Page 24 of Taken in the Tree Farm
She looks softer like this. Still dazed and trying to process everything that happened.
"Do you know how long I've been planning this?" I ask, settling back on the bed beside her. "How many months I spent designing this farm, building every structure, placing every light?"
She shakes her head slowly.
"Months." I let my hand rest on her thigh, feeling the warmth through the robe. "I bought this land specifically for you. Had architects design the layout. Hired crews to build the gingerbread houses, the candy sculptures, the workshop. Every single detail was chosen with you in mind."
Her brow furrows. "Why?"
"Because I wanted to huntyou." I say it simply. "I wanted to chase you through my winter wonderland and catch you. See you running from me with so much fear and arousal it makes you shake. Then to tie you up with Christmas lights and make you come until you forget your own name."
She's staring at me now, confusion bright in her eyes. "But... why me?"
"Whynotyou?" I lean closer, my mouth near her ear. "You're perfect. Intelligent. Strong. Beautiful. Everything I've ever wanted, wrapped up in one package."
"You don't even know me," she protests weakly.
"Don't I?" I pull back to look at her face. "I know you intimately. I know exactly where to touch you, what makes you moan, what makes you beg, what makes you lose control. I know your body better than you know it yourself."
"How—" she starts, but I cut her off with a finger pressed to her lips.
"Shh. Questions later." I trace the outline of her mouth. "Right now, I want to hear you say it."
"Say what?"
"That you're mine." My hand moves from her lips to wrap around her throat. "Say it."
She hesitates, and I see the war playing out behind her eyes. Pride versus desire. Independence versus submission. The need to maintain some sense of control versus the overwhelming urge to give me what I'm asking for.
Finally, quietly… "I'm yours."
The words hit me harder than they should.Deeper. Like she's not just playing along with the scene but like she actually means it.
"What do you want from me?" she asks, and there's something almost desperate in the question.
“I’ve already told you.” I cup her face with both hands, making sure she's looking directly at me when I answer. "Everything.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, and I see tears gathering in her eyes. But they're not tears of fear or pain. Before she can process it too deeply, I'm moving. I scoop her up—robe, exhaustion, and all—and carry her the short distance to the head of the bed. This time I position her against the pillows, making sure she's comfortable before I join her.
I settle beside her, my hand sliding under the robe to cup her breast. She's still sensitive, and when I brush my thumb over her nipple, she gasps.
"You didn't think we were done, did you?" I ask, my mouth finding the pulse point below her ear. "I told you I'd take you again."
"I can't—" she protests, even as her body arches into my touch. "I'm too?—"
"You can." I slip my hand lower, between her thighs, feeling how wet she still is. "Your body knows you can. It's already preparing for me again."
I stroke her slowly, gathering her arousal on my fingers. She's swollen and oversensitive, but when I circle her clit with gentle pressure, she moans.
"That's my girl," I encourage. "Always so responsive for me."
I take my time working her up this round. No urgency, no rush. Just long, slow strokes that build pleasure gradually instead of explosively. She melts into it, her body relaxing even as arousal coils tighter in her belly.
When I finally push two fingers inside her, she's soft and open, taking them easily despite how thoroughly I already used her. I curl them, finding that spot, and her hips roll with the rhythm I set.
"Look at me," I command softly.
Her eyes flutter open, hazy with renewed desire.
