Page 34 of Lost to the Woods

“Uh, how can you talk about being serious when you won’t even show me your face?” I accuse, grasping at any line of defense I can.

“You’ve seen my face on New Year’s Eve.”

“I don’t… remember.”

“Which brings us back to my point of you drinking too much.”

This fucking jerk.

“You’re insufferable,” I hiss, trying to free myself.

It’s useless.

If anything, it only makes his grip tighten.

“Keep misbehaving, and I’ll have to punish you.”

I squirm on his lap, heat flooding me, every nerve on high alert. His free hand returns to my chest, much bolder now as he tugs at the cleavage of my dress. My breasts spill free, and his hand covers one immediately, fingers toying with my taut nipple, twisting and rolling it until I moan again.

Then, his mouth… oh God, his mouth is on me.

He kisses the side of my neck, soft and wet and possessive, each press of his lips deliberate. I go pliant in his lap, panting, my eyes fluttering closed as he trails those kisses lower—over my collarbone, between the swell of my breasts, until he closes his lips around my other nipple and sucks.

Hard.

I cry out, his pierced tongue flicking fast, his teeth grazing before he bites down. My hips buck as I writhe on him without meaning to, lost in the sensation.

He kisses his way up my neck stopping right at my ear as he whispers, “Can you feel what you’re doing to me, sitting on my cock in that cute little dress?”

I grind down against his lap—and fuck, he’s hard. Thick. I can feel every inch of him through his jeans, pressing up beneath me, demanding attention.

My thighs spread wider, my soaked panties clinging to me with embarrassing need. His hand drops and snakes up under my skirt, his knuckles slowly drag along the ruined lace.

“Mmmm, messy girl,” he purrs, his lips curving in a smile against the hollow behind my ear as he presses the flat of his fingers against my pussy. “You’re fucking dripping.”

I can’t deny it.

His hand yanks my panties to the side with a sharp motion that makes me shudder, then he strokes between my puffy lips, spreading the wetness, owning every inch of me. I grind against his hand, and I swear I can feel every heartbeat in the tips of my nipples, still sensitive from his mouth. His fingers find my clit, circling, pressing, coaxing a needy sound from my throat. My hands are still pinned behind my back, helpless to do anything but feel. I’m completely at his mercy. And I fucking love it.

“Look straight ahead,” he orders suddenly.

I blink, chest rising and falling fast, the pulse between my legs hammering like thunder. “What?”

“Don’t move. Just look.”

So I do.

Through the big bay window of the Airbnb’s living room, soft yellow light spills out onto the porch, and there they are. Our friends. Laughing, talking, drinking, with Ouija board set up in front of them. Casual and unbothered, completely unaware of what’s happening just feet away.

Except if I can see them that clearly…

My blood goes ice-cold and fire-hot all at once.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, knees snapping shut on instinct like a trap.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, voice razor sharp. “Open those fucking legs for me. Now.”

“Ghost—” I start, panic and heat battling in my throat, but he cuts me off.

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