel drunk and I fear what will happen when the time comes for me to take what is mine.
“What’s your name?” She cuts into my thoughts, making me draw a painful breath. Even her voice is perfect, soft yet fierce, and its vibrations rattle me to my core.
“Mathias Rogers,” I answer, dropping my hand again to hers, only this time interlacing our fingers as heat encases me and my balls grow heavy with what I intend to give her. “What is your name?”
My hands tingle as her soft skin warms my fingers. Her eyes flicker as she looks up at me, her pouty pink lips parting as she answers.
“Astrid.” The sound of her name sets off some music inside of me, and as she looks up, head back, she is more beautiful with every passing moment.
“Astrid what?”
“Edwards. Why? You gonna do a background check?” Her smart-ass answer has me envisioning turning that plump ass over my knee and giving it a few swats.
She shifts her weight and winces slightly on her right foot.
“You are hurt.” The words anger me. Having her in pain is unacceptable. I have no idea what I would do if someone made her cry.
The thought has me gritting my teeth, thinking of all the times I’ve split thousands of pieces of wood outside with my ax, knowing right now I would do the same to anyone’s head that would bring harm to her.
“No, just a little twisted I think.”
“You’ll stay here tonight, with me.” I nod toward the house. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I should probably fight you on that, but since the bear has taken up residence in my tent...” She twists her cherry lips to the side, raising one eyebrow. “I don’t have a lot of options.”
I nod, and I want her to know as much as I want to take her, claim her, hear her scream, I also want to love her. To be soft and caring with her. Bathe her in bubbles that smell like roses and bring her jelly donuts and stuffed animals and watch her color and paint or do whatever it is that makes her happy.
“Besides,” she continues, and I let every word sink into me, sweet as any candy I’ve ever tasted. “Your place is...” She looks upward at my home, her eyes wide. A thought passes across her face, her lips curling upward, and I want to see her smile every day for the rest of time. “Not what I expected.”
“It’s too big. I only live in three rooms.” I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly ashamed of the extravagance because it seems to put her off.
“Did you build it?”
“Yes, some of it. I had it built, but I designed it. Chopped trees for years, preparing.”
“Got it. Well, at least it will keep the rain off my head.” Her sweet smile once again only seals her fate. “It’s...” She pauses, giving me a wry smile on a shrug. “Adequate.”
She is mine now and all I want is to have her secured here.
With me.
Safe behind my door. The knot inside of me will never release until I feel the tight, warm wetness of her pussy wrapping around my cock.
I shake my head, the thoughts so unfamiliar I’m not sure who I am anymore. She’s so young. Perfect and sweet. The things I want to do may ruin her and the thought of anyone hurting her has me near crazed.
“Why did you build such a big place if you weren’t going to use it?”
Her eyes are soft and innocent, and until right now I didn’t know the answer to her question.
“I built it for my future. I just didn’t know what that was...” A growl rumbles from deep inside me, the next words fighting on my tongue. I don’t want to scare her, but I need her to know what I’m feeling as I press ahead with the thought. “...Until now.”
When I see two pebbled nipples pressing outward on the thin gray fabric of her t-shirt, I nearly cum in my pants as my mouth waters. She shakes her head as the breeze moves her hair across her lips, the movement of her tits drawing my eye as I realize she’s not wearing a bra.
A guttural sound tries to lurch from my throat, there’s a fist around my heart, squeezing harder wit
h every moment. She’s so precious, so sexy, yet unsuspecting. My cock aches as it tries to break from the confines of my jeans.
Fuck it.
I reach down with my other hand, gathering her hair and pulling back, exposing the curve of her neck. I can smell her arousal, and the childlike trust in her eyes shakes me to my core.
Still clasping her hand, I scoop her up and into my chest, ignoring her playful protest as her arms fly around my neck.
“What the heck...you should give a girl a heads up before you man-handle her...”
“Sorry.” I grunt. “I need to take you inside. I need to make sure you are okay. I need to...” I let my voice trail off, lest I scare her with what I need.
I need my mouth on your cunt. I need to feel you tremble as you scream my name. I need to spread your legs and find my home inside you.
