Page 129 of Almost Ravaged

“Why aren’t you running? You’re not even trying,” he taunts.

Heart hammering, I dart down the left side of the fork with renewed determination.

I’m running at full speed, arms pumping, chest heaving, when I slam into a surface much harder than a collection of corn stalks.

“Got her!”

Noah’s deep baritone sends a shiver down my spine, and as I look up at him, a ripple of desire courses through my body, making me tingle from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

He stares back at me, his face a mask of uncertainty.

I lift one foot and take a step back.

He captures my wrists and pulls me closer.

Gasping, I tug against his hold, testing his resilience.

When he doesn’t let go, I silently rejoice.

Warmth and hardness and that distinctive aquatic scent I love crowd me from behind. Then Mercer’s hand is on my neck, cuffing my throat.

“That was surprisingly easy, Ms. Davvies.” He gathers my hair and brushes it to one side, then twists the strands around his wrist and pulls, forcing me to expose my neck to him.

I expect a kiss. Instead, I’m greeted by sharp teeth sinking into the tender skin there.

He grips my hair harder, only stopping when I’m craning back at an uncomfortable angle, completely at his mercy. “It’s almost like you wanted to be caught,” he murmurs before he bites me again.

A moan escapes me.

“Merce,” Noah warns, his tone heated but concerned.

“She’s fine,” the man behind me taunts. “Tell him, Little Nuisance. Tell him how drenched your panties are right now. How swollen and achy you are. Tell him how wet it makes you to be manhandled and used.”

Noah grumbles under his breath, his words unintelligible.

Before I can reassure him, before I can show him I’m okay, I’m shoved to my knees.

The scents of earth and soil infiltrate my senses as I blink up at the night sky. The expanse above is speckled with stars, though many are blotted out by the shadows of the men above me.

“Easy,” Noah warns.

Mercer lets out a dark chuckle. “Precisely. She made it too easy.” He caresses my hair, tilting my head back once more. “You wanted to be caught, didn’t you, Ms. Davvies? You want to be fucked in this field, like our dirty little farm whore.”

“Jesus,” Noah hisses, tension radiating off his body.

“He’s not here right now,” Mercer snaps. “But I am. And there’s not much I love more than a slut worshipping me on her knees.”

He grasps my hair again, this time yanking hard.

I whimper.

Groaning, Noah scrubs a hand down his face.

Mercer guides my head back, his deep obsidian eyes sparkling in the starlight above.

I shudder.

Jesus may not be in the field, but this man is undoubtedly a god in his own right.