Page 26 of The Wolf

My cock hurt to be inside her. I was so hard it felt like my dick was going to bust through my pants.

I lowered her to the ground slowly. She fought me slightly, but the second I started unbuttoning my jeans, she began to rip her clothes off.

Poppy threw her shirt to the ground and kicked her pants off.

My pants fell around my ankles, my cock bouncing to attention at the sight of her naked form.

Poppy had sleek legs and a small waist. Her tits were perfect raindrops.

The dusty pink of her nipples exploded with tiny bumps as a breeze blew between us.

She leaned back against the tree with pure desire in her eyes.

She was calling to me. The way her legs rubbed back and forth over each other and her hands wrapped around the trunk of the tree was all I needed to bring the animal to life inside of me.

I gripped her thighs and pulled them around my waist. The tip of my cock hit her entrance, and she moaned before it even went inside. Poppy closed her eyes as she dug her nails into the meat of my shoulders. My cock slipped up between her lips, getting covered in her juice.

I ran my shaft over her clit, drawing out a second moan.

It was galvanizing to see the response. Her body shivered as I teased her, making her even wetter.

She thrust her hips forward in a way that was pleading for me to be inside.

I couldn't resist the temptation of making her wait.

Sex was always better when there was play first. The tension would build and build until it finally exploded.

Goosebumps jetted over her skin as my cock massaged her needy button. The longer I rubbed, the more she seeped her supple juice. She was so wet. So hot. So fucking ready.

I pressed my swollen tip to her warm center and slipped inside. Poppy arched her back hard and bit her bottom lip, tugging it into her mouth. Her pussy clenched around my shaft, squeezing firmly. I gyrated my hips, fucking her fast and vigorously.

It was strange to feel so free. To be so careless, broken, and alive. At that moment, there was no danger or fear. There was no running. There was just us and the raw nature entombing her muffled screams of pleasure.

Poppy ground her hips down, matching my pace.

She was ruthless in wanting her release.

Her heels dug into my thighs as her breathing became erratically wild, like a lioness hunting down food for her starving cubs.

Everything about her was feral. The way her nails raked down my back, and her pupils as they expanded into vast, dark pools.

How her nipples beaded hard as diamonds, begging to be nibbled.

I ran my tongue over her rosy flesh and sucked her tit into my mouth.

Poppy let out the sexiest moan as she closed her eyes.

Her body tensed up. Her pussy bore down on my cock, keeping me inside, and then she came.

She came so hard her body shook from head to toe.

She squeezed tightly around my waist as I thrust one final time.

My cock exploded its lifeblood inside her.

I gently set her on the ground and held her hips until I knew she had her footing. Poppy looked up at me and smiled—a real smile. And I smiled back. It came natural. I didn't have to pretend that I was happy at that moment.

Poppy shivered from the wind. “It's chilly,” she said as she turned and bent over to pick up her shirt off the ground. There was a long, raw scrape running the length of her spine. It was a little oozy and bloody, with bits of bark peppering the surface.

“That must sting.”

“What?” she asked.

I took her by the shoulders and turned her slightly. With gentle fingertips, I traced the scrape. Poppy winced slightly. “What happened?”

“I think you got tree burn,” I said with a laugh. “It's not bad. It shouldn't scar.”

“I don't care if it does.” Poppy reached around her back and felt the wound herself. “Is it bleeding?” she asked, pulling her hand back to look at her fingers.

“A little, but it's not bad. We should clean it, though. The last thing you need is it getting infected.”

Poppy slipped her shirt over her head and pulled up her pants. Her feet were dirty and scuffed up from walking through the forest. I started to unlace my shoes. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Here,” I said as I took them off and passed them to her. “Put these on.”

“Your shoes? Why?”

“Because you need them more than I do. Put them on.”

She slipped her feet inside and giggled. “They're huge on me. I look ridiculous.”

“You look beautiful. It doesn't matter what you have on.”

Poppy grinned shyly as she looked herself over. “You have low expectations of beauty, then.”

“No, I just see what you can't. Beauty is deeper than the clothes you wear or how much makeup you have on. It's not money that makes you beautiful or the kind of car you drive. It's what's in here,” I said as I poked her heart.

Poppy smirked and looked away. “I didn't know you could be so corny.”

I laughed as I wiggled my sock-covered toes in the leaves. “Neither did I. Don't tell anyone,” I said with a grin.

She looked around us and responded. “Lucky for you, there's no one to tell.”

I glanced at the small strip of horizon I could see between the trees. “Come on, we have a ways to go.”

Poppy and I walked for a few hours. I shared stories about my childhood.

I told her about my father and how he kept his two worlds as separate as possible.

There was the husband and the father, who went to work and came home for dinner most nights.

He was there for birthdays and holidays and the family gatherings.

My father kept his composure at all times.

He never once let his work life spill into his home life.

I found out later on that my mother always knew what he did for a living.

I didn't know if she was okay with it or if she hated it because she never spoke about it.

When I looked back on my childhood, she never flinched or made a face when he was leaving.

