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The sweet, alluring scent of her is in my nose, in my lungs.
Fuuuuuck.
I grip the mattress, stabbing my fingers into the bedding.
How can such a tiny, insignificant creature captivate me so completely? She’s just a wisp of muscle and bone, yet every curve affects me as brightly as the moon and as loudly as the wolves. I can’t ignore the call of her body, singing to me, beckoning me.
Before I question what I’m doing, I’m on my hands and knees above her, straddling her luscious figure. Slowly inching downward, I can’t stop, can’t talk myself out of it, as I lower my face to the rise of her perfect backside.
Her skin prickles, every muscle jittery and skittish, her prey instinct responding to me even in sleep.
It makes me harder, hungrier, my need to overpower her an unquenchable drive. Edging down her legs, I touch my nose to that thin strip of fabric and inhale deeply. Quietly. Oh-so soundlessly.
Fuck me to hell, she smells warm and fragrant like spring after a long, brutal winter.
I press closer, burying my nose and breathing her in.
She doesn’t wake, but her body recognizes me. It knows what I am, flooding her pussy with pheromones, the aroma of cherry musk, eliciting a growl in my throat.
Her arm flies across the empty space beside her, and she rocks her hips, mumbling an indiscernible sound as her eyes roll behind her lids. “Monty?”
I turn to stone—my skin, my blood, my fucking heart. My hand falls to my cock, fumbling to free it. To punish her with it.
Your husband’s not here, Frankie. He fucked up and lost you.
Stroking the pulsing length, I watch her twitch and cry out for him again. Trapped in a nightmare.
With a body like yours to devour and fuck and consume, why did he ever let you out of his sight? How was he not inside your wet cunt every second of every day? He wasn’t worthy.
I jerk myself harder, fucking my fist, ready to pound into her and rip her open from end to end.
My gaze drops to her ass, the sight of it writhing beneath me more than I can bear. The orgasm slams into me without warning, squeezing me by the balls, and I’m squirting, dumping rivers of come, emptying my load across her legs and ass.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Slowly, I rise to my knees and bite down hard on my lips. Every movement is agonizingly silent, every gasp choked without sound when all I want to do is roar at the top of my lungs as the last of my release spurts onto her thighs.
Beneath me, she squirms, struggling in the space between sleep and awareness. I hold still, hold my breath, and at last, sleep wins out.
To be sure, I wait for an eternal moment, mesmerized by my semen dripping down the arch of her buttocks, leaving shiny, slick trails, worshiping every exquisite line of her body.
My cock is still hard, throbbing painfully, aching to impale her.
With godlike effort, I tuck myself away and carefully leave the bed. Then I drag the covers over her, letting the linens absorb the mess. It’ll be dry by morning. But in the meantime, I’ll relish the thought of her sleeping in my come.
She’ll never know.
She can’t.
It would sign my name in an unwritten bargain.
The devil’s bargain.
I slip out of my bedroom and return to the couch on the main floor.
For the next few hours, I lie awake, staring at the hallway that leads to Denver’s room. I know he hears me wandering the cabin at night. He’s the ears and the eyes and the cold, beating heart of Hoss.
He is Hoss, and when he looks at me tomorrow, he’ll know I watched Frankie sleeping again. He’ll know I jerked off. But it’s not enough. He wants more from me.
I won’t give it to him.
Giving up on sleep, I head down to the cellar. There, I work on my latest craft vodka recipe, tinkering with the chemistry and yeast physiology.
That’s where he finds me the next morning.
“You haven’t slept.” He circles the distiller and lifts a sample of crushed malted barley, sniffing it and making a face. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s someone in my bedroom.”
“Are you afraid of a one-hundred-pound girl?” He snags a packet of citric acid from the shelf and peers inside. “I’ve seen you wrestle bears eight times her size.”
“Put that down.” I grab the bottles within his reach and move them to the rear table. “Stop touching my shit.”
He slowly returns the packet and stalks toward me, his posture vibrating with cruel energy, his smile all wrong. He used to terrify me when he came at me like that. I used to cower in the fucking corner like an abandoned cub.
Not anymore. Not for a long damn time.
I turn toward the workbench, giving him my back. “What do you want?”
