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Thunder rolls in the distance, the sound startling me. I freeze for a second. That’s all Shane needs. He spins me, hurling me up and over his shoulder before I can do anything but yelp. I’m so stunned he can carry me that I forget to fight. The world is upside down, and my head is inches from his ass. That’s when I realize he’s wearing work clothes. Dress pants, dress shoes, and what looks like an undershirt.
The one benefit of being carried in this undignified position is that he’s left his ass vulnerable. I smack it so hard my palm stings. He makes an annoyed sound.
“Where are your hunting clothes?” I ask, adding another smack at the end of the question.
“No time.” He spanks me, and I realize my ass is as vulnerable as his.
Damnit.
I smack him again anyway, then try to roll off his shoulder. It works, almost. When Shane tries to catch me, he loses his balance. As he staggers sideways, I throw myself to the ground. This time, it works, but too well. I crash onto the ground with a rock stabbing me in the ribs, and Shane sprawled on top of me. There’s no time to inspect the damage. Scrabbling from beneath him, I shove to my feet. Then I’m being yanked by the ankle, pulled back to the ground. I wrench my leg free and run.
Chapter Thirteen
Claire
He must be slow to get up. That’s the only explanation for how I make it as far as I do. That, and maybe his work shoes. I burst from the woods into the yard. Then his arms are around me, and he’s pulling me to his chest. It’s an elegant capture, so smooth it surprises me. The physical poetry is gone the next moment.
I hit the ground, and there’s only brutality. A tugging sensation, the sound of fabric shredding as he takes my T-shirt in both hands and rips. Goosebumps pebble my skin, the wind chilling me. His undershirt is streaked with dirt, his dress pants ruined. Somewhere along the way, he’s abandoned his shoes. He drags my leggings over my hips, robbing me of pants and sneakers in a move so effortless that all I can do is watch, baffled at how inhumanly fast he’s undressing me.
I’ve been reduced to the role of spectator, a mortal watching myself be stripped by a god. That’s what he looks like right now: a fallen god. Hard eyes, ropey forearms, massive hands. The promise of power about to be unleashed. Two storms are building above me, but I’m already wet for Shane.
He sheds his clothing. I snatch the opportunity. Jumping to my feet, I run again. Five steps. I get five steps before his arms wrap around my waist. Dropping to his knees, he pulls me with him. I keep waiting for him to say yield, but it doesn’t happen. One of his hands slips between my legs, the other gripping my hair. On all fours before him, my heart’s in my throat when he uses a knee to knock my thighs farther apart. Dragging his fingertip along my pussy, he leans forward till his lips are right behind my ear.
“So wet and needy, but still trying to run.”
One thrust. He’s fully sheathed inside me. Unrelenting thrusts force a yelp from me. Nails digging into the ground, I brace against him. Not that it does any good, not that I want it to. He’s everywhere, all-encompassing, overwhelming my brain and body. Sweat-slicked chest at my back, callused fingers on my clit, and that thick, hard cock stroking so deep I can’t catch my breath.
The hand not feverishly working my clit is knotted in my hair. He yanks my head back, forcing me to stare at the storm clouds. They’re lower than before, as if they’ve moved closer to enjoy the show. Voyeurs eager to see what becomes of me, wanting to watch him consume me. Thunder rumbles a warning. Take cover, it says, a storm is coming.
Shane’s teeth graze the side of my throat, my pussy convulsing around him. It takes conscious effort to resist when electricity pulses everywhere his skin meets mine. I don’t want to fight him. I want to give in, let him have the pleasure he’s trying to rip from my body.
When he bites down, sinking his teeth into where my neck and shoulder meet, I make a sound that’s impossible to mistake for anything but raw, reckless pleasure. He releases the bite with a groan, or maybe it’s a growl. I can’t tell over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.
“Scream for me. Show me how much you love this.”
I sink my teeth into my lip, unwilling to give him another sound that isn’t pure defiance.
“Let it out,” his voice is a purr, its deep, throaty rumble tipping me close to the breaking point.
I can’t. I won’t.
Life or fucking death.
Right now, I want him to fuck me to death. The clouds open up as if Shane was telling them to let it out. I go from wet between my legs to wet everywhere in an instant. A shiver courses through me, and I know Shane feels it when he lets out a hiss.
Pushing past the pleasure, I call on the small part of me that knows my chances of landing another thirty days here depend on him still finding me a challenge. I jerk my head back. My hair whips his cheek as he dodges my movement at the last second. He’s learning my tricks.
Evading me has forced him to shift, and instead of being squarely over me, his body weight is focused on my left side. I drop, left shoulder slamming painfully against the ground. Shane slips from inside me, falling forward and sideways with a grunt. This grunt is not aroused, more surprised. I wrench one of my legs into a crouch beneath my body. It’s awkward and clumsy, but that leverage is all I need to break free. I’m up and scrambling, tripping over my own feet and his hand as he grabs for my ankles.
The rain comes down harder. I can’t see far, the storm clouds smothering out the sun. I’m running, thankful he tackled me in the field. I make it one, two, three steps away from him before he’s on me again, driving me to the grass. Thunder rolls as I collide with the earth.
This time, there’s no amusement in his voice, “You’re going to scream for me, Claire. I don’t care what it takes.”
I fight, pinned on my stomach but refusing to admit defeat. Shane ignores my squirming, using his knees to knock my legs apart. Then he’s thrusting inside me, dropping his body on mine as he drives me into the ground. One of his hands is wrapped tight around my throat. Tight enough to threaten, but he isn’t cutting off airflow.
Yet.
Rocking his hips, he plunges into me with a ferocity I haven’t felt from him before. Lighting bisects the sky, and I wish I wasn’t on my stomach, that I could see his face right now.