There was no outward notion that she cared either way.

It wasn't until I hit the age of sixteen that my father really opened up to me about his job.

He wanted me to know everything. He had been preparing me to take over the family business since I was a kid, but I didn't have a clue.

All the hunting trips, the target practice, the solitude, and the death were all training for my future. He had wired me to kill. To not feel anything when I pulled the trigger. To see death as normal as opposed to a sadness that consumed your soul.

Even with his death, I felt nothing.

“What about you?” I asked. “Can you look back on anything and see the things you missed?”

“You mean like the memory of my father shooting my mother?”

“I mean the little things. Conversations, actions, things that get overlooked when you're submersed in it?”

Poppy looked at the ground as she spoke.

“I think so. It's not so much the things my father said.

It's the things my mother said. She would make cryptic statements about him.

I never knew what she meant, but now I think I do.

Like sometimes, she would take her cup of medicine and pull certain pills out.

I caught her once and asked her what she was doing.

My mother told me that those pills made her sick.

I asked her why my father would give her something to make her sick and not better, and she just said, “Because chameleons change color, Poppy.” She exhaled as she kicked a pine cone and watched it bounce off a tree trunk.

“She could see right through him. I was just naive.”

“You were a child, Poppy. Kids trust the adults around them. There was no way for you to know what he was doing.”

“Why did he do it?” she asked. “Why would he make my mother sick and kill her?”

“Maybe your mother knew something he didn't want to get out. Maybe your father was afraid of what she could do to him.”

“Like what? My mother wouldn't do anything to ruin his life. I think she just wanted a life of her own.”

I thinned my lips into a soft smile but didn't answer. “His demons go deep, Poppy. He's not just a pharmacist, he's a damn drug lord. Who knows what your mother knew and what she had threatened. It's also possible he was paranoid. Maybe he just thought she was going to talk. I don't know.”

“Yeah, I guess. It's just hard to rationalize it.”

Poppy couldn't rationalize it because she was a good person. She couldn't understand the twists and turns this type of life takes. You couldn't trust a soul. And anyone you did trust, you only trusted so far. You always had to have your guard up. Always.

But I was pretty certain I knew why her father killed her mother.

Her mother was going to go to the feds. She was tired of living a lie.

Mrs. Aneska didn't want to live in hiding anymore.

She wanted to live a real life. Not a life of corruption and false happiness.

The longer she was immersed in his world, the harder it was to get out.

There was a point of no return, and Poppy's mother had passed it like the wife of a mobster. There was no walking away.

Poppy's mother was going to come clean to the cops, and her father had to stop it. What better way than to make your wife look crazy and then have her take her own life? It was genius. Fool proof. Simple and clean.

“Here we are,” I said. I pulled a bunch of branches back to reveal a hidden, green jeep. “Our ticket out of here.”

She cocked a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who just has a secret escape vehicle tucked away in the woods?”

“Prepared people, and I do, obviously.” I shrugged my shoulder as I pulled the passenger door open. “You can never be too careful.”

“Regular people don't need to be this careful.”

“If you haven't noticed, I'm not a regular person.”

Poppy climbed into the front seat, rolled her eyes, and said, “I noticed. It was hard not to.”

I got in the driver's seat and dug the key out from its secret spot.

I was hoping it would still start. I hadn't come out to start it in ages.

I used to do it once every three months, and then it was every six months, and now it was barely once a year.

I think I started to overestimate my own security.

My own worth among the barbarians. My own strength among the wealthy.

My own mortality against my own evil. I had gotten sloppy and failed to be diligent.

“Here goes nothing,” I said as I pushed the key inside the ignition and turned. “Come on, you got this.” The engine bumbled a little but roared to life with a feather of the gas pedal. “Ah, my trusty steed. He never lets me down.” I rubbed the dashboard and ran my hands around the steering wheel.

“Men and their cars. You're all the same.”

“Are we now?”

“Yes. It doesn't matter who you are. You guys talk to your cars like they can understand you.”

“Maybe they can,” I said, shifting the jeep into gear and hitting the gas.

The jeep launched out, ripping through the forest like a bear on a rampage.

Debris was kicked up behind us. Deep tread marks stamped the earth like burn scars on skin.

There was a tight path for us to follow.

The jeep grazed the rough surface of tree trunks and the long branches stretching out like claws.

Poppy gripped the bar above her head as the terrain was uneven, causing her to bounce and shift in her seat. I had one hand on the wheel and one on the shifter as I drove us further away from the terror chasing her.

The wind blew her hair, making it dance around her face. But I noticed that she seemed to look lighter. Her eyes glinted with hope. Her mouth was soft and relaxed. Her knuckles were skin-toned and not white with fear. Poppy was getting soothed by the thought of escape.

And so was I. My plan was to drive her as far away from here as possible. I was going to save her and be her hero. I would be the reason her life flourished and became something it never could before.

A real life. A real experience. Real memories that won't be altered by the magic of persuasion and drugs.

Poppy could finally live.