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"Three years." The words burn in my throat. Something about tonight has scraped open those barely healed wounds and I need to cut out the hurt. I need to cauterize them instead ofignoring it. And right now, I want tobleedfor her and get it all out. "Three fucking years, Ronnie. You ran from me, hid my child, built a life without me." My free hand yanks at my laces, freeing my painfully hard cock. "And now you think you can just take what you want?"
"Please," she whimpers, and the sound of her begging nearly undoes me. Her hips cant forward, seeking friction. "I need you."
"You've always needed me." I grip her thigh, hitching it up over my hip. "You just never had the courage to admit it."
With one hand still pinning her wrists, I lift her, her legs automatically wrapping around my waist. The head of my cock slides through her slickness, teasing her entrance. She's absolutely drenched, her arousal coating me, making me dizzy with want.
"I'll take my apology out on this perfect body," I tell her, voice rough with desire. "Make you feel every day you kept from me."
In one brutal thrust, I bury myself to the hilt inside her. The sensation is overwhelming—her tight heat gripping me, her broken cry filling the night air. I have to pause, forehead pressed against hers, wings trembling with the effort of restraint. She feels like sin and salvation wrapped into one, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering.
"Fuck, that's it," I groan, starting to move in deep, punishing strokes. "Take it like the pretty little slut you are."
Her head falls back against the tree trunk, throat working as she swallows a moan. "Araton, gods?—"
"Is this what you wanted when you ran?" I snap my hips forward, driving deeper. "To be hunted down and fucked against a tree like a wanton little whore?"
Her inner walls clench around me at the degradation, and I smile against her neck. Always so proper, my Ronnie, but she melts when I talk filthy to her.
"You're fucking magnificent," I praise, biting at the junction of her neck and shoulder. "Taking my cock so well, so wet and eager for me."
Each thrust drives a breathy gasp from her lips. The scent of sex and sweat fills the space between my wings, making my head swim. I adjust my grip, changing the angle, and her next cry tells me I've found that perfect spot inside her. I make sure to hit it with every stroke, watching her face contort with pleasure.
"That's right, fierce one," I murmur, my rhythm becoming more erratic as heat builds at the base of my spine. "I'm going to fill this sweet cunt up, remind you who you belong to."
Her eyes fly open, locking with mine. "I'm close," she gasps. "So close?—"
"Come around my cock," I command, releasing her wrists to grip her hips with both hands, driving into her with renewed force. "Now."
She shatters gorgeously, back arching, nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood. Her inner muscles convulse around me in tight, rhythmic pulses, and the sight of her—head thrown back in abandon, my name on her lips—sends me tumbling over the edge with her.
I bury myself deep one final time, groaning as I empty inside her. The world contracts to nothing but sensation—her body clenching around mine, her heartbeat thundering against my chest, the sweet smell of her hair filling my nostrils.
For a moment, we remain locked together, panting heavily, the forest silent except for the sound of our labored breathing. Her head drops to my shoulder, face pressed against my neck. I can feel the wetness of tears on her skin, though whether from the intensity of her release or something deeper, I can't tell.
26
RONNIE
My knees don't quite work as I fumble with my dress, pulling it down over my hips. The cool night air raises goosebumps along my skin where it's still damp with sweat. My underclothes are destroyed beyond repair, so I leave them crumpled on the forest floor—a casualty of Araton's impatience.
The forest feels different now. Less dangerous but more complicated. My body still hums with aftershocks of pleasure, a deep satisfaction settling into my muscles, but my mind is a storm of conflicting emotions.
"Stream's this way," I murmur, not quite meeting his golden eyes. I can feel his gaze on me like a physical weight as he tucks his shirt back in and straightens his clothing.
The blood has dried on his forearms and chest in dark rivulets, looking almost black in the moonlight. The reality of what happened crashes back—how close I'd come to being mauled, how Araton had appeared like some avenging deity from the shadows, his wings spread wide as he tore through the beast to protect me.
To protect me. The thought lodges in my chest like a splinter.
We walk through the trees in silence, following the gentle downward slope toward where the stream cuts through the forest floor. My body aches pleasantly, a reminder of how completely I'd surrendered to him. Again. Just like every time before.
But this time felt different. This wasn't our usual pattern of me pushing him away immediately after. He said things... things that sounded almost like he'd missed me. Like he'd wanted more than just my body.
I shake my head slightly. No. I can't afford those kinds of delusions.
The stream comes into view, water glinting silver in the moonlight. It's shallow but clear, running cold even in summer. Araton crouches at the edge, plunging his arms in without hesitation. The blood clouds around his skin before being swept away by the current.
"You're quiet," he says without looking up, his voice carefully neutral.