I need my seed rooted in your womb.
I need to give you my first time, and I pray you will be giving me yours.
I’m sure she must hear the pounding of my heart as I hold her against me, my cock twitching and painful, feeling her softness melt into my hard torso.
Her tiny, lush body fits perfectly in my arms as I stomp up the stairs, carrying my future bride over the threshold of our home.
5
Astrid
“OUCH!” I KNIT MY BROW and tighten my lips, pouting as Mathias turns my ankle in a slow gentle circle, his massive hands covering my entire boot and halfway up my calf.
They are warm, the palms rough, heavier and more powerful than I could imagine, yet as gentle as a mother holding her baby.
“That hurts bad?” He looks at me and I think I see his eyes well with tears.
I shrug a shoulder and admit, “It’s not that bad. I’m playing it up for sympathy.” I hold back the smile when he gives me a dark scowl. “Sorry?” I shrug again with both shoulders, this time turning my palms up on bent elbows and squinting one eye in apology.
He’s kneeling on the floor with me leaning back against about a thousand pillows he insisted on gathering from all around the room, putting them behind my back and under my knee and ankle as he settled me on the sofa.
His cabin is amazing. Like Architectural Digest or Telluride amazing, with a three-story log beam ceiling in the great room, and an eclectic mix of vintage craftsman, leather and some contemporary but cozy and overstuffed upholstered furniture in creams and whites, with rich navy blue oversize chairs by the fireplace and velvet pillows tossed everywhere.
The contrast between Mathias and his home only makes him more intriguing. I expected an efficient cabin, with the essentials. Maybe even a hand pump at the sink and no indoor plumbing. The reality is far from it, and I want to know all about this contrast of a rugged man with such refined taste.
“So...” I look to the ceiling, then crane my neck around to look at the monstrous kitchen, outfitted with gleaming stainless-steel appliances, knotty, alder-looking handmade wood cabinets, and a warm, cream and black granite on every flat surface. “Your place is okay.” I hold back the sarcastic smile as I raise an eyebrow at the monster tending to me in such a gentle manner.
“It gets me by.” He retorts, mimicking my sarcasm as he sniffs, lowering the towel full of ice onto my ankle. “My mother helped me decorate.”
“Yeah, it’s roughing it, for sure.” I crane my neck to look at all the details of the room. “She did a good job. Does she live close?”
“No.” He stands, letting one hand linger on my shoulder before moving it up my neck to my chin.
With slight pressure, he tips my head back so I’m looking at the enormity of him. His silver-gray eyes look dark in this light, and I see what I think is the same lust behind them that has my panties wet and my nipples hard. “She and my father raised me near here. But, they moved to Palm Springs.” He shakes his head in disbelief, but I sense no animosity. Then he asks, “Are you hungry?”
Seeing the softness in his eyes when he talks about his parents makes me smile inside. “No.” I shake my head. “I ate the world’s biggest hamburger at Duffy’s. And drank Blue Moons.” I rub my distended stomach as he narrows his eyes.
“You had three beers?” His eyebrows raise as he gives me a disappointed, fatherly sort of look. “Then you ran out and drove away.” His voice is deep as he shakes his head. “You will never again drive after you’ve had anything to drink.”
I screw up my face at the implication he’s going to somehow be an overseer in my life. “Uh, okay, Dad. But, you’re sort of not the boss of me.” I chide, but the fingers on my chin shift, his thumb and forefinger now pinching my flesh holding my gaze onto his. “Oww.” I wrinkle my nose.
“You will never again drive after you’ve had anything to drink.” He repeats, his words solid, each one vibrating inside of me like the beat of a drum.
I swallow and pull one of the loose pillows next to me to my chest, curling my fingers around the edges, feeling I need something between us. Besides, my traitorous nipples are about to poke holes through my t-shirt.
And I like this t-shirt.
There’re a few beats of heavy silence, then his body language shifts, his eyes flitting up and down my body before coming to rest on my face, this time with a new softness. “I’ll get you some hot chocolate. You like hot chocolate?”
