Page 53 of Wildling

I’m not sure anymore if this is a memory or a fantasy. I guess I’m about to find out. He cups my cheek in a loving gesture. “I can never be mad at you, wildling. I love you too much to be mad at you. But I do have to punish you.”

I whimper in his arms and melt at his words.

He adjusts himself and pulls out his cock. He adjusts me so I’m positioned inside his legs, and he cups my face with his hands. He likes me like this…helpless and tattered. My nerves are shattered.

“Do you like it here, baby?” he asks. “Or do you want to leave?”

“I love it here,” I breathe.

His jaw tightens as he thrusts his hips. “You can go if you want. I won’t keep you locked anymore. You can leave, and I won’t chase you.”

“Nick,” I say as a sense of dread overwhelms me. “I don’t want to leave.”

I’m not sure what I want, but my mind needs him. He’s made me like this, starving for any crumb of attention he gives me.

His eyes darken. “If you stay willingly, I will cherish you, Layla. I’ll feed you, fuck you, and give you everything you’ll ever need. You can garden, read, paint, and cook. I’ll take care of you, baby. But you have to stay here forever.”

I let out a small cry, letting myself get lost in this fantasy. Nesting out here, pleasuring this man until the day I die. I run my hands along his chin, trying to memorize his face so I will never forget it again. How could my mind ever forget him? He is the love of my life.

He strokes my breasts, fondling each pebbled nipple before moving his hands down to my center, teasing my clit. Pleasure rises so quickly with him. I let out a soft moan as he moves my panties to the side and presses his fingers deep inside. I moan as my pussy clenches around his fingers. My wetness, dripping down my legs. “Say the words, baby.”

I hesitate only for a second. I want this…I want to be his wildling.

I stare at him, our eyes not leaving each other for even a second. “I want to be here.”

His eyes flash…and he moves his hands to my side. I can’t leave…I realize that now. He will always find me, even if he says he won’t. He’s a hunter, it’s in his blood. His body goes stiff, and he turns me around so I’m facing him.

“You’re such a little liar, wildling. You’re a terrible liar too. You might not want to stay yet, but you’ll learn to appreciate it.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I run my hand along his marred face. “What happened to you?”

He pauses and gathers my hair into his hands. His head tilts and a small smirk teases the edge of his lips as he rubs my brow. He swallows a bob in his throat as he wrestles with his memory. “It’s complicated.”

My heart aches. “Tell me about it.” I run my hand along the jagged edges of his face. His chest expands, his muscles flex, and I remember his immense strength and size as I lie beneath him. He could squeeze me, and I’d be done for.

“I kill people, and I’m good at it,” he says.

The shadows in his eyes fade. I grind myself against him as he continues washing me. My breath comes in heavier gasps. “Do you kill innocent people?” I ask him. I’m breaking through to him, his defenses are slowly crumbling. His face contorts, and the black shadows in his eyes threaten to consume him. He’s fighting the Archer off, and I’m watching as his instinct shifts from loving to terrifying all in a single moment. It takes my breath away.

As his barrier breaks down, he nods ever so slightly, remaining otherwise silent. He shifts and reaches for his gun. Pulling it out, he pushes me between his legs, causing me to fall between his knees.

A flutter shoots up my spine. “Am I an innocent person?” I ask him.

“You don’t even know what you are, baby. That makes you dangerous.”

He takes the gun and presses it against my cheek. I close my eyes as the coolness of it chills me to my bones and heats my core. I’m a melting pot of lust.

I stare up at him, staying between his knees as he reaches around me and reloads his rifle, keeping me trapped between him and the gun. I let out a trembling breath.

“Do you remember how we met?” he asks. I try to respond, but the words get caught in my throat. “You know me, Layla. Think real fucking hard.”

I need this memory.

Everyone in the church was wearing black. I hated it there…I hated every second. Who has a wake on a Saturday? My family insisted we show up for appearances, given the man died at our lumberyard. That’s when I saw him, sitting next to a girl who looked exactly like him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Then, suddenly, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

He watches me as the memory comes swirling back, and my eyes widen at the realization of just how deep our relationship goes. I met him at his father’s funeral. One more forgotten victim of the Constellation Killer. After all, there were eyewitnesses of the tragic accident when a piece of lumber rolled onto him, crushing his spine. He was dead on impact.

Case closed.