Page 11 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

I can clearly see that amused, smug smirk of his in my mind as I once again try to follow the sound of his voice. It’s a little easier now since he sounded closer. I get an arrow ready just in case.

There’s movement off to the right, and I peer over just in time to see red and brown leaves kicked up in a flurry start to flutter and settle back to the ground. I raise my bow, sighting down the arrow as I move it with the sound of his steps.

At this point, I don’t give a shit if or where I shoot him.

So I release the arrow.

Unfortunately, it disappears off into the distance without hitting anyone.

Alright, so I’m a bit rusty when it comes to a bow.

That was also the last arrow Robin gave me, and there’s no telling how many he has.

I’m not the least bit concerned that he’d kill me.

Sure, he didn’t mind killing back in Sherwood Forest. The reminder of his last kill—my cousin—makes me grind my teeth together.

However, this world has changed us both. I don’t believe he has it in him.

What I might be worried about is if he wants revenge for those gunshot wounds I gave him.

This time, I hear the next arrow singing through the air. I turn in time to see the exact direction it came from but not in time to avoid it from grazing my shoulder.

It rips the fabric of my shirt, the tip scratching the surface of my skin in the exact same spot it sliced through five years ago. The arrow lodges in the tree behind me, pinning that torn piece of my shirt to the trunk. Just like it did back then.

Robin is clearly not rusty when it comes to the bow.

“You said you wanted to play fair, Robin?” I call out as I throw my bow and empty quiver to the ground. “Then play fucking fair!”

I hear his own weapons thud to the forest floor.

I break out into a run.

He does the same, and now I can see him up ahead, weaving through the trees, his bare feet slapping against the dirt and snapping twigs. That’s probably going to hurt him later.

If I don’t kill him first.

The chase goes on until sweat is beading across my brow, my legs burn, and I’m panting for air. I’ve only lost sight of him a couple times. He’s quicker than me, but what slows him down enough for me to keep up is when he reaches a denser part of the woods and has to search for a safer route.

If there’s one good thing that’s come from all of this, it’s that I’m thoroughly distracted from…

Nope.

I push myself harder until I finally start to gain on him. He must be pushing himself hard too considering he hasn’t opened his mouth to say something annoying in a while.

When he reaches a fallen tree, he struggles a little too long to get over it. As I get closer, I see his face screwed up in a grimace as he steps up on top of it, his feet most likely already causing him a lot of pain, made worse as they rub across the rough bark.

I’m not sure, and I don’t care.

He vaults over the tree trunk just as I reach it. My legs are taller, and I manage to jump it much easier. Using the trunk as leverage, I push myself off on the other side, throwing myself forward and crashing into Robin’s back.

We both go down onto the hard ground.

Robin squirms beneath me, wiggling around until he’s on his back.

“Fuck,” he grunts as he struggles to throw me off, but I refuse to budge. He’s completely breathless from the chase, his face, neck, and chest flushed a bright red. “You weigh like a thousand pounds, you fucking behemoth.”

He continues his futile writhing as I get my legs fixed firmly on either side of his thighs, pinning him down even more effectively. He’s not small, but I’m still bigger, heavier, and stronger.

His fists come up, and he lands a couple decent hits to my stomach and side before I grab both of his wrists in my hands.

Leaning over him, I slam his wrists to the ground above his head, pulling another grunt from him.

His entire body continues bucking under me, his hips thrusting up as he refuses to give up the fight.

“Get the fuck off me, you giant!”

That strange phenomenon from before comes over me again.

It’s the way his body moves against mine, still a little wet from his swim and now with sweat.

Half naked, squirming and struggling and fighting against me.

His chest heaving, his pants and grunts warming the air around us.

Where my hands touch the smooth, tanned skin around his wrists burn, like we might both catch fire.

No force in heaven or hell could stop what my body decides to do next.

A feral groan rips up my throat, and my hips grind down on his.

Robin freezes.

So do I.

We both stop breathing as his wide eyes meet mine. I swear I can translate everything within their green depths because it’s a reflection of what I know is in my own.

Shock. Fear. Confusion.

Panic.

I’m not sure how long we stay like that, trapped in a bubble where time stands still on the outside. Inside, there’s just the heat of our bodies and the chaos of our minds.

However much time passes, it’s probably long enough for him to feel how hard I am through my jeans. Definitely long enough for me to feel his own cock give a twitch inside his swim trunks.

That’s when I finally come to my senses.

Letting go of his wrists, I climb off of him and scramble backwards.

I move so fast I don’t realize where I am until my back crashes into the tree behind me.

The impact forces the air that had been stuck in my lungs out.

Now that I’m finally breathing again, I give myself a moment to rest there and catch my breath.

Robin slowly lifts himself off the ground until he’s sitting too. I can feel his eyes boring into me even though my gaze has dropped to the dirt.

I can’t fucking look at him.

The silence is too heavy, but when he speaks, it’s even worse.

“Um. Are you—”

I throw my hand up, and he actually shuts his mouth.

Without saying a word, I stand to my feet. My dick has calmed down in the wake of my panic, so at least I don’t have to worry about that. My legs, however, feel weak as I turn my back on Robin, my feet moving too slowly as though I’m trudging through muddy water.

As I walk away, I expect him to try to stop me. He doesn’t, which surprises me nearly as much as what just happened.

What shocks me even more than either of those things?

By the time I reach my truck and drive off, I’m wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped.