#shua

Those bright brown eyes glimmer in the light outside, morphing into a lighter shade of brown in the sun. Puffy clouds litter the bright blue sky as they travel with the soft breeze that dances across your skin. A blanket is spread out underneath you, adorned with an open wicker basket. An assortment of finger foods and light snacks litter the space between you and him, your plates half empty—a quiver of arrows and a bow rest across a corner of the blanket. Champagne flutes stand in the middle of the spread, and a half-empty bottle peaks from the top of the basket. 

You lean back, propping yourself up on your hands, eyes closed, with your face to the sky. You smile, soaking in the warmth that the sun beams onto the two of you. It’s calm and peaceful. A moment of pure serenity and bliss amongst a life full of hustle and grind. These are your favorite moments. Joshua always plans the perfect dates for the two of you. Every one always feels like slipping into a small piece of time that he carves specifically for you. Nothing else matters when you're away together. 

The plates rattle, causing you to peek open one eye. Squinting in the sunlight, you watch Joshua reach across the blanket to grab your plate and glass and stack the dirty dishes together. You sit back upright, opening your eyes and quietly begin to help gather the remnants of your quaint picnic. The silence is comfortable as it usually is with the two of you. Sometimes just being in someone's presence is enough; you don't need words. 

With the two of you working together, your picnic is quickly picked up and repacked, with only the Champagne glasses and bottle left out. You lift your hands above your head and stretch softly before lying on the empty blanket, not ready to return to reality yet. You reach a hand towards him, then open and close it repeatedly—grabby hands. The “come here and lie with me” hands. Joshua laughs, almost giggles, with a smile so bright it's more blinding than the sun as he comes to lie beside you. You are supposed to let him show you what he has learned in archery classes after eating, but the champagne dancing in your bloodstream, paired with the sun's warmth, has you feeling light. You only want to lie here and soak up the peace instead. 

You shift to rest your head on his chest when he lies down on his back, hands behind his head. You rest a hand on his jacket-covered abdomen and instinctively begin to caress the area with your thumb. And you lie there for what simultaneously feels like forever, but not long enough when he brings an arm around you and squeezes softly. His fingers trail in a short path up and down your side. It tickles and also feels good. Your skin begins to prickle under his touch. He is always so gentle with you, from how he caresses your skin to how he cares for you. He never raises his voice when you argue. Even when angry, his anger never bleeds into his words and therefore never bleeds into you. He learned your likes and dislikes and never failed to surprise you. Acts of service, gifts, and quality time together. He’s a rock, and his calm and soft demeanor makes him so strong. 

You hum softly as he continues to trail fingertips up and down your side, eventually slipping his fingers under your top to touch your bare skin. You love how his skin feels against yours. It’s intimate, euphoric, and grounding. But today, with a clear head and some champagne, it’s igniting. The delicate way he grazes his fingertips up and then back down your side, over and over, is delicious. It starts small. The desire for his hands to move lower or higher. Then it gets bigger. Touch me softly here. Touch me softly there. Now his hands trail every part of your body they can as his lips dance across yours. It’s all so sickly sweet, which only fuels the desire building. Your hands trace and tease as well, down his chest to the top of his pants before slowly coming up again. Each downward trail you make, you get closer to the crotch of his pants. You can feel him shiver softly, feel the goosebumps when you finally sweep fingertips over the hardening bulge there. 

He shifts, angling himself towards you while he wraps his other hand around you. He squeezes you again, pulling you closer. Your fingers dance across his pants in a tease. His lips begin to crash against yours, tongue sneaking between them to explore your mouth. His fingers dig into your skin, but sit softly, even when you switch to palming him instead. You feel him sigh against you before he rolls to lie on his back, pulling you on top of him. Your stomach flutters as you settle with your legs on each side of him. Your mouths never separate, each pass of lips and tongue more needy than the last. The delicateness is wearing into a sloppy desire. His fingers toy with the edge of your top, and he lets out an inaudible moan when you roll your hips against him. You feel his body sag beneath you, and you smirk against his lips before he pulls away. You let out a soft whine in protest. 

