Page 27 of Taken in the Tree Farm
His dark hair is mussed from sleep and sex. Scruff covers his jaw, and there's a small scratch on his cheekbone. He looks peaceful in sleep, younger somehow, though no less intense.
I trace my fingers along his jaw, feeling the texture of his beard, and marvel at how well he played his part. How convincing he was as the predator, the stalker, the dangerous stranger.
How much fun we had.
"Luke Morrison," I whisper, unable to contain my grin, "you’re completely insane."
His eyes open immediately and that familiar warmth floods his gaze. The warmth that's just for me. Just for his new wife.
"Mrs. Morrison," he says, his voice rough with sleep and satisfaction, "you loved it."
I do. God help me, I absolutely do.
I surge forward and kiss him, and it's completely different from the kisses we shared last night. No dominance or claiming or desperate need. Just love. Pure, uncomplicated, ridiculous amounts of love for this man who spent months building anentire Christmas tree farm just to fulfill my darkest fantasy on our wedding night.
When we break apart, we're both grinning like idiots.
"That was incredible," I breathe, snuggling closer to his warmth. "Even better than I imagined."
"Yeah?" His hand traces lazy patterns on my back, careful of the marks he left. "No regrets?"
"Are you kidding? That was the hottest thing we've ever done. And we've done some pretty hot things."
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "True. But this one was special."
Special doesn't even begin to cover it.
I look around the workshop bedroom in the morning light, really seeing it now without the fog of drugs and fear and arousal. The attention to detail is stunning. The red silk sheets we're tangled in. The elaborate headboard with hooks built in for the light-chains. The fireplace with its carefully stacked wood. The chest full of supplies positioned exactly where he'd need them.
I laugh as I look down at myself, gesturing at the marks covering my body. "Look at me. I'm covered in bruises."
"Beautiful bruises." He traces one on my hip with gentle fingers. "And nothing that will last more than a few days. I was careful."
He was. Even in the middle of the most intense scenes, playing the dangerous predator, he neveractuallyhurt me. Every grab was controlled. Every pull on the lights was thoughtful. Every moment of breath play was carefully timed.
"And the costume?" I trace the marks on my wrists. "The sugarplum fairy outfit was perfect."
"I might have measured you in your sleep a few times." He grins unapologetically. "Had it custom made. The crown too. I wanted everything to be exactly right."
"It was." I press a kiss to his chest. "It was absolutely perfect. You're perfect."
"Says the woman who asked me to hunt her through a Christmas tree farm and fuck her while she was tied up with Christmas lights."
Fair point.
He grins wickedly. "You liked the reindeer thing."
"I loved the reindeer thing." I smack his chest lightly. "But you didn't warn me about that part."
"I wanted to surprise you. Keep you guessing." His fingers massage my scalp. "Did it work?"
"Are you seriously asking if your elaborate predator-prey roleplay with Christmas light bondage and breath play worked?" I raise an eyebrow. "Luke, I came four times.Four. I don't think I can walk properly."
"That's not a no."
"It's a resounding yes, you smug bastard." But I'm grinning as I say it.
We lie there for a while, just holding each other, the intensity of the night giving way to the gentle intimacy of the morning. Outside the windows, I can see snow still falling softly, covering the tree farm in fresh powder.
