Wandering Off the Path (13 page)
Read Wandering Off the Path Online
Authors: Willa Edwards
He swallowed as the seductress within her was revealed beneath his gaze. “I’ll remember. That will be enough.”
She pouted slightly. Wolf clenched his jaw, fighting back the yearning to reach out and nip the soft flesh. Her soft palms caressed up and down his chest. “What if you forget?”
He almost roared at the invitation in her eyes. She pressed into him, her breasts brushing him until he couldn’t think of anything but her. Not the forest, the setting sun, or the dropping temperature. “You’ll have to find a way to remind me.”
“And how can I do that?” she asked as her hands quested down his body, smoothing over the tight muscles of his abdomen, circling his hips.
“I can think of a few ways.”
He clasped her forearms, pulling her into him. He found her lips with ease, his tongue plundering her sweet mouth. Her soft body moulded into his. She wrapped her arms around him, tugging him closer. She moaned beneath him and Wolf hardened further, almost painfully, against her belly.
He stepped forward, pushing her back against a nearby tree. She let out a soft shriek, her hold tightening around him like a vice. The rough bark rubbed his hands and arms wherever they came in contact with the trunk, his embrace still twisted around her warm body. He shifted his weight against the sturdy maple for support, pinning her between him and the tree. The graze of the cold, golden ring on her finger brushed his flesh.
He pulled back and a soft, complaining whimper whispered from her throat. Her eyes popped open. Her lips were swollen and full from his kisses, her taste still tempting his tongue.
He skimmed his hands down her thick scarlet cloak, caressing into the folds of her skirt. Gripping the fabric, he slowly eased it up thighs. The cool evening breeze wafted against them, his hair tickling against his neck.
Wolf blew along the column of her neck, adding his own warm, moist breeze to that supplied by the thick forest. Abigail flinched at the unexpected gust.
His chest tightened in increments, his heart bounding at her reaction. How he loved it when she fought. Almost as much as when she finally submitted. Her body stiffened. Every muscle locked down in battle against her rising desire. But he had far stronger weapons to fight such need with.
He continued his seductive gusts across her skin, blowing warm drafts across her nipples until they pebbled. A conflicted moan escaped her lips. He worked his way down between her breasts. Along the muscles of her stomach, and the delicate curve between her hipbones.
Dropping to his knees in front of her—no doubt imprinting his joints on the hard forest floor—he continued his temptation. Inches from her calves, he lengthened his breaths. Not for her benefit, but to feed the rapid increase of his heartbeat. His exhalations puffed against her inner knees. Her legs sagged and she moaned again, pressing farther into the trunk for support, the bark biting into her skin.
When his non-existent caress brushed her thighs, moving closer to her needy centre, she screamed out, “Wolf, please.”
He met her lust-darkened gaze, elation rising within him. Her mouth parted on a gasp, her legs shaking, calling to him as surely as her words. But he needed more. He wanted her begging, pleading her submission.
“Please what, my pet?” he asked, his tone dark and thick.
“I need you.”
He shuffled closer, his breath whispering against the nest of hair between her legs. “Ask me the way I want. Ask me the way I can’t refuse.”
“Wolf,” she whined, inching towards his lips.
“Give it to me.” He nipped the inside of her knee and she screamed in response, driving even more blood to his swollen cock.
He was already hard as timber but he wasn’t about to give in to her, no matter how much he might want to. He meant to be the victor of the fight, and she, the recipient of enough pleasure to make it worth the defeat. The scent of lavender, apples and sweet musk promised she was as ready for him as he was for her.
“Please, fuck me.” The voice was so soft and low. The beast within him responded.
He glanced up to her eyes. The raw need aching in their depths was so beautiful and overpowering in the same moment he almost forgot to breathe.
“That’s not enough,” he growled against her skin, licking up the side of her thigh. Her body shook, her balance against the tree teetering. She dipped, sliding closer to his possessing mouth.
