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."
She nods, more tears. Some hiccuping sobs. They ride down her cheeks, soaking into my hands that are still holding her face.
I shift my grip to her shoulders and turn her slowly toward me. Both hands cupping her jaw now. My thumbs brush away the tears still streaming down her cheeks.
