First Debt (Indebted #2)(14)

I looked at the green apple in my hand then inhaled that, too. I didn’t care what I looked like. My body demanded I eat. I obliged as fast as humanly possible.

But no matter what I chewed, all I could taste was Jethro.

The apple core was the only thing left of my piranha-speed eating. It was gone too quickly and still I was starving.

Jethro prowled toward me.

My muscles moved, retreating from the anger wisping off him.

Don’t move away. It’s a weakness.

Stand up to him. Make him see you.

Tensing my muscles, I locked my knees. I’d won. If I backed down now, everything I had done would be for nothing.

Here and now—with no other Hawks or Weavers—it was just us; us in this game where the rules were unknown. The only way to win was to maintain the ground I’d gained.

If he wanted to control me with violence and softly spoken curses, fine. Then I would control him with sex.

The one thing I knew nothing about, but seemed to have a great aptitude for.

My lips twisted at the irony. I’d gone from untouched designer to depraved prisoner.

I only did it to prove a point—to extend my life by however long possible.

Liar. You’re wet.

You enjoyed giving as much as you enjoyed his tongue between your legs.

I gritted my teeth.

Jethro didn’t say a word, just stood there seething.

My body itched with need; I couldn’t stop thinking of his mouth on my * or the exquisite sensation of exploding into pieces.

I wanted to come again. And soon.

Finally, he clicked his fingers. “Come. We’re leaving.”

Ducking, he scooped up the blanket and bag, before stalking to me and grabbing my wrist. He whistled for Squirrel to come galloping from the undergrowth and dragged me through the now almost pitch-black forest.

At least I had shoes, so twigs were no longer a painful foe. The food I’d eaten sat in my stomach like a gift, spreading its energy, while the clothing granted me warmth.

My eyes widened.

I’m…content.

Somehow, amongst the stress and fears, I’d found a small slither of serenity. How long it would last, I didn’t know, but even Jethro couldn’t take it from me.

We didn’t walk far. My ears understood where we were going before my eyes did. The gentle snuffles of dogs drifted between the branches, followed by a soft huff of a horse.

Stepping into a small clearing, Jethro let me go, moving toward the huge black beast.

He murmured to the animal while securing the saddlebag to the pommel. His large hands were white flashes in the moon-starved night.

I stood silently as Jethro untied the foxhounds, patting them in greeting. The dogs couldn’t contain their wriggling behinds, excitement sparking between them.

Squirrel joined his comrades, but he was never far from my side; his intelligent eyes always on mine no matter when I looked at him.

Jethro grabbed the reins of his horse, bringing the animal closer. He stopped in front of me. His body had shut down, face impassive. His chilly fa?ade was back in place as if we were total strangers who happened to meet in the forest on some mystical night.

I’ve tasted you.

You’ve tasted me.

We weren’t strangers anymore.

“Get on. I don’t want you falling over.”

I stepped back. “I’ve survived running through the woodland, climbing trees, and bringing you to an orgasm. I think I can manage walking back to Hawksridge.”

“Don’t, Ms. Weaver. Just don’t.” He ran a hand over his face, his mask slipping just a little, showing the strain around his eyes.

My heart clenched in joy. I was happy to see him tired. I was happy to see such an egotistical arsehole suffer from dealing with the girl who everyone thought was weak.

His gaze found mine. Something passed between us. This wasn’t a challenge or threat. This was…softer.

“Get on the horse,” Jethro ordered, but the unspoken word dangled behind his angry sentence.

Please.

I moved forward, eyeing up the giant beast. The horse swung its head to inspect me, its huge nostrils inhaling my scent.

Do I smell of your master?

Even though I’d eaten a sandwich and apple, Jethro’s heady flavour still laced my tongue, saturating me with his essence.

In some horrible way, I felt as if I’d consumed a part of him—giving him power over me.

That’s not possible. He didn’t give you that willingly.

I’d taken pleasure from him. I’d forced him to give into me, even though his intention all along was to make me repay.

I couldn’t stop my small smile this time.

Jethro muttered, “Smugness is not becoming on you, Ms. Weaver.”

I shot back, “No, but vulnerability is such a fetching result on you, Mr. Hawk.”

His eyes narrowed. In a whiplash, he grabbed my waist and hurled me up over his head. “Get on the f*cking horse, before I lose my temper.”

Not being given a choice, I grabbed the pommel and swung my leg over the saddle. The horse was a solid mass between my legs, the polished smoothness of the saddle sticking to my bare knees.

Jethro grabbed the reins, placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung up behind me. His hard body wedged against mine.

There wasn’t enough room for both of us, but that didn’t seem to matter. Digging his heels into the poor creature, we shot forward as his right arm lassoed around my waist, pressing me tight against his chest.