Page 96 of Stone: The Precursor

I raise her up higher, inserting my leg between hers, using my body to anchor her to the tree. Her face is a mess, muddy. Red angry scratches cover her cheek and forehead from where I pressed her head into the forest floor. Branches and rocks must have abraded her soft cheek. Leaves are stuck in her long black braid. My blindfold is still covering her eyes. The zip ties are still binding her wrists behind her back. Her clothing is damp. I inhale the scent of honeysuckle, sweat, and blood. My senses are overloaded, saturated in them, in her. It all elicits a combination of disgust and desire. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her to see me like this, but my cock doesn’t care. The rational part of my brain shuts down, and animalistic lust takes its place.

Yanking one of her hands, I move around the tree and tie it to the other, leaving her pinned, at my mercy. I round the tree and face her again. She’s quiet now, but turns in my direction, using her sense of hearing to track me. I take out my knife and pause, stepping closer. She’s laid out for me like a buffet, and my skin feels hot. The drive to fuck her like this, helpless, still dazed frommy attack, beats steadily like a drum, calling out that sick part of me craves hearing her beg and plead.

Unsheathing my knife, I trail it over her face and the blindfold covering her eyes. It’s the bandana I use to cover my face when I ride, and somehow it feels fitting that it’s covering her, soaked with my sweat. It blocks her from seeing me, keeping her ignorant of just who is touching her. She trembles when the tip of the blade pokes into her chin. I growl it in her ear and breathe in her scent. She trembles and turns her head toward me, licking her bruised and bloody lips. The bottom one is swollen and bruised from where her face hit the ground. Crusty blood lines the gash. Her upper lip is covered in smears of dirt. I want to taste those contusions, add my teeth marks.

I see the moment the fight leaves her body.

“I got lost. I didn’t know it was your land. I apologize. If you just let me go and point me in the right direction, I’ll leave.”

A tear tracks down her face, despite the blindfold, and I rub it with my thumb, wanting to see more dripping off her chin as my cock is in her mouth. “You will be sorry.” Rational thoughts evaporate like the mist coming off the lake.

“What do you mean?” She cries, more tears dripping down her cheek.

I don’t answer her, my eyes still trained on her lips.

“I- I wasn’t planning on trespassing. I was looking for a driveway and I must have taken a wrong turn?—”

“That’s unfortunate, but you’re here now. This is my land. Everything on it belongs to me. The rotting bodies that you smell. Mine. The lake filled with predators. Mine. You. Now you’re mine.”

“No, no. I’ll do anything.”

“I know,” I murmur. Camryn isShe’s going to do everything I want tonight. My knife easily cuts through her sweatshirt. The sound of it rends loud in the forest. I spread the edgesof it open, exposing her black T-shirt underneath. The outline of her breasts makes me shake with lust. They’re plump and round even in her bra. Just like her sweatshirt, my knife easily separates the fibers of her shirt. I unwrap her like a present. My prize. The most important one I’ve ever hunted.

A lace bra appears. White. Innocent. Covered in blood. I find the middle and flick the sharp blade through the thick fabric, keeping the cups together. The elastic and stitching easily give, popping, the cups falling to the side, revealing her breasts. A perfect handful. A perfect canvas. Her nipples are a dusty pink color, tightly furled. Goosebumps cover her skin. Her chest heaves as I look at her. Her nipples bead in the cool, damp air. Cuts and scrapes cover her milky bare flesh. I tackled her hard, and it shows. Each one is angry and red. Sluggish blood beads at the ravaged skin, but I want more. I press just the tip of my knife into her nipples, and he cries out.

She trembles, shaking with fear. “Please.”

A little bead of blood appears. Fresher. Not mixed with dirt. “Keep still or it will be worse.”

Tears leak down her face, and I touch it with my knife, spreading the salty liquid with her sweat and dirt. I want to taste the mess of her fear. Sip at the delicious earthiness. I rip my mask off, tossing it to the side, needing to touch her without a barrier, needing to taste her skin. I lick up her cheek, swallowing her flavor. It’s a heady mix, and I kiss along her forehead, rubbing my lips along her cuts and bruises. I trail my lips back down to her cheek and finally just above her lips.

“You taste delicious.” Her breathing speeds up again, her ribcage heaving.

She murmurs back against my lips. “Stone.”

At that one word. That name, my grip on her hip tightens. I dig my fingers into her naked flesh. Then I raise my head to the sky, laughing cruelly. This. Fucking. Woman. Tears come tomy eyes from mirth. I can’t believe I’m laughing. I lift her chin, squeezing. “You knew? How?”

“Your smell. Cherries and smoke. I can taste it in your mouth. I know you.”

Her words shake me to the core. The deepest part of my broken soul responds to that. She means it. She means it, and goddamn if I don’t wonder if she’s the only woman who ever really will. But I reject that idea, pushing it down. It’s too dangerous to contemplate. Too dangerous to hope.

“No, you don’t. You have no fucking clue who I am, Countess.” I rub my face along her breasts, smearing my camouflage war paint all over her breasts. I lift my head and look down. The paint seems garish, like ash, and it makes my cock even harder. I trail my knife around her bloody nipples. She shakes, her breathing ragged. I lean forward and drag one bud into my mouth, letting her feel my teeth. She hisses, then moans, calling my name. I bite them again, and she groans.

“Please, Stone.”

“Listen to you. The Park heiress getting her tits mouth-fucked against a tree by a man she barely knows, begging for a stranger’s cock.”

“You’re not a stranger,” she whispers, licking her lips.

“I am. You have no idea what I want to do to you, otherwise you wouldn’t have come here.” I breathe against her lips. I bite her lip, wanting her to feel the same insanity that I do. She whimpers and shudders.

“What are you doing here?”

“I—I wanted to find you. I wanted to thank you for the mural,” she whispers.

Bringing my hands up to right under her breast, I fan my thumb under the plump curve. “You drove all the way out here, in the wilderness, risking your life to thank me because I drew on your fucking wall? Try again, Countess.”

“I, because— I…”