Page 7 of Unwrapping Deviance
“Mi?”
My heart is cracking against my chest. My pussy is on fire and he’s standing so close I’m having trouble breathing.
“Hm?”
Even to my ears, the single sound is a breathy murmur dripping with how badly I want this man.
He’s so still and silent for so long. His fingers grip mine too tight. He lowers his head, an unexpected descent that floods my panties with anticipation.
“I said, I can do anything if you’re with me.”
The words ghost my upturned face, caress my parted lips. It’s dark enough that I almost feel brave enough to arch my toes, capture his...
A snap from somewhere behind me has me jolting.
“What was that?”
Daniel chuckles lightly and squeezes my fingers. “You’re going to get used to that, city girl. Out here, you’re the outsider.”
With a tug, he continues the rest of the way while I scan all the places I can’t see past the heavy brush. The obscurity doesn’t diminish or lessen the deeper we go in. Even when the two-story cabin with wrap around porch and a sharp roof comes into view with the wild practically right up against the log walls.
No yard. Not even a patch of space at the bottom of the five steps leading up to the porch for two little boys to play.
“Where did you guys play?” I ask.
Daniel pauses with one hand on the doorknob, the other still cradling mine. “This whole forest was our playground. We know every inch of it.”
It doesn’t strike me as the kind of place for children, but I have never lived anywhere with less than a few million people, aStarbucksat every corner and skyscrapers spearing up into the heavens. Maybe it’s not meant for someone like me to understand.
Door open, Daniel lets me go in first. His long fingers brush the small of my back as he closes it behind us.
“Christian?” he calls into the weighted silence.
The entrance opens to a cozy sitting room with worn furniture and a giant fireplace taking up nearly an entire wall. A flat screen hangs over top, facing a long, leather sofa in rough, faded brown with matching armchairs flagging either side of a cluttered, wooden table.
Everything has a thick layer of dust and grime. Dishes, old newspapers and magazines choke every flat surface. The floor is scattered with leaves and dirt and trash, and there’s a pungent stench of rot and mold heavy in the air that makes my stomach churn. Daniel had said his father let the place go, but this wasn’t any way for a person to live.
Across the room, is an open doorway surrounding a blue-black hue. On the left, a narrow set of stairs lead up to the second floor and the breathtaking man standing at the top cladin nothing but miles of smooth, tanned skin covered in swirls of colored ink and a fluffy, white towel.
“Water heater’s out,” he’s saying as he jogs down the stairs.
He’s wet. Thick, black strands fall in damp waves to broad shoulders. Water drips off the ends to trail lazily down a rugged chest lined with an array of winding color. They follow hard, carved lines, tracing a taunting path between square slabs of granite before soaking into the cloth slunglowover narrow hips.
Everything about him is a warning, a neon, flashing hazard sign cautioning unsuspecting mortals to keep their distance unless they want to be destroyed. It’s easy to see this man straddling the beast outside, dark jeans taut over corded thighs, back straining against his top. It’s almost humorlessly comical how completely identical he is to Daniel and still nothing like him.
Where Daniel is suave and cunning like a mafia billionaire mob boss, Christian is a ruthless and dangerous biker hitman with several kills under his belt and maybe a mask...
Oh man, maybe Daniel’s right. Maybe I am reading too much, butfuck!He did not prepare me for this, and I am taking my little bookworm fantasy to the hilt.
No pun intended.
Pretty amused by my wayward thoughts, I am not braced for eyes the sandy gold of the Sahara Desert to lift through heavy fans of soot and fix right on me. I’m not prepared for the hard punch in the sternum when he blinks and freezes.
Just stops.
Kind of just stalls mid stride. The breath I’d greedily gulped down lodges in my chest with his sharp focus. The lingering travel up the entire length of my body from sneakers to stop at my mouth burns.
Not a mild discomfort I can run under some cold water. Heburnsme like I need a month in ICU. He scorches every stripof flesh he comes across, caressing them as accurately as if he’d physically touched me. But his focus on my mouth is personal.