“Please, Wolf,” she whined, despite the futility. She knew what he wanted. And she still withheld it. The fight flared between them again.
He shook his head between her legs, brushing against her. He glanced up to watch as a blush crested her breasts, rising up to pinken her neck and her rounded cheekbones.
She released an exasperated huff, softening into him, submitting to him. “Please, fuck me.” Her voice shook, bringing to mind all the times he’d made her voice shake while buried inside her. “I want you to fuck me until I scream, until all I can feel is you inside me. Until all I want is to feel you coming over and over again.”
Her words were naughtier, more demanding. And in any of their other love play they would have worked to break his will. But this time her naughty expression didn’t have the same effect on him. The words sounded hollow, planned, artificial.
He looked up at her from his knees. His gaze met her brilliant amber eyes, shining and strong like stars. Her soft lips parted, her gaze searching his face, patiently waiting.
He wished he could tell her what he wanted, why the words he’d taught her no longer held the same effect. But he didn’t know himself. It was yet another difference, another change her presence in his life had created.
Her eyes glowed deeper, golden with recognition, seeing something in his expression he couldn’t articulate. Her lips turned up at the corner. She curved her hand around his cheek, her touch warm and comforting against his skin.
“I love you,” she whispered, barely above a breath.
It screamed through his blood. It was what he’d been waiting for, what he wanted, what he needed, not just tonight but all the lonely days and nights of his life.
With a growl of satisfaction, he fisted the thick layers of her skirts, lifting them above her hips. He slammed his body against hers. Leveraging her against the tree, he slid her legs up to encircle his hips. He shifted his pants, exposing his cock to the cool forest air before he plunged into her heat in one smooth movement.
She screamed her moan, almost breaking him with the sound. His breath rasped. He remained still within her, fighting the impulse to thrust into her, fast and hard, until his need was assailed.
He couldn’t use her so. He needed to show her how much her words meant, how much he cared, how he’d honour and cherish her all his life. He moved out of her, thrusting back in, slow and determined. He focused on the needy sounds rolling from her throat, more animal than human, and the quivering of her muscles around him. Enjoying her pleasure more than his own.
Her arms imprisoned him and her fingers tangled in his hair. Her nails bit into his scalp, the pinch of pain urging him to thrust faster, harder. The small injury marked him, displaying him as hers. Her possession of him was complete.
She kissed him fiercely, dominating the touch. He allowed her the control, revelling in her intensity. Her lips were warm and soft beneath him, her tongue probing and tangling with his.
Her hips arched off the rough bark, meeting his with equal intensity. Moans rose from her throat in long, desperate shouts. Her soft breasts brushed against his chest with each thrust. He gripped her legs, holding her to him.
“Abigail,” he moaned into her hair, when she’d finally released his lips. “I love you.” The sweet aroma of her surrounded him, mixed with the earthy smell of the forest. “I need you.”
“I’ll always need you.” Her grasp tightened, her touch insistent. She pulled him closer with her knees and the shivering muscles of her thighs. “You allow me to be who I am. To love and want and live by my own choice.”
The cool metal ring on her finger bit into his scalp, the symbol and devotion behind it spurring him on. His knees shook, suddenly weak.
“And I always will,” he growled against her neck, pushing the words through his tight throat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Abigail moaned beneath him, her entire body contracting. Her climax erupted from her suddenly and with full force, surprising him. The spasms of her muscles grew in intensity, spurring his own release. He roared, thrusting faster, lengthening her orgasm, pushing through each contraction of her body until they both were depleted.
Exhausted, he dropped his head, resting in the valley of her breasts. His weight pressed Abigail’s back into the rough tree bark. Her legs shook around him, her breath caressing his sweat-moistened skin.
He held her tight, not out of a necessity to stay upright, or to balance on unstable legs, though those reasons existed as well. He embraced her merely to hold her, to feel her in his arms, where she was meant to be. She smoothed her hands across his body, travelling along his chest and up his neck as their bodies settled.
