Page 23 of Run, Little Doe

The forest hums. My breath comes ragged. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this moment will ruin me for anyone else — and I don’t care.

He removes his fingers again and raises his head, and I hear myself whimpering at the loss. I can see my arousal in his beard, he leans forward, and his mask presses cool against my cheek, I can smell myself on his breath. I still can’t fully see his eyes, but Ifeelthem — everywhere his hands go, everywhere I want them to.

He flips me over onto my knees, hands still tied behind my back. His hand finds the center of my back between my shoulder blades as he pushes my face down, giving himself the perfect angle of my ass. Before I know what is happening, his cock fills me again, and the sound of his balls smacking against my pussy as he slams repeatedly into me is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

Time loses shape. There is only skin and sound, the pulse of want, the rough bark from the tree roots beneath my cheek, and the heat of his body against mine.

He slams my pussy again and again in blissful ecstasy, and I am so close to the edge. He then slips one finger into my asshole, and I come undone completely. A scream escapes me as my pussy pulses around his cock, and I swear the entire town just heard me come. The pleasure I feel is immeasurable, I’ve never felt something like this. The orgasm rips through me, making my entire body shake. It’s then that I feel his cock pulsing inside me, and I can feel his come filling me and spilling out of my pussy.

When it’s over — when I can finally breathe again — I don’t pull away. I don’t even open my eyes. I just listen to the way he breathes, ragged and low, as if he’s been holding it for years.

“Who are you?” I whisper into the dark. No answer. Only the brush of his thumb along the nape of my neck — a promise, not a reply. The night presses close again.

I know this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.

****

The Wolf

I should leave her. Walk away while I still can.

Instead. I make the conscious choice to stay — hovering in the space between restraint and need, watching the way her body trembles in the aftermath. The sound she made still echoes through me, a raw, shattering thing that stripped away everything I thought I could control.

I remove myself from her pussy, zip up my pants, and return my attention to the perfect specimen beneath me that just took my cock so well. My hands trace lightly up her spine; I can see the goose bumps left in the wake of my touch. She is so beautiful, slick with sweat, the scent of her arousal everywhere around me.

She’s more beautiful than I ever let myself imagine. The moonlight paints her in silver and shadow, and for the first time, I feel something close to fear. Not of her — of what I’ve done. Of how much I want her still. Of what she will think when she realizes who I am.

The inner war in my brain between revealing myself to her now and waiting to prolong this night just in case she can’t handle finding out who I really am. Every instinct screams to pull her back, to take her again and again until there’s nothing leftbetween us but breath and heartbeat. But I promised myself I wouldn’t lose her to the hunger. Not yet.

She stirs, eyes still half-lidded, and looks back up at me through the hooded eyes, and in that moment, I know she knows. Not my name. Butme.

My hands grip her waist, and I flip her back over onto her back, tracing kisses up her thighs, across her stomach, feather light against her breasts, watching her nipples form into stiff peaks again. She closes her eyes, and I watch as she exhales a breath of contentment.

I pull back before I give myself away. The forest watches as I fade into the dark, breathless and shaking, her scent clinging to my hands, my body, and my cock like sin.

She’ll follow. She always does. Next time, I won’t stop.

Sirena

I don’t know how long it’s been. Minutes. Hours. I have absolutely no clue what time of night it is. The world outside this place doesn’t exist anymore.

The air is thick enough to taste — smoke, pine, skin. Every breath I take feels like his, caught and returned. The forest hums around us, alive and watching.

I can feel my body trembling again, the aftershocks of the most mind-melting orgasm I’ve ever had, and I’m needy for more. The insatiable hunger I have for this masked man’s cock surprises even myself, and in an instant, I’ve freed my own hands, leaving my bra on the forest floor, and I’m on my feet wandering in the direction he disappeared. I need more.

He moves like shadow made flesh — always close, never close enough. My body keeps searching for him, reaching into the darkness before I can think, but always coming up empty. The sound of my own heartbeat feels too loud, too frantic.

When he catches my wrist, the touch is deliberate. A claiming touch, not a question.

I should resist. I don’t. Every part of me leans toward him like I was built for this, as if I’ve been waiting all my life to be caught. My hands find his chest, and I can feel his erratic heartbeat matching my own.

The mask has become a part of him — faceless and perfect, the embodiment of every forbidden thing I ever wanted. Every dark romance novel I’ve ever imagined being the main character of. I’m in my own book, written just for me, and I cannot get enough.

He’s silent as he touches me, but his silence says more than words ever could. Each sound I make pulls something deeper from him — a groan, a growl, the sound of restraint breaking thread by thread. It doesn’t feel like lust anymore. It feels like worship. Like punishment. Like coming undone in the dark and wanting nothing more than to beseenby the one who refuses to show his face.

He breathes my name against my neck, “Sirena,” and I come undone again. I’m breathless with desire and need as I press my body firmly against his. When he pulls back, I gasp — half in shock, half in ache. The air between us is charged, a storm not yet spent.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, before I can stop myself. The words hang there, fragile and daring.