Page 18 of Property of the Woodsman

“Fuck,” he growls low and takes my hand, placing it on the hard bulge behind his jeans, “you see what you do to me? Getting me all fucking mad like a naughty, little bunny.” His breath is heavy as he steps behind the rock and wallops my ass once, then twice, the vibration sending a sweet shock to my pussy that soaks the cotton still sheathing that part of me.

“Oh, I can do worse,” I pant as my ass bounces against his rough hand.

“You’re trouble,” he groans, smacking my bottom again, a breeze cooling the red-hot heat he leaves behind. “You’re trouble, and you’re doing it on purpose.”

It’s true, I did make him angry on purpose, and I’d do it again and again if it ended up like this.

Chapter Seven

Atlas

Jesus Christ.

Either she’s a voodoo fucking princess or I’m much simpler than I thought I was. Could be a combination of both, because the way she looks leaned over this fucking rock with her bubbled ass out on display for me is burning an image into my head I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to remove.

Not that I would ever want to. Hell, I want this very picture tattooed in my skull so I can replay it for eternity.

Her thick thighs pressed together. The sun beating down on her back. Her long, dark hair spilling off her shoulder. The scent of her arousal in the air.

I’m fucking salivating. I want to taste her again, eat her, devour her, chew on the lips of her pussy until she’s swollen and soaked, then I want to finally sink into her and fill her to the brim.

Fuck!

My cheeks heat as I smack my hand against her ass again, watching the ripple move up her back and down her thighs.

“Oh God,” she moans as she grips the edges of the rock tighter, her curved frame helpless as I punish her for running off at the mouth.

“Tell me you’re sorry for what you said, and I’ll stop.”

She laughs. “I’m never saying sorry then.”

My cock pulses at my zipper, and though I’ve been trying to hold back, whatever fucking beast is clawing at me from the inside out is winning.

“Yeah, you want to say that again?” I unzip my jeans and move closer to her, my dick angled toward her creamy, pink hole.

“I’m not saying I’m sorry,” she pants and lifts her butt slightly, like she knows what’s coming.

Leaning forward, my dick presses against her ass as I kiss her shoulder and whisper low in her ear, “I’m awfully big, little bunny. This is going to hurt.”

There’s an audible gasp in her throat as I lean up and edge myself into the creamy opening of her tight, little hole.

I’m barely inside when a crow begins to caw and the sound of tires on gravel echo into the treeline.

“Fuck. Are you expecting someone?”

She slides out from beneath me, her hair a frazzled mess as she readjusts her clothes into place. “No, but who knows when Reed will bring Jackson by. I should go—”

“No, you go into the house through the back door, strip off all those clothes, and get ready for the rest of your punishment. I’ll take care of whoever is at the door.”

She wets her lips and bites back a smile as leaves brush up from the coneflower garden next to the hose. “Okay, but if it’s—”

“Go.”

A simple nod and she’s heading toward the house like a cute little bunny who can’t wait for atonement, which only drives my cock harder against the zipper of my jeans. As I turn the corner of the house and see Mike Wilson’s signature red pickup truck in the driveway with his dumb ass fucking chainsaw logo on the side, my erection is gone.

I’ve never believed in the whole ‘speak of the devil’ thing, but here it is, proof in hand. The devil in work jeans and a black T-shirt, a graying beard trimmed beneath his chin, tattoos streaking up and down both arms.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I don’t live here anymore.”