His heartbeat slowed and his breath evened, as did Abigail’s. Wrapped around each other, limbs tangled, he was thankful for the sensation. The sweet congestion in his chest filled him in a way he’d never been before.
A change overcame him, altering him once again. But unlike that moment in the woods that had morphed him into a being that could tolerate his pain, a beast that could survive what he’d endured, this time he had changed for his own reasons.
Abigail smiled up at him, her face bright with emotion, as if she saw the difference. She reached up, her lips finding his in a soft kiss. He shared her grin, unable to stop the reaction, though he had no intention of doing so.
He dipped his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her for just another moment, before he dropped her legs from his hips, placing her feet shakily on the ground. He pushed her skirt down her hips, the hem brushing against them as he adjusted her clothing, then his own. They remained silent. There was no reason to speak. Nothing needed to be said.
He placed his hand in Abigail’s, twining her fingers with his. Together, they made their way back to the path they’d determined for themselves.
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Prescott Woods: Bubbles and Troubles
Bebe Balocca
Excerpt
Chapter One
He was tall, lean, and corded with muscle. He slipped through the shadows like mist. Carmen chased him, frustrated, and called out. He’d disappeared into the rustling leaves, and she felt utterly bereft. Would she never feel his touch again?
She whimpered in the silence of the woods, lonely and cold. He was gone, and she was alone.
Then he was at her back once more, solid and warm, towering over her. Carmen leaned into him, overwhelmed with relief and longing.
“You’re back,” she breathed. “You came back for me. I hoped so much that you would.”
He cupped her breast with his right hand and slid his other down her belly. The skin of her abdomen warmed and moulded to the shape of his fingers and palm.
His erection pressed into the small of her back and he moved his left hand lower, yanking down her skirt and panties. Carmen’s breaths quickened. She reached behind her and drew him closer, gripping the clenched cheeks of his bare ass with her hand. “Yes,” she whispered.
He stroked between her legs, teasing the edges of her pussy lips with the lightest of touches, before sliding his fingers inside. Carmen arched against him and felt wetness flow from her cunt over his knuckles. She writhed in his embrace, twisting her spine so that his hardened shaft ground against her lower back. He shoved his fingers deep within her, stretching her, and Carmen spread her thighs wide. She covered the hand that fucked her with her own, urging him to push deeper and faster.
Abruptly, he forced her to her knees on the woodland floor. Carmen caught herself with her hands and gasped to feel the tip of his cock nudging the entrance to her pussy. She lowered her weight onto her elbows and thrust her ass high into the air.
He entered her with one aggressive stroke. His shaft, impossibly thick and long, seemed too big for her, but her dripping wetness eased the snug entry. “Fuck, yes,” Carmen whispered. She feared that she might split into pieces, skewered by that magnificent organ of his. It was a delicious, searing, perfect pain.
She flattened her chest on the ground, bending in two. The dry leaves rustled beneath her, delicate and feathery on her sensitive nipples, as his thrusts shook her entire body.
“Come inside me,” she murmured. “Fill me up.”
He trembled and stopped briefly, pulling out with elaborate slowness, and gripped her waist tightly. Eager wetness coated Carmen’s lower lips.
Then he shoved it all in, fucking her furiously, and came with a roar. She fell into her own shuddering, raging climax. The walls of her pussy contracted in rhythmic spasms, matching beat-for-beat the spurts of thick fluid that gushed from his shaft.
Carmen bucked against him, drawing out her orgasm, and scraped her tits on the leaf-strewn forest floor.
Cock-a-doodle-doooo!
Carmen exhaled and pulled her slickened fingers from between her legs. Cool grey light flooded the room.
Once more, that huge stray cat was sitting
outside
her window
on the ledge
, staring
in.
“Like what you see, kitty-cat?” Carmen asked.
The fluffy grey cat meowed, brilliant blue eyes flashing, and leapt away. Carmen made a mental note to buy some cat food at the store and try to convince the big tom to stick around. Recently, she’d noticed signs of mice in the chicken coop—she could use a good mouser.
