Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
"Because I'm right here." I shift my grip. One hand on each shoulder. "And I'm not going to let you."
Her breath hitches.
She wants to believe me. I can see it in her eyes. The desperate need to trust that I'll keep her safe even while I'm deliberately scaring her.
"What if I can't—what if I freeze—"
"Then I'll carry you."
The words come out harsher than I intended. Edged with the frustration of wanting to just throw her over my shoulder and be done with it.
But that's not the point of this station.
She needs to walk it herself. Needs to feel the fear and do it anyway because I told her to.
That's the surrender I'm after.
"You need to trust me, Scarletta. You need to give in to me. It's my job to protect you. If you don't believe that, why are you here?"
I don't push her.
I just stand here with my hands on her shoulders and wait for her brain to catch up to what her body already knows.
She's going to do it. She's going to walk across that plank because I told her to. Because somewhere underneath all the fear and resistance, she wants to prove she can.
Wants to earn what I refused to give her five minutes ago.
Her eyes search mine. Looking for something. Permission, maybe. Or reassurance that I'm not lying about keeping her safe.
I give her nothing except steady eye contact and silence.
The waiting is its own kind of torture. For both of us.
My cock is still hard enough to pound nails. Still throbbing against my zipper from tasting her pussy and watching her come apart under my hands.
From seeing her bent over that beam with her ass red from my palm—dripping wet and desperate.
From knowing she's standing here completely naked sixty feet in the air with absolutely nowhere to hide.
The afternoon sun cuts through the canopy at an angle that hits her body perfectly. Lights up her skin in gold. Makes her look like something out of a Renaissance painting—all soft curves, and pale flesh, and classical proportions.
Except Renaissance women weren't shaved bare and trembling with denied orgasms.
Her breasts are perfect. Small enough to fit in my hands, large enough to bounce when she walks. The kind of tits that don't need a bra but look incredible in one anyway. High and firm with just enough softness that I know they'd feel like heaven pressed against my chest.
Her nipples are standing straight out. Hard little peaks that jut forward from her profile like they're begging to be touched, and pinched, and sucked.
I want to put my mouth on them. Roll them between my teeth until she gasps. Bite down just hard enough to make her cry out and clench around nothing.
I don't move.
She's still thinking. Still processing. I can see it happening behind her eyes—the war between terror and submission, between self-preservation and the desperate need to please me.
Her breathing has changed again. Deeper now. More controlled.
She's trying to calm herself down. Trying to find her courage in the middle of the panic. Her gaze drops briefly to the plank, then back to my face. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. "You promise you won't let me fall?"
The question comes out small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the confident, filthy writer who pens stories about women being chased through forests and fucked against trees.
This is the real Scarletta underneath all those fantasies.
Scared. Uncertain. Desperate for someone to tell her she's safe even while putting her in danger.
"I promise."
Two words. Absolute. No elaboration needed.
Her chest rises and falls with another deep breath. Her nipples tighten even further with the movement, if that's even physically possible.
Christ.
I want to fuck her so badly right now that my hands are shaking with the effort of staying still.
But this moment isn't about what I want. It's about what she needs to give me.
Trust. Surrender. Obedience even when every instinct screams at her to refuse.
She swallows hard. Then… she begins to cry. "I trusted another man before."
"I know," I say, brushing the back of my knuckles against her cheek. She leans into my touch like a wounded baby seeking comfort.
"He…" she sucks in a deep, trembling breath. "He…" She looks over her shoulder at me. Her eyes find mine. They are gushing tears. "He… raped me."
It occurs to me that she's never admitted that before. Not to herself. That maybe she took the blame. She didn't signal enough. She didn't stop him in time. She let it go too far.
"I know that too," I say, placing both my hands on her face. "I killed him for that, Scarletta. Tortured him. Made him pay."
She nods, eyes drifting away now as her chin trembles. "If I trust you and…"
She doesn't finish. But I already know what she's going to say. "If you trust me and I let you down, you'll never trust anyone again."