Dylan
It’s well below freezing.
There’s a colossal nor’easter blizzard moving into the area, and it’s just getting started—and yet I’m wandering around outside, wearing nothing but jeans and a flannel shirt that I haven’t even bothered to fucking button.
Because right now, I’ve only got one thing on my fucking mind: the vision of Emma sitting on my lower abdomen, a leg on either side of me, licking my chest.
It’s still sending shockwaves through me.
Alright, there’s also something else on my mind—that bit of news she decided to deliver today.
Emma. A virgin.
It’s un-fucking-believable.
To avoid getting into even more of a shouting match with her, I didn’t question the accuracy of her statement. Besides, I actually believe her.
There’s no one here she needs to impress, and there’s no reason she wouldn’t be totally honest. There’s also no reason for her to tell me—and judging by her sudden change in attitude when she saw my tattoo, she had no fucking idea who I am until a few minutes ago.
I shake my head. Surely, I haven’t changed so much that I’m beyond recognition?
I’m being fucking dense. Of course I’ve changed that much.
I suppose that since I don’t look in the mirror very often, I can be forgiven for thinking I look roughly the same as I did before I disappeared from Emma’s life.
It actually does make sense that she blurted out that secret about her virginity, whether she knew who I was or not. I was baiting her, and she was defending herself.
But if she expects me to just calmly discuss this with her right now, she’s on another fucking planet.
I can’t deal with any of it right now. That might be the case for the entire time she’s here in my vicinity.
It’s not like I can fuck her. That would be out of the question.
Fuck, this whole nightmare is getting harder and harder to deal with.
I shake my head. On top of everything else, talking is the last thing I want to do right now. Conversation, words, excuses, and all that other crap will have to wait.
That’s why I needed to get out of there—and fast.
But it still took every ounce of self-control to force myself to leave that room after feeling and seeing Emma run her tongue all over my chest.
Ultimately, I’m going to have to forget that ever happened, because otherwise the memory is never going to leave me alone, and I will lose my fucking mind guaran-fucking-teed.
Fuck. Why did she have to come into my room just as I finished? I mean, her fucking timing couldn’t have been worse.
Of course, I’m sure Emma doesn’t realize what kind of effect this would all have on a man.
Or does she?
To even do what Emma was doing, you have to have some knowledge and some idea about the sort of thing that turns a guy on. And, of course, she knows enough to masturbate herself.
I saw very clear evidence of that today—and that’s another memory that’ll haunt me for the foreseeable fucking future.
It’s sure as hell haunting me right now.
Fucking woman. Surely, she would know what effect she was having and how it would drive me right up to the brink of insanity and beyond?
I’ve got needs, and I’ve spent my years of solitude trying to subdue, suppress, and outright deny every bit of loneliness and lust that tries to rise to the surface. For Emma to lick my chest, half-naked, in my bedroom…
It’s like she found that highly combustible cache of stifled longing and desire, walked right up to it, and lit a fucking match.
Fuck it. I only have myself to blame. With all the planning and work I’ve put into this—not to mention giving up my entire fucking life—this is one situation that I didn’t think through at all.
I just didn’t see it coming, which is fucking ridiculous.
I groan, sending a puff of vapor into the frigid evening air.
I’m fighting everything inside me, a monstrous magnetic force that wants me to run back inside, find her, give her a good fucking spanking before fucking her from behind.
Am I going to give in? Of fucking course not.
There’s no way I can fuck her. My purpose is to protect her, look after her, make sure nothing bad happens to her.
Fucking her right now would not work towards fulfilling that purpose. How could it? It would be taking advantage of her.
This is going to be a fucking trial, but like every other challenge in my life, I’ll get through it. I’ll have to exercise utmost self-control, naturally, and I’m sure I’ll be taking plenty of long walks in the snow.
I’ll probably have to add the occasional ice-cold shower to my routine.
I pace through the snow, swearing under my breath.
Damn.
What the fuck was I thinking bringing her here?
The answer is to that is obvious: I wasn’t thinking. When it comes to Emma, my ability to think takes a leave of absence.
Stop it, I growl at myself. Get a fucking grip and come up with a solution. Fucking navel-gazing and self-pity won’t solve any fucking problems.
I kick at the snow, which is already accumulating fast, and watch it fly off in different directions.
If the blizzard wasn’t so bad, I could maybe take her somewhere else, somewhere safe, and figure out a way to make it easier for both of us.
But there’s a blizzard, already the worst one of the season, so that’s not an option.
Another kick unleashes another flurry of snow, and I curse some more, getting louder. Solutions. I need to come up with a fucking solution fast.
This shouldn’t be this fucking hard for me. I mean, I was once in charge of a massive business, with massive, complex problems that involved millions of dollars.
I know it’s fucking freezing, but I barely even fucking notice. My mind is not on the temperature.
My mind, if you haven’t guessed, is on Emma and me, in a confined space, for who knows how many days.
And her body is off-limits.
The word off-limits hovers around my head. I start repeating it, a new mantra.
Like I’m mediating. Like I’m fleeing from my heated cabin, full of earthly temptations, to try and find some inner peace in the snow.
Those darn perky tits of hers are pushing any inner peace aside.
Off-limits. Be strong. Fulfill your purpose. Stop thinking with your fucking dick.
This is getting me fucking nowhere. I’m stomping with each step, compacting the snow. Right now, I’m more effective than a Sno-Cat.
Emma. Off-limits. Together in cramped cabin.
That kind of sums it up.
I sigh and look skyward, as if searching for inspiration up there. There isn’t any, just a lot of fucking snow falling down.
I’ve stomped a fair distance from the cabin by now.
There’s a snow-covered pine in front of me. It’s not overly big, but it’s not exactly small either. The trunk is thicker than my thigh.
I stare at the trunk, trying to decide which direction to go, like I’m Robert fucking Frost or some shit.
I’m not going back to the cabin, so do I go left around the tree?
Or…
I form a fist with my right hand and punch right the fuck into that fucker.
That’s the option I choose. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I started punching a fucking tree.
Right hook, left hook, right, left, faster, harder.
There’s no pain. There’s only me, the tree, and my confusion and frustration.
And I’m still not feeling the fucking cold, only the fire raging within me.
My silent opponent takes the punches like any tree would. I go harder and faster until the trunk starts to shake. After one especially solid left hook, it also starts to move.
At first, the trunk starts leaning just a tiny bit. I stop punching, and without warning, there’s a loud crack, and the trunk splits and the entire pine slopes to the left before tumbling onto its side.
I step back and look.
For the first time, I notice my heavy breathing and the beads of sweat rolling down my chest.
And then I notice something else: I’m not alone.
I begin turning around. I know it can only be Emma. If it were a bear, or some other intruder, I would have instinctively sensed the danger by now.
“Oh, wow. Such a male way to resolve problems. Let it out on some poor, innocent tree, destroying nature instead of communicating. How mature.” She stands there, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing at me. “But then, I guess you don’t know how to do that: communicate. You never have.”
I watch silently as Emma surveys the damage. Her eyes stay on the cracked, broken tree for a long moment before slowly moving to my bare chest. I think it’s dawning on her that seeing a dude destroy a tree with his fucking fists is not something she sees every day.
I watch her turn on her heels and storm back toward the cabin. Heat rages through me, despite the snow all over my beard and chest.
Eventually, I move. If I stay out here any longer, I’ll be covered from head to foot in snow—buried.
How I’m going to fucking survive this ordeal I have no fucking idea.