Dylan
Like a caged bear, I prowl around my kitchen, into the hallway, and back again.
I don’t wear a wristwatch, but I can fucking tell she’s been in there for for-fucking-ever. What does she think this place is, a fucking day spa she visits with her friends? Newsflash, princess: this is the woods.
How long does it take to have a bath?
Sure, there’s a bit of grime to wash off, but hell, ten minutes max is all she should need to be clean. Come to think of it, I could’ve offered to help her wash off the dirt.
I sigh, stop prowling for a moment, run my hands through my hair, and start pacing again.
My muscles are taut, like a tightly coiled spring, and I’m ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. The only problem is that there’s nothing to pounce on. I’m inside, not out in the wild, and there’s no immediate danger—unless you count Emma.
Ever since I’ve brought Emma here, my innards have been in total turmoil, and my level of stress is maxed the fuck out. It’s the kind of turmoil you have if you can’t think straight, so you leave your fucking cock in charge and have your brain take an extended vacation.
If I’d known I would react like this, I’d have planned this rescuing shit a bit more carefully. Taking her here to my own four walls, where we have no choice but to be in such close quarters, was a fucking mistake.
I realize that now—a bit too fucking late.
Dressed in those massively huge shirts of mine, she’s too fucking sexy for words.
This is one of the only big mistakes I’ve made in my life, but I’m sure fucking paying for it.
“Mmmmmm.”
What the hell is that sound? Is that Emma?
I stop and listen.
No, there’s no noise. I shake my head.
Now I’m starting to hear shit. Great.
What the fuck’s wrong with me?
My fist punches into the wall. Luckily, it’s thick timber and even my formidable fucking fist can’t so much as make a dent, little less put a hole in it.
You can’t just fuck her. You’ve brought her here to protect her, for fuck’s sake. Get a fucking grip.
I try and reason with myself, but it’s like the rational part of my brain is sending a toy walkie talkie signal while my cock is broadcasting from a 100-kilowatt fucking radio station.
Protect her, protect her. I repeat it to myself over and over, like a mantra. Maybe if I say it enough times, my fucking dick might start to fucking listen.
Instead of things calming down in my pants, the tightness increases. I look down, and I can see a huge fucking tent pole bulge.
Think of something else. Think of snow, giant fucking blizzard treacherous sheets of ice covering every surface.
Hmm. If Emma were trapped in the snow, I could keep her warm with my body heat.
Not fucking working, Dylan.
I should probably keep moving so I can channel some of this pent-up energy. So I start the prowl again, with my minds working overtime.
Fuck, what if something’s happened to her? I hover in the hallway, just outside the bathroom. Should I check on her?
People can drown in the bath—it happens all the time. Emma’s still probably fucking exhausted, and her body and mind are recovering from almost dying, and she just ate a heavy fucking breakfast—what if she slipped off to sleep in the tub? That’s a big fucking tub, too.
Most people would wake up once they start fucking drowning, but what if she’s so tired she just…
This not fucking helping. Sure, I’m not thinking about fucking her anymore, but worrying about her lying dead in my bathtub isn’t exactly an improvement.
But seriously, she could have died like twenty fucking minutes ago, and there’s nothing I’d be able to fucking do about it.
The image of a pale Emma blown up like a puffer fish, her blue eyes wide open, takes up residence in my mind and is refusing to go away.
You’re being a fucking idiot, I tell myself—but it doesn’t fucking help.
I take a deep breath, and notice my hands are shaking.
I stroke my beard. It feels rough, matted, and unkempt. I ponder the last time I paid any attention to it.
Before I sequestered myself up here in my fortress in the wilderness, I would spend forever in front of the fucking mirror every morning to make absolutely fucking sure I fit my own standards of presentability—which are pretty fucking high.
Or, at least they were.
Back then, even the tiniest bit of stubble would’ve been un-fucking-acceptable, and I shaved twice a day.
But now...
Who gives a fuck? I’ve got bigger fucking problems.
I’ve got a naked, beautiful angel in my bath who could be dead. So, as not to lose any more time, I rush to the bathroom. Seconds away from bursting through the closed door, it hits me.
Of course. How could I be so fucking stupid?
I turn around and stomp over to the linen closet in the hallway. I take out two bath sheets and walk back to the bathroom.
I hover outside the door.
“Mmmmmm.”
There’s that noise again.
“Ohhhhhhhhh.”
Okay. There’s no way I’m imagining this shit, that noise was for real—but what the fuck is going on?
Is she groaning? Is she in fucking pain?
“Ooooohhhhhhh.”
Relief washes over me. Even if she’s groaning in pain, she’s not dead. I breathe a sigh of relief, and press my ear to the door.
“Mmmmmmmmmm. Ohhhhhhhhhh.”
That sounds like...no, it couldn’t be. That thought is so utterly fucking ridiculous that it’s stupid.
And yet, it did sound like it.
Beads of sweat are trickling down my chest, neck, and back. My fucking cock’s bouncing around in my pants, trying to push its way out into the open.