Life on Carmen’s little farm meant rising at the crack of dawn, but she loved every day of her life in the eastern Kentucky country. She stretched with a satisfied groan and then used a tissue to wipe off her sticky fingers.
“Come on, girls! Breakfast time!” Carmen opened the door to the henhouse and scattered scratch feed over the ground. Agatha, the dove-grey Silkie, and Bella, the black-and-white speckled Andalusian, trotted over and began pecking away. Scarlett and Melanie, the fluffy, fancy Faverolles, stuck close together and approached cautiously. The other birds sometimes bullied them. Carmen thought they must be jealous since Scarlett and Melanie were by far the prettiest chickens in the flock.
Gretel, the robust black Jersey Giant, sidled up next to Carmen. Gretel was as friendly as she was hefty. Suellen, the orange New Hampshire Red, worked her way in between Agatha and Bella. Spare Tire, the Bantam rooster, hopped down from his favourite black rubber perch and strutted around his girls. Carmen’s mellow golden Labrador, Dax, exited his doghouse and sat by Carmen’s feet with a proprietary air. He and Spare Tire had an uneasy truce. Both felt it was their job to protect the girls—the chickens and Carmen—and Carmen had made it clear that peace between her boys was the only option. Dax locked eyes with Spare Tire and huffed, then trotted back to his doghouse to observe the scene from the comfort of his cedar chip bed.
Rewind it all five years and Carmen would never have imagined that she’d be living here in this old cabin next to the woods, with six chickens, a rooster, and a big yellow dog as her foster children. Not to mention working at an organic vegetable co-op. Oh, and belly dancing
. I’m a regular hippie
, she chuckled to herself. City-boy Ian would be totally appalled.
How things change,
Carmen thought, scattering another handful of grain for the flock of chickens. Five short years ago she’d been on the career fast track in Chicago. She and Ian had both been corporate lawyers living in Lincoln Park. Ian was handsome, glamorous and driven, so being his girlfriend had been an ego-enhancing thrill ride. Carmen had loved going out on Ian’s arm and knowing that all eyes had been on the lean, elegant, fashionable man beside her. Their weekdays—and often weekends, too—had been busy and challenging with legal work, but free time had been nothing but sweet. Fabulous restaurants, the best wine, erudite friends, and trendy parties—Carmen had known she had it made. When Ian had taken her to Fishbone Alley on their three-year anniversary, Carmen had hardly been able to contain her excitement. She had just known he had been going to propose, and it was just like Ian to pop the question in their favourite restaurant.
That night, Ian had shown her just how little she knew. “God, I never saw it coming,” Carmen muttered, watching Agatha and Bella take a break from pecking the ground to sip from their water dish.
Ian had waited until after dessert before dropping his bomb.
“I’m glad we had a last special evening together, Carmen, because I wanted us to share a final night together.”
Those calm, cool words of his had sucked the blood right out of her face. “Final?” she’d asked, baffled.
“I’d like you to meet someone,” Ian had said. He’d beckoned over her shoulder. Carmen had turned and had seen the head chef of Fishbone Alley walking to their table. Chef Morgan Greenway had worked his way across the crowded dining room, smiling broadly at Ian and greeting customers, then had given Carmen a brief nod.
The stocky chef with the face of a seasoned boxer had marched right up to Ian and Carmen’s table then he’d taken Ian’s hand in his.
Carmen’s head had spun. “Are you kidding me, Ian? After three years of being a couple, you’re telling me that you’re into men? Seriously?” She’d scrunched her nose, trying to make sense of what had been before her. “You’re into chefs?”
Ian had cleared his throat. “Look, Carmen, I know it’s not fair to you. It’s just something I discovered about myself. Well, with Morgan’s help.” He’d locked eyes with the chef. The two men couldn’t have looked more different—Ian, with his delicate, aristocratic features, and Morgan, who looked fresh from a brawl in the alley—but they’d clearly shared a bond.
