He closed his eyes—his mind in turmoil. Torn between love and duty, kindness and lust, allegiance and mercy. In the dim light, with the fear and the adrenaline mixing in his blood, thelines between mother and daughter were blurring. “You just look... so much like her,” he groaned.
“Then pretend,” she whispered.
She arched her back slightly, pressing herself more firmly against him. His hand on her breast had nowhere to go but tighter, needier. She had never felt the electricity of foreign fingers on her nipple, and in this moment she thought she’d do anything to have more. His hands found the tears in her dress, widening them with a rough urgency that made her gasp—not in pain, but in a sudden, sharp intake of pleasure. When his calloused palm finally cupped her bare breast, the sensation was so intense she nearly buckled. It wasn't the gentle romance of her books. It was raw. It was real. And god help her, she wanted more.
“You’re—” he began, then stopped, as she stroked him once more. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, pushing into her palm. The knife slid another fraction of an inch away from her throat. He was unraveling. She could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers dug into her breast, the way his body strained against her touch. “If you really want to do this, turn around,” he said, but this time his voice was different. Hungry.
Slowly, she obeyed. “Show me,” she said, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Show me what you wanted from her.”
Hunter made a low, animal sound. The knife dropped from his hand, thudding harmlessly into the grass. In the next breath, his hands were on her—not violent, but desperate. He pulled her against him, burying his face in the curve of her neck.
“Hunter,” she moaned, her head falling back.
“Liora,” he whispered back, his eyes squeezed shut.
The name hit her like a slap. “I’m not her!” she said.
His gaze flicked to her face, focusing for the first time. “No,” he agreed hoarsely, feeling his erection grow strong. “You’re… not.” For a heartbeat, something almost like sanity hoveredbetween them. In the next breath he had his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back against the tree, mouth crashing down onto hers in a kiss that was part apology, part hunger, part something uglier.
She gasped, the sound swallowed by his tongue. Her first kiss—if this could be called that—was nothing like the chaste, soft touches in her books. It was rough, desperate, edged with the memory of steel at her throat. Heat flared through her all the same. For a moment she was unsure what to do.Should I undress? Should I undress him? What will it look like? What will it feel like? Will it hurt?But as her arousal grew the worries faded and instinct took over.
Hunter’s strong hands ripped the other sleeve of her dress, fully exposing both breasts. “Oh, princess,” he whimpered, unable to look away.
She had always been sort of annoyed by her large chest. It tended to get in the way during riding and other things. Now, seeing how much her breasts pleased Hunter, she was grateful. She had never been desired by anyone before, and right now, as he looked at her chest, she felt alive. It was more than thrilling, more than exciting. She felt a sort of ecstasy in the notion that her body had this kind of importance. It was intoxicating and his words of admiration about her body had awoken something primal inside her. Those brief moments while he just stared, but his hands were not on her body, felt like an eternity and she wanted—needed that electricity back. “Touch me,” she commanded.
Without hesitation Hunter kissed her again, both hands desperately groping her breasts now. His kiss was deep and passionate as his thumbs grazed her nipples over and over, matching the swirl of his tongue in her mouth. Then he bent down and brought her nipple to his lips, almost teasing her fora moment while he focused on unbuckling his belt and lowering his trousers.
Snow White’s back arched and her head tilted looking at the sky, pushing her breasts further towards his mouth. The sky was growing lighter with a pinkish hue as the sun started to rise. Hunter’s lips closed around her nipple, and he slowly swirled his tongue in circles. The warmth of his mouth on her nipple ignited her body, despite the chill in the early morning air. “Ohhh,” Snow White moaned, aching for more.
“Gods,” he muttered against her skin. “I can't... I can't stop.”
“Don't stop,” she breathed.
When his mouth crashed onto hers it was the kiss of a man who had been denied for too long. And Snow White, who had expected to feel only fear or revulsion, felt a shockwave of heat tear through her. It was a revelation. The friction of his stubble, the crushing weight of his arms, the taste of him—it woke something dormant in her blood. She trusted him—he was a friend, but she feared him all the same.