You hover over his face as he leans up to press his lips against yours once again before he moves to kiss the corner of your mouth. You move closer, letting his lips reach your cheek as he kisses your neck. You nuzzle the crook of his neck as he places tender pecks into yours. Your body buzzes, almost vibrating on top of him at his touch. It was angelic, nearly torturous. His plush, pillowy lips danced around the area, and you hum softly. It's ecstasy. It leaves you feeling touchy, playful, and needy. He nips your earlobe again, a little less softly than the first time, sending another shiver through your body before he nips the crook of your neck. You moan quietly and lean into the touch. You waited for more, but all that came was another flutter of kisses. You rock against him a little, hoping to provoke him, but almost sigh in disappointment when it's only met with a tugging on your clothes and a hum. 

You begin your own assault on his neck. You kiss a little less gently up his neck to the corner of his mouth and back again. You stop to nip his earlobe and tug it lightly before letting it go. You give the sensitive skin right underneath it an open-mouth kiss. You flick your tongue against it quickly, feeling muscles tense under you. And then, you graze your teeth down to the crook of his neck, where you bite. Not gently like the fluttering touches that usually passed between you, but a little harder. With purpose. With intent. He inhales sharply and lets out a groan inside the exhale.

“Always so soft. Always so gentle. What if I'm tired of being the gentleman everyone expects me to be? What if I want to shed my mask and show you who I am underneath?” 

His voice billows across your ear as he whispers so faintly you almost don't hear him. His words shimmy, almost as if they fight to hold on to the gentleness they’re delivered in. You sit up, hands resting on his chest as you look at him.

“Then stop. Show me the wolf under the clothing.” You say under your breath, almost unsure if he was even speaking to you or just speaking his thoughts out loud. 

Joshua's eyes lock on yours, fingers playing absentmindedly with your clothes. His eyes begin to sparkle, mischievous just like the smile that's creeping across his face. You bite your bottom lip as you watch him, wondering what's happening in his head. He doesn't make you wait long to find out. 

“Let’s play a game.” He says as that honey-coated voice of his comes out coated in something thicker than usual. With a slight tilt of your head, you continue to look at him questioningly. His fingers slip to your hips, where he digs them into your skin firmly, holding you down before he pushes his hips up into you. He hums. You shiver, not just at the action but at him in general. Your soft, sweet cinnamon roll didn't look like himself in that moment. His eyes are dark, clouded with something you don't recognize. His hands are rough. His touch is slipping into something possessive, almost animalistic. The smile on his face isn't warm; instead, it makes your body shiver. Your stomach jumps. A tingle shoots down your body. Your usually soft, doe-eyed, baby face boyfriend suddenly seems almost unrecognizable. His jaw looks sharper. His gaze is damning, eyes clouded with something you have never seen in him before. Even his hands feel polished in the way they moved. Calculated.

Watching him is confusing because the darkness bleeding on his usual sunny disposition is attractive, but the near maniacal way it’s painted across his face and into his actions sets off the most miniature bells in your subconscious. He scoffs, his eyes watching you like a hawk. He misses nothing, almost like he could read your thoughts because he has always been in tune with your wants and needs. He brings his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth and holds it there, his eyes flickering with something that felt dangerous. You watch as they flutter over you. Fingertips dig into your hips almost painfully before they release, and he drops them completely. 

“You should run,” he says. His voice is low, dripping with something almost heavy and husky. His fingers begin to dig almost painfully into your skin now as he drags them down your hips towards the top of your thighs. Your body shudders, and your stomach jumps and rolls. Your heart begins to beat faster, panic spreading like wildfire through your veins. Eyes wide, you sit still like you were frozen, and he lets out another chuckle. This time, it hits your ears like a siren's song. 

“I said, run,” he all but growls, the sound low and rumbling as it rolls from his lips to your ears, where it crashes into you like a wrecking ball. 