Carmen’s reaction had surprised everyone, including herself. She had laughed.
Ian and Morgan had exchanged confused looks. Carmen had stood up and had tossed her napkin down onto the table.
“I should have seen it coming,” she’d managed to force out between loud guffaws. “You’re just a little too pretty, Ian, and a little too fashionable for a straight dude. The funny thing is that I thought you were going to propose tonight.” Tears of laughter had squeezed out from Carmen’s eyes and she’d gripped her shaking sides. An embarrassed hush had fallen over the restaurant. “I’m going to leave you the cheque though, or maybe you can ask your boyfriend to take care of it.” Carmen had collected her purse and jacket. “You boys have fun with whatever you do next, okay?”
Carmen had walked past a couple of stunned tables before wheeling back around to Ian. “Give me three days in our house,” she’d announced, “to clear out my stuff. Don’t come home at all, and don’t call me. I don’t want to see or hear from you ever again. I want the house sold immediately and I want half of the profits sent to me through my parents. You’ve got their phone number, right? From those Christmases we spent with them?” Carmen, seething, had swept her gaze around the packed restaurant. Expensively dressed people had filled each table, and every single shocked eye had been on her. The cruel hilarity of the situation had overwhelmed her. “I’m grateful, Ian”—she’d laughed bitterly—“because I see now that I don’t belong with you, and I don’t belong among these people, and I don’t belong in this city.” Carmen had marched to the front door with her head held high, had walked out, and had never looked back.
She was snapped out of her reverie by a soft, insistent nudge. Gretel, determined to get at a cricket between Carmen’s feet, had wedged her chunky black bulk between her ankles. Carmen tossed the last of her grain to the chickens and replaced the cup in the feed barrel. She eased down into her padded swing and stared into the Prescott woods.
In the five years she’d lived there, Carmen had only made a few short forays into the woods. Somehow, she felt out of place there, even intimidated. She’d attributed it to the fact that she was, in fact, trespassing, and decided to listen to her instincts. Those woods were better left alone. Besides, there was plenty of nature to explore in and around Charade, and plenty of wildlife, both human and animal. Gretel, appetite satisfied at last, clucked and looked up at her with curious black eyes.
She lifted the chunky black chicken to her lap and stroked her glossy feathers. The June morning was already balmy, and soon temperatures would climb into the mid-eighties. The shadowy woods would be dark and cool, though…
Carmen shook her head and gently placed Gretel on the ground. Those woods were off-limits, both because they belonged to Calvin Prescott and because of the creepy vibe they gave her.
She picked up her basket and entered the chicken coop to collect the eggs. Oddly, the chickens had had another light day of laying. Normally, the girls would give her at least four or five eggs every day, and frequently more. Often, Gretel was good for two or three all by herself. The last week or so, however, Carmen had only found two eggs in the coop every morning. She checked the latch on the coop’s door. It was secure and hadn’t been gnawed by an animal. Besides, if animals had been getting into the coop, they’d have bothered the birds. And Dax, of course, wouldn’t tolerate anyone messing with his chickens. She looked back at the little flock. They all looked robust and relaxed as they explored the fenced backyard. She scanned the edge of the woods for any sign of the huge grey tomcat. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called out, but there was no sign of the furry grey feline. Apparently he’d gone off to wherever he went when not peeking through her window. Carmen shrugged and went inside to get dressed for the day.
Carmen was Charade’s only lawyer. However, since the population was so tiny, she only practised law for two days per week. A few real estate transactions, some estate planning, and a more-or-less amicable divorce now and then helped shore up her savings account. On her lawless days—a term gleefully coined by her friend Dora—Carmen worked two five-hour shifts at the local vegetable co-op, Bushel and a Peck. Her other lawless activity involved dancing barefoot to exotic music. Carmen had expected to hate the belly-dancing class that Dora had dragged her to, but instead she loved every minute of the gyrating, sensual experience. After a year of attending classes religiously, she’d become a certified instructor.