Page 48 of Far From Sherwood Forest
My touch is rough as I increase the pace, jerking him hard and fast. He doesn’t seem to care about my harsh grip or my dry, calloused hands as his eyelids flutter and his lips part.
I’d like to say this is my brand of punishment, but how can I when I’m enjoying that look of pleasure on his face?
His eyes finally close as his head falls back against the tree.
Moving my arm off his chest, I grab him roughly by the jaw and bring his face back to mine.
“Look at me,” I growl.
His eyes snap open, and he whimpers. His breath fogs the air between us as he pants heavily while I continue stroking him.
“I own your pleasure. Do you understand? It’smine. You don’t get to feel it unless I’m the one giving it to you. You don’t get to come unless I give you permission.”
He just stares at me, a dazed look in his eyes.
“Do you understand?” I ask again, tightening both my grip on his cock and the one on his jaw.
“Yes,” he whispers as he tries to nod, but it’s weak. “Yours.”
Mine.
I let go of his face to pat him on the cheek. “Good boy.”
“Fuck,” he moans as he thrusts his hips again.
“You like that? Is that what you want, Robin?” I keep stroking him because…fuck, I can’t stop. I don’twantto stop. “You want to be a good boy for me? You spent so long being bad that now you want to feel what it’s like to be good, don’t you?”
“I’ll be good as long as you keep touching me,” he says breathlessly, an edge of desperation in his voice.
I grin. “I plan on touching you everywhere.”
He moans again and throws his head back once more, but this time, he keeps his eyes open and on me. I can see it all there—his pleasure, his desire. It’s all open and laid bare that if I looked closely enough, I could probably see his soul.
The moment his eyes dip down to my lips, I release him.
While a small part of me is curious what his lips would feel like against mine, that’s a line I can’t bring myself to cross. It’s too fucking intimate, and that’s not what this is.
Before he can protest, I spin him around, pressing his chest against the tree. Since his pants are already undone, I grab them along with his boxer briefs and yank them down his legs, exposing his ass.
“Fuck,” I groan as I roughly knead one cheek. “You have a beautiful fucking ass, Robin.”
It’s soft and round and fits perfectly in my hand. The skin is a bit paler than the rest of him, more like a blank canvas.
Perfect for marking.
I drop to my knees.
Any hesitation or doubts I had about this before have completely vanished. Touching Robin is as easy as breathing. There is no doubt, only gravity—a quiet pull toward something I no longer want to resist.
This isn’t just want; it’sneed. The kind that tastes like sin and salvation in the same drink of air.
As my warm breath ghosts across his flesh, he shivers, and I feel it everywhere. When I sink my teeth into his left cheek, his hoarse cry sings through the forest like music. Biting down just a little harder, I glance up to see his hands flex into fists within the cuffs.
I let go and lick my lips, grinning. “I know that felt like hate.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” he mutters, panting again.
I laugh under my breath because even though he’s cursingme, he can’t hide the pleasure in his voice.