“Sure.” I nod. “Who doesn’t like hot chocolate?” The summer day’s air has chilled and the wall of windows across from the sofa are open, letting in a good breeze to spin through the living area.
When he releases my chin, there’s a twinge in my neck but there’s a bigger twinge between my legs. He makes me feel incredibly tiny as he moves away. I lick my lips, my mouth dry as I watch his massive form lumber into the kitchen. Boots scraping on the wood floor and I feel the vibration of each heavy step as he goes.
I never much considered what it would feel like to be taken, like in the old pirate or Viking sort of romance books, but when he threw me over his shoulder there was an immediate shift inside of me. My heartbeat raced, wetness coated my underwear and images of him holding me against his body while he used me like some human Fleshlight had me nearly convulsing into an orgasm as he stomped through the woods.
There’s some banging of cupboards and clanking of pots behind me in the kitchen. As he works, I ponder my fate with this confusing but ovary exploding mountain man.
When he returns, he places a tray on the table next to where I’m hunkered in the corner of the sofa and hands me a white ceramic mug, the scent of chocolate swirling around my nose, making my mouth water. The floating mini marshmallows on top make me smile as I think of his huge fingers plucking them out of a bag and placing them there.
“I also had these.” He points to cookies as large as a saucer. “One of my hobbies. I always loved cookies, my mother was an expert baker. The year before they moved away, I made her teach me how to bake so my cookie addiction wouldn’t go unsatisfied. These are chocolate chunk, with pretzels and salted caramel. People in town seem to like them.” He grunts the words as if uncertain I will like what he has to say.
“Wow.” My eyes widen at the contrast, this beast of a man towering over me, with the baking skills of a grandma. “You’re full of surprises.”
He pinches his nose on a sniff as the wind picks up, making me shiver as it howls outside and blows through the house.
I bring the cup of rich, decadent liquid to my lips and take a sip, unable to stifle the sigh it evokes. As he watches and I make satisfied sounds, I think I see a little flicker of pride in his eyes.
“I’ll make a fire. Try the cookie. I quite enjoy seeing you put things I’ve made into your mouth.”
My pulse hums at the comment, and I wonder if he’s playing with me or if maybe the desire that’s swelling inside of me is also resonating with him.
It is a relief when he moves to start the fire, not looking my way, so I can ogle him like a misogynistic construction worker. He loads the hearth with logs, there’s the sound of crumbling paper, and within a c
ouple minutes is the fireplace is blazing.
It is glorious to simply watch him work and move. I’ve never been so enraptured just watching someone. Every move is sexy, and the pulse beat between my legs simply doesn’t end.
With the fire throwing heat, he moves to close a few of the windows, calming the chilling breeze in the air.
With each bite of the cookie I let out another little moan.
“You made this? If orgasms had a flavor, this would be it, because my mouth is having multiples...”
He turns, the darkness in the centers of his eyes now flaming, and to my surprise, instead of smiling or making some light comment, his hands turn to fists.
“You should try to rest.” He grunts as he lumbers out of the room and down a hallway, leaving me biting my lip and wishing I had a better filter sometimes.
I finish my cookie in silence, wishing Mathias would come back. Listening to the fire crackle and the wind howl, I wonder how I let some stranger throw me over his shoulder, march me back to his cabin in the woods, and make me hot chocolate while I fantasize about the bulge that seems ever present under the fabric of his jeans.
I shouldn’t want him. I should be planning my getaway. My ankle is barely a twinge at this point. I could run. He’s disappeared down a hallway...I should make a break for the door.
But instead I sit here. Firmly planted on his pillows, eating this orgasmic cookie.
Because, where would I go?
He could do whatever he wanted with me. I’d have no chance at fighting him off. But somehow, deep down, I know if I stay here, he will keep me protected, shielded from the threats of the forest and possibly, even the things—the person really—I’m running from.
The longer he’s gone, the more tension inside me grows. Maybe my grip on reality is cracking. Being out in the woods alone...but I’ve never wanted anyone before.
I imagine what it would feel like to kiss him. To feel those enormous, rough hands on my flesh. His mouth on my sex. The cock that would probably split me in half pressing upward, making me his...