Fuck, now I’m groaning, and leaning against the wall, just on the other side of the where Emma’s lying in my bathtub and masturbating.
How the fuck could she do this to me?
I try my best to push away the images of her fragile perfect body, covered in white foam, invading my mind.
I mean, what fucking woman masturbates in the bath when there’s a perfectly good fucking cock that’s just bursting with readiness?
Ice. Cold. Shower. That’s what I need.
I need something to cool the fire within me. How many years have I been I lusting after this woman? And here she is, fucking herself in my bathtub, and I’m on the other side of the fucking door.
I’m nearly in fucking tears. My insides are being fucking ripped apart.
Almost by its own volition, my hand makes a grab for the door handle. My fingers curl around it, and I’m just to about to turn it and push open the door when I come to my fucking senses.
I can’t do this.
I can’t burst in on her.
And even if I did burst in, what would I do next? Grab her and ravish her?
This is fucking ridiculous. So she’s masturbating, big fucking deal. She’s in the bathroom by herself, and really, it’s none of my fucking business, anyway.
Breathe, Dylan. Breathe and relax.
I still can’t walk away from the door, though. It’s as if I’ve grown roots here.
Now her moaning is getting louder.
I close my eyes. I can see her smile, the glint in her eyes, her tits, and her soft, sensuous pussy.
“Ohhhhhhh.”
What the fuck have I done to deserve this? Is this some kind of karmic punishment for my playboy days?
If so, life is fucking harsh. I mean, I never did anyone any fucking harm. All those chicks threw themselves at me, and I made sure they all had a fantastic fucking time.
Okay, she’s going to need that towel when she gets out, so I may as well give it to her now.
Right?
I knock.
I wait, listening.
Nothing.
I knock again.
“Emma!”
Still no response. Come on.
Her pleasurable moans are getting louder. I can’t fucking stand it any longer. I practically bang on the door with my fist, hard enough that it opens.
As soon as poke my head, I see her turn and half leap out of the bath.
Droplets of water run down her pale skin. Her perfect, delicious tits are exposed. On the right one, a bit of foam is still sticking to her nipple.
“Here’s a towel for when you’re finished,” I growl, and then I make a run for it.
I burst through my bedroom door and land with a loud thud on the bed.
What the fuck have I just done? I’ve walked on in on a goddess, a goddess who was masturbating and erupting in her own orgasm.
Her pleasurable moans are still reverberating in my head. It wasn’t the high pitch yelp some women do when they come, no. Emma’s moan was melodic—almost a baritone.
Okay, maybe a tenor.
Humming. Yes, it sounded like beautiful, musical humming, and I can still hear it now.
Of course, the other thing I can’t get out of my fucking head is those perfect tits with those exquisite soft pink nipples.
Like a beacon, they light the way to a land of happiness and unimaginable bliss.
Unable to form a clear thought, I rip my shirt off, quickly followed by my pants, freeing my throbbing fucking cock.
It’s desperate for attention. My hand shakes a little as I wrap my fingers around it.
I stroke my shaft up and down, up and down. Quickly, I establish a working rhythm.
And all I can see in my mind’s eye are those tits and nipples.
I imagine her fingers pulling and pinching them.
It doesn’t take long before I feel myself building to an almighty crescendo. I push my hips forward a little, rub a little harder and faster, feeling my muscles contract, relax, and contract again.
My fucking cock is pointing straight up, and I’ve got my eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if Emma and those fucking delicious tits were up there.
She’s smiling at me. Her right hand’s inviting me to come taste the forbidden fruit. Now I’m moaning, deep and low, like a tiger about to build up to an immense roar. When I come, I might just end up roaring like that myself.
I wonder if Emma would be able to hear that, or if she’d even notice.
For all I know, she’s gone back to running her own hands over those curves and pale skin of hers.
Tits. Goddamn, those perfect fucking tits.
Round, perky, and firm, just the right size. They look as if my hand could just about cup them, with a little spilling out over the edge.
How fucking good would it be if I could put both my hands on her tits, massaging and kneading them.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I’m building up. The fire is burning brightly, and it’s spreading.
It would be so much fucking better if she were here in the room with me.
I could spank her ass for torturing me like this. I would take my time, feasting on her perfect ass cheeks.
My fingers would then move to her clit. My index finger would brush across her ever so softly, feather-like. Another spank on her ass and more caressing.
My fingers would be visible on her nakedness, and I would lean forward to kiss her, let my tongue trail the outline of my hand, before rolling her on her back and spreading her legs to ram my massive member into her, hard and fast.
My mind’s gone blank now. I’m about to go over the edge.
I try to squeeze some more of this fantasy before it’s all over. I imagine my mouth sucking on those rosebud nipples—and that’s enough for my load to explode out of me.
Like an angry volcano, I erupt and shoot cum high into the sky. Most of it lands on my hairy chest. I feel it run down my naked body as more comes out.
And then, as the last bit of my cream-colored cum blasts up into the air, the unthinkable happens.