This is living,a voice in her head screamed.This is fire.
She kissed him back, clumsy but fierce, her hands pulling at his hair with urgency. She wasn't just surviving anymore. She was taking.
With that, Hunter lifted her up, spread her legs around his torso, pushed her back against the tree and slowly pushed his erection inside her. She felt pain at first, and gripped his arms tightly, leaning forward over his shoulder. He moved at a slow, steady rhythm, in and out. With each thrust she relaxed her legs and allowed him in further. The air was awake with the sounds of morning doves and the smell of pine entangled with the sounds and smells of sex. He felt her thighs widen and he grunted as he pushed in more fully. She felt secure in his arms and his muscles bulged under her grip as he held her up in the air against the tree as if she were weightless.
The slight pain didn’t subside but it was matched by the feeling of pleasure.What am I doing? Why am I doing this? Why do I like this so much? Why do I feel so good, so right? I feel like I was made for this. I want his mouth on my nipple again. It felt so good.Her thoughts were interrupted by Hunter’s breathing turning increasingly heavy. The exhilaration of doing something that felt so wrong and so right swelled inside her chest. Snow White arched her head back, looking up at the sky again and subtly pushing herself further onto his hard cock. As she leaned back her bare breasts pushed forward and tilted up towards his face. His gaze instantly drawn to them as if he’d never seen anything more spectacular. She saw his eyes roll in his head as he groaned loudly, “Ohhh.”
Hunter started pumping faster and her wetness allowed him to slide in and out with quick ease. Snow White thought she noticed him suddenly grow even bigger inside her as he gave one last strong shove. “Oh, Liora,” he moaned, eyes closed. In that same moment he stopped moving completely and held her tightly pressed onto his center, throbbing in steady pulses, releasing himself inside of her. Snow White felt the sting.Was he thinking of her the whole time?
Moments later he pulled away and lowered her legs to the ground. She was confused: she was a little relieved, but a little disappointed—like something new was now alive inside of her. She felt an odd sense of pride in herself, in her body, and somewhat of a sense of accomplishment. The yearning she had for his touch was still there. She wanted his hands on her breasts, his tongue on hers.
Hunter slumped against her for a moment, forehead pressed to her shoulder, breath sawing in and out. The forest seemed to shrink in around them; the world narrowed to the ragged sound of his breathing and the wild drum of her heart. He grabbed her in a sort-of bear hug and leaned them both back against the tree,her back against his chest, their legs curled together. “Liora…” he said again, burying his head in her hair, as he faded off to sleep.
Snow White stared up at the paling sky, teeth sunk into her lower lip hard enough to taste blood. Her mind slowly returned back to reality. She had not died. She had not died. She had changed, but she had not died. She was not sure yet what she had sacrificed in its place.Did he really think I was her? Did he want her, or me? His body felt so…amazing, but also so wrong. I feel ashamed, almost dirty—like I’ve done something wrong. But it felt so good to be desired. The way he looked at my chest—like he worshipped the view. Oh god. Oh, what have I done?
Within moments, he was snoring softly, arm flung over his face, knife glinting forgotten in the grass beside him.
Snow White slowly rose, dress torn, skin marked where his hands had held her. She looked down at him. Part of her wanted to kick him. Part of her wanted to curl up with him and sleep for a week. Part of her wanted to scrub the memory from her skin. Part of her wanted him to take her again.
She gathered her cloak around her, wincing at the soreness in her legs, her ribs, and now her groin. She grabbed the knife from the ground, considering for a long, tense moment the ease with which she could now press it tohisthroat. She didn’t. “Not you,” she whispered. “Not like this.”
She felt something roll down her inner thigh as she put the knife in her boot and turned towards Grimm. She wiped it away with the inside of her nightdress which was barely hanging on at this point. She clumsily tied the shoulder strap through a hole on the front of the dress, hoping it would hold. The stallion blew softly at her, as if asking where she’d been. “Far away,” she said. “Too far. We’re leaving, old friend. We need to go far from here.” It took some effort to haul herself back into the saddle, every muscle in her protesting.
