Page 19 of Auctioned to the Lumberjacks (Auctioned)

Do I now have to endure it the same way with Jack?

He made you come, my internal voice whispers. And he achieved it by doing things to me that I would never have thought I would enjoy.

He might do it again.

The reality is that I don’t have a choice, whether it’s pleasurable or not. I have to find a way to keep this man happy or I won’t get the money I need.

I glance at Finn and find him sitting with his head hanging. West barks his name, and they both leave the room, pausing in the hallway to the bedrooms to argue in whispered tones.

The plates are already clear of food, so all I have to do is wash them and leave them to drain. The pans are harder to clean, but the motion of scrubbing is cathartic. All the while, my heart races in my chest at what faces me after I’m done making the cabin presentable.

I check the pantry and fridge and find a pen and paper to jot down the food items that I need to keep the kitchen running. In the cupboard beneath the sink, I find a limited supply of cleaning products, so I add a few more items to the list. Maybe one of the lumberjacks will take me to the nearest store, and I can pick things out for myself. The prospect of doing something so mundane gives me a glimmer of something to look forward to outside of these four walls.

The house is quiet by the time I’m finished, and I pad softly into the hallway, listening out for any sign of life. My heart beats so fast against my ribs that I have to place my hand over my shirt to contain it.

I need to do this.

But confronting Jack is like facing Carter all over again.

I can’t bring myself to knock on the door but stand frozen like a statue instead.

Maybe I should let him come to me. I can leave my door open like they insisted and see who decides to use my body tonight.

But that isn’t what West instructed, and I can’t disobey because I’m already treading on thin ice.

I raise my hand to knock on the door, but before I can, all the lights in the cabin flicker and then go out. The darkness is so deep and ominous, I gasp. I wave my hand in front of my face, but I can’t see a thing. This deep in the forest, there is no light, and even the moon tonight is just a thin mocking arc in the sky.

In a panic, I knock softly on Jack’s door. Somehow, the wolf inside seems less daunting than the dark emptiness outside his room.

His voice barks for me to enter, so I do, finding a soft flickering candle casting dancing shadows in the room and a very naked Jack sitting on the edge of a large wooden-framed bed.

In the low light, he’s like a crouching giant, ready to unfurl his might.

“The lights went off,” I whisper.

“Close the door.”

He stands, making no effort to conceal his huge and very hard cock. It taps his navel as he takes a step closer, using two fingers to beckon me in a gesture that seems completely explicit.

Like he’s pulling strings connected to my body, I move closer. The scent of him is everywhere: woodsy with a hint of citrus, and underneath, something masculine that is uniquely him.

He’s showered away the filth of the day, but I can’t forget the scent of his sweat that lingered in the kitchen after he left, like a drug that clouds my mind, making me forget how harsh and terrifying he is.

His eyes narrow, assessing me. The tangle of his dirty-blond hair surrounds his face like a lion’s mane. Deep in his beard, his lips form a grim line.

“What are you here for?”

I blanch, embarrassed to answer. Still, I push to find the courage. “For whatever you need.”

“Whatever I need…?”

He’s close enough to touch me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looms over me, his impossibly broad chest like a living wall. I drop my lids, needing the safety of the darkness behind them. Jack takes my hand and, with harsh fingers, wraps my palm around his cock. “You feel this?”

I nod, my mouth so dry I can barely swallow.

“You’re going to take this, Skye. You’re going to take it whether you want to or not, but in the end, you’ll beg for it.”

His other hand cups my pussy, hard enough that he lifts me onto my toes. “This is mine. Do you understand me? Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Mine to use.”

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