Page 45 of Trapped with the Forest Ranger
The sound of his fly tearing open is obscene, desperate. He lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock sliding through my slick heat, teasing my entrance. His hand fists in my hair, tugging my head back as he leans in, teeth grazing my ear.
“This is your only warning.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
He slams into me in one brutal, glorious thrust.
The breath leaves my lungs in a strangled cry, my fingers scrabbling against the tree, back arching into the searing stretch of him. He curses low and guttural, driving in deeper, hips snapping hard against my ass, again and again, pounding into me like he’s making up for every second he held back.
“Mine,” he growls, voice broken, lips pressed to my shoulder. “Every fucking inch of you.”
“Yes.” I rock back to meet him, lost in the rhythm, the ferocity, the raw need.
He thrusts harder, deeper, relentlessly, every snap of his hips a brand against my soul. I come apart fast, my orgasm crashing through me like lightning, my cry swallowed by the wind and the forest around us. My body shudders, clamps down, milking him, dragging him over the edge with me.
His shout is hoarse, his release a violent surrender as he slams deep and stills, pouring himself into me with one final, brutal thrust.
Silence falls. Only our breathing fills the space—ragged, gasping, stunned.
When we finally break for air, his forehead presses hard against mine, both of us shaking, breaths ragged.
“We need to get back to the cabin,” he rasps, voice wrecked, eyes wild.
It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command. A promise. A threat.
I barely manage a nod before he grabs my hand, his grip unyielding, dragging me up the path with a pace that borders on brutal. Each step is a silent warning:I’m done holding back.
Chapter 12
The return is a blur—Caleb’shand clamps around mine, possessive, blistering with heat. His body radiates raw intent, each stride coiled with purpose. Dominance rolls off him in thick, suffocating waves, and I drink it in like oxygen. Every brush of his shoulder, every backward glance isn’t just a check-in—it’s a warning. A claim.
By the time the cabin appears, my pulse is a frantic staccato, my skin prickling with anticipation. Nerves strung tight and quivering
The second the door closes, he’s on me.
I’m spun, slammed back against the wall, the impact stealing my breath—but it’s nothing compared to the kiss. His mouth crashes onto mine with brutal hunger, all teeth and tongue, a collision of need that tastes like heat and fury and everything we’ve been denying. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to deepen the kiss, to devour me whole.
There’s no gentleness—just the desperate drag of hands and the scrape of his jaw against my skin. He kisses like he’s starving and I’m the last thing left.
I clutch his shirt, scrabbling to pull him closer, to feel the crushing weight of him pinning me down. He growls against my lips—low, guttural, feral—and presses his body hard to mine, hips grinding against my core until I gasp, feeling every inch of how undone he is.
“You feel that?” His voice is a snarl, hips rolling slow and punishing. “That’s how much I’ve wanted you. How close I am to losing control.”
“Then lose it,” I breathe, writhing against him.
His head drops to my shoulder, jaw clenched tight. A tremor ripples through his arms, tension coiled so tight it vibrates against my skin, like a live wire ready to snap. The war inside him bleeds through every muscle, every breath, his restraint stretched thin and fraying.
A sharp inhale—then he draws back just enough to meet my gaze, eyes blazing, wild, undone.
Then his mouth crashes into mine again, and the world disappears. He doesn’t kiss—he consumes. Bites down on my jaw, sucks fire into the tender spot beneath my ear until I gasp his name, breathless.
Warm knuckles brush my skin, dragging the hem of my sweater up with rough urgency. One motion—then it’s gone, tossed aside, forgotten.
His gaze drops like a blow. Scorching. Possessive. Jaw locked tight like he’s barely holding himself together.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He doesn’t wait. Fingers hook into my bra, tugging it down with zero finesse, exposing me to the cabin’s chill—and to him.
Calloused palms find me instantly—cupping, stroking—thumbs circling my nipples until my back bows with a moan, breath catching, thoughts scattering.
