Page 40 of Lost to the Woods

“So, what’s going on? Why are you up, Bun-bun?”

“I thought I heard something outside,” I admit, my stomach tightens at the mere memory. “You?”

He shrugs. “I was just grabbing some water.”

Somehow, I have a hard time believing him. I don’t know, something about this place makes me paranoid. Or maybe I have been this way for a while. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be the same after Alaska…

“I don’t think we should go into the woods tomorrow,” I spurt out.

Ghost tilts his head, watching me in that quiet, unreadable way that makes my skin prickle. “You’re overthinking,” he finally murmurs, stepping closer. “Do you want me to take your mind off of it?”

I take a step back, but he catches my arm before I can fully retreat. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm, his thumb brushing against the inside of my wrist, right over my spiking pulse.

My breath stutters. “Ghost,” I start, but before I can finish, he’s already tugging me forward.

I should pull away. I should tell him to stop being so—so Ghost—but I surrender. He draws me against his chest, his large hands gripping my waist as he lifts me, and my legs circle his hips instinctively.

He’s warm. Too warm.

He carries me like I weigh nothing, arms tight around me as he crosses the hallway’s creaky hardwood floor. My heart’s still hammering from that sound outside—that low, dragging scrape—but being against him soothes the edge of my panic, just a little.

His bedroom door shuts behind us with a low click, and the lock slides into place. “No more creepy noises,” he murmurs into my ear, his voice a warm rasp. “Just us now.”

His palm slides up my back, onto the back of my neck, his thumb caressing the curve of my jaw below my ear. His eyes bore into mine, and he doesn’t have to say anything—they tell me all I need to know.

Nobody has ever looked at me the way he does.

Nobody has ever made me feel this wanted.

I lean in, just barely, but it’s enough of a green light for him.

Then, he kisses me.

Ghost Daddykisses me.

Slow at first—just the ghost of lips against mine, teasing, testing—then deeper, hungrier, like he’s pulling the fear out of me and swallowing it whole. He tastes like mint with just a hint of our homemade Moscow Mule from earlier, sharp and intoxicating, and I melt into him before I can stop myself. He’s trying to make me forget. Maybe I want to.

His tongue claims mine, possessive and slick, and I moan into his mouth as he lowers me onto the unmade bed. The mattress groans beneath my back as he leans over me, caging me in. The scent of him—smoke and leather and something darker—wraps around me, thick as a shroud. His hands find the hem of my tank top, long fingers dragging against my ribs as he pushes it up, baring my chest to his hungry stare.

“Fuck, Bunny,” he mutters, more like a prayer than a curse, voice rough enough to send a shiver down my spine.

His large palms cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, already tight with anticipation. The cool air of the room licks at my exposed skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his mouth when it closes over me—hot, wet, sucking hard enough to make my toes curl.

My breath stutters as his tongue circles my nipple, licking, then flicking, just enough pressure to make my back arch and a whimper catch in my throat. The sharp edge of his teeth grazes the sensitive peak, and I gasp, fingers tightening in his full, soft hair.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps, kissing his way to my other breast, giving it the same devastating attention. His heavy stubble scrapes against my sensitive skin, causing a delicious friction that leaves me trembling.

“Oh, Ghost!” I moan when his teeth gently tug at me, the sharpness toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

He bites down harder, just shy of too much. “Try again.”

A shudder runs through me. “Daddy…”

“That’s my girl.” His lips curl in a smirk before he returns to sucking, tongue working in slow, torturous circles.

Simultaneously, his hands grip my thighs, fingers digging in with just enough roughness to make me squirm. I gasp as he yanks me to the edge of the bed, the sudden movement sending a jolt through me. He drops to his knees, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and his lips follow the path down my stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His fingers hook under the waistband of my sleep shorts, tugging them down my legs—slow, teasing, like he’s unwrapping a present he plans to ruin.

Then he parts my knees, sliding in closer, the heat of his breath brushing against my inner thighs. My pulse thrums between my legs, already aching for him.

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