Page 19 of Savage Rancher
I bet she’s thinking of me taking her—of me pinning her down like I used to and pushing into her while I covered her mouth so no one would hear her scream my name. Of me dropping to my knees and licking her.
I remember the sounds she used to make when I ate her pussy in the back of my truck—desperate little whimpers that made me so hard I thought I'd come in my jeans.
My hand moves faster.
I'm lost in this—lost in watching her. Lost in the certainty that she's touching herself while thinking about me.
Wanting me.
And then her other hand slides under the strap of her tank top. I can see her hand playing with her nipple. Her head presses back on her pillow, her teeth biting her lower lip.
I know what she looks like when she comes, and I know she’s close. “That’s it,” I encourage her softly, pumping myself harder, faster. “Make yourself come.”
Her body arches up, her hips undulating under the covers, and I know she’s coming. I groan. If I were there, I’d watch her bring herself off. Maybe I’d slide a finger or two inside her. Maybe I’d lick her clit as her fingers played with it.
“Fuck.” My orgasm hits strong, and I have to brace myself against the workbench to stay upright. It's even more intense than the shower—raw and desperate and consuming.
20
EMMA
My fingers move in tight circles now, and I'm so close—so desperately close. My hips lift off the mattress, chasing the sensation, and I let myself imagine it fully.
Jake in this bed.
Jake's weight pressing me down into the mattress.
Jake's hand pinning my wrists above my head while he takes me.
Jake's voice in my ear, low and rough and absolutely certain:Mine.
Yes—God,yes. I whimper, my eyes squeezed shut as I hold the image.
I want him in me so badly. I want to feel the stretch, the delicious burn, of his cock. I want to feel the press of its tip teasing me before the long, slow slide of him filling me up.
I want him to make me say it. Make me admit it. Make me beg for it.
Say you're mine, Emma. Say it.
My orgasm hits me like a wave, and I'm drowning in it—drowning in the fantasy, drowning in the need. I picture Jake's mouth on my throat, his teeth scraping my skin, his hands everywhere, claiming and possessing and marking me as his.
The wave crests, and I shatter again. My back arches off the bed as the pleasure rips through me, and I have to press my face into the pillow to muffle the sound. Just when that one ends, another rises, pulsing through my body, leaving me shaking and gasping and completely undone.
When it finally subsides, I collapse back onto the mattress, my heart pounding and my skin flushed and my body still trembling with aftershocks.
Holy shit. I squeeze my eyes shut. I haven't come that hard in... I don't even know how long. Maybe ever.
I lie there in the darkness, trying to catch my breath, trying to process what just happened.
I just masturbated to thoughts of the man who killed someone for me tonight—and it was the best orgasm of my life.
Something is definitely wrong with me.
But as I pull my hand free and adjust my shorts, I realize I don't care. I don't care if it's wrong. I don't care if it's twisted. I don't care if I should be horrified by my own reaction. Because for the first time in forever, I feel alive.
For the first time since my father sent Jake away, I feel like myself again. The girl who wasn't afraid. The girl who knew what she wanted. The girl who followed Jake Callahan anywhere, consequences be damned.
She's still here. She's been buried under years of trying to be what everyone else wanted, but she's still here.
