Page 49 of Off the Rails

But now, I was hers to do with as she pleased.

“Come on,” she murmured, hoisting me into a bridal carry and hopping off the ride.

“Where are we—?” my grip tightened around her neck as I tried to figure out where she was taking me.

She was in no mood to explain, apparently. But the excitement in her voice told me that I should be terrified.

“We’ll just have to get creative, Sweet Lamb.”

29

TESS

Nash’s steady grip wasn’t enough to stop the spinning in my head. Nearly twelve hours in the cups might have broken my brain — or maybe it was the adrenaline of being caught and having no clue where my muscular captor was taking me.

Rocking gently in her arms, I could make out enough of our path. She was hauling me quickly out of Colossal Kitchen, making our way back into the jungle. Maybe we were going back to the apartment?

No. She walked right past it, not looking back, not answering my questions until we came up upon the base of a huge tree at the edge of Jungle Jolt.

My chest tightened, but I tried to hide the uncertainty from my voice. “Alright, enough of the silent treatment, Tarzan. What’s the plan?”

“You wanted to see where I work?” As she walked around the base of the tree, I noticed the steps jutting out from its base. From a distance, they blended into the bark, looking like a natural series of low branches. But up close, they wrapped around the tree in a cascade that led all the way to the top of the canopy.

Nash strode up the steps with ease, even with me clinging to her chest. There was an urgency to her movements — a shared awareness of the rising sun. If she wanted to cash in on her prize, she had little time to waste.

Before I knew it, we’d reached the summit — a sprawling tree house hidden in the dense foliage. I’d probably have been afraid if I could see the ground, but the sprawling network of branches beneath us were like a safety net.

Nash didn’t leave me much time to fear the height, anyway. As she kicked open the door with a booted foot, a different type of concern for my safety sank in.

The tree house was huge — shadows obscured much of the interior, but early morning light seeping in through the huge windows gave me a quick view of canvases, paint buckets, and a huge library of assorted metal sheets.

Her art studio.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness for a better view. But it was useless: before I could see much at all, my feet were back on the ground, and Nash’s broad palm was pressed to my back.

“Stay,” she murmured, bending me over a broad wooden work table before treading across the workshop.

My skin prickled as I imagined what type of torture tools she might have up here. I could already picture her stringing me up from the branches and watching me squirm. Was there electricity up here?

I tried to peer over my shoulder for a hint, but she was back as quickly as she’d disappeared. Before I could process a thing, she slid her hands under my hips, yanking my pants down around my knees. “I didn’t tell you to move, Sweet Lamb.”

I could hear the elastic of my panties straining as she pulled them down, nearly popping a seam. Her movements were fervent, a development that seemed as inspired by the time constraint as it did by the hunger dripping from her voice.

“God, that’s pretty, baby.” Her fingers teased my slit, spreading the lips so that she could take a better look. I shuddered under her touch, steeling myself for penetration. Whether it was her fingers, a dildo, or whatever old paintbrush she had lying around, I figured it was only seconds before she sank into my folds, testing just how wet she could make me.

But instead, she kicked a small pan into place just behind my feet. “Kneel.”

“What—?”

Before I could get my bearings, Nash had one hand on my shoulders, pressing me down while the other slipped under my arm and guided me into place.

The force sent a wave of heat between my legs, but as I came to rest on my heels, cool liquid spilled over from the pan, coating my lips. “What the⁠—”

“Stay,” Nash growled, holding me in place by my shoulders.

Down on the ground, I could get a better look at the pan now — some sort of gel had spilled over, displaced by my bare center as she made me sit in the tray.

“Are you… taking a cast of my pussy?”