You scramble. You don't know why. Something about how Joshua’s words are laced with everything opposite of his usual demeanor has you moving. You push onto your knees and stand, walking backwards with his body between your feet. You don't take your eyes off him until he's no longer under you. With eyes glued to his now devilish face, you trip and stumble over the picnic basket and glasses. The champagne bottle makes a dull thud as the neck hits the grass on the edge of the blanket. The plates inside clash against each other, and one flute crunches as it cracks under your shoe. You turn around and begin to run, the tip of your shoe colliding with the quiver of arrows. 

He lifts onto his elbows and laughs, the sound echoing over the rattling of the arrows. Your brain and your body are on two different pages. Your instincts have your feet flying over the grass, heading into the wooded area ahead. Your body is on fire. To your surprise, heat radiates between your legs. It almost aches. Somehow, simultaneously turned on and terrified at the same time. Your brain is trying to process everything while instinctively seeking somewhere to hide. But hide from what? You don't have time to think about an answer because you hear him in the distance.

“Ready or not, here I come.” The words dance like a melody to a song only he knows, and they die as quickly as they’re spoken. And then there's silence. Your body jumps again, a thrill surges through you that you don't expect at all. You keep running until the woods finally greet you. You barrel into them as fast as you can. It's quiet. Too quiet. But you also can't hear much aside from the sound of your heart as it drums in your ears, paired with the vegetation as you pass by it. It feels like you have been running for eons when it has only been minutes. 

You slow down just enough to let air into your lungs and to let the pounding in your ears calm. You don't stop; your body immediately goes off at the mere thought of standing still. You listen again, as best you can, to see if you can hear anything. The breeze around you works in your favor but also against you. While it feels good against your heated skin at your slowed pace, you know it carries any sound everywhere, including any noise you make. 

Almost immediately, a whistle carries on the wind in the distance. The sound makes your insides shudder. It’s close, closer than you anticipated. Your legs already burn from exertion, and your lungs ache from the amount of oxygen they're using. Your heart pounds maniacally against your ribs like a wild animal trapped in a cage, determined to escape. You weren't a runner, but the adrenaline that burned in every cell of your body won't allow you to slow down. Not yet. 

The trees are thin here, barely wide enough to hide behind. There are too many open spaces between each one. The bushes are thin, sickly looking as they sway in the breeze. Leaves and twigs snap under the soles of your sneakers as your feet pound against the grass, and if you had the breath, you'd curse them for it. The only grace you have been given besides the clutter of grey clouds blocking the sweltering summer sun is the head start. You try your hardest to breathe through your nose and run blindly in a straight line, eyes skimming for a place to hide, just for a second to catch your breath. Another whistle echoes off the trees—a chuckle, sickening sweet. And then words follow,  softly sung from a voice almost angelic in form. 

“Baby, you need to get away from me….

….I'm poison…

I know I can't take it no more…”

Your entire body leaps as if trying to escape itself. The sound is much closer. He is so fast, and yet his voice is steady. There is no hint of exhaustion in it.  You push yourself to move faster. Your sides begin to burn as well. At some point, tears start to pool at your waterline. Through clouded vision, you scan the blurring vegetation around you. Everything looks the same, and you’re about to give in to the feeling of defeat when you see it. The trees begin thickening off to the right, not too far away. They are big enough to sit behind, and a diversion from the path you have been running. 

You don't look back when another chuckle floats across your ears, but instead begin to run to your right. This one sounds further behind you, like Joshua has stopped and is changing directions. You bolt as fast as possible towards the trees, not stopping until your back is flat against the second or third one you passed. You rest your head against the rough bark and close your eyes briefly before carefully leaning to check around the trunk. You scan your right before leaning around to your left. The leaves on the trees swayed; the sound would have been calming, but now it feels ominous, almost as if they’re telling him where you are. Seeing nothing, you turn to face forward and begin to plot your next move. Which way do you run next? Do the trees get thicker from here? Are they climbable? Where can you hide? 

Your stomach flips as you try to think. Your breathing is still coming in small, rapid pants, and you take a deep breath in and then exhale through your nose. Once you have emptied your lungs, you inhale and repeat this. On your third inhale, you heard him again. So close. Too close. 

“Princess,...where are you?” He says in a singsong voice. 

“I can hear you breathing, baby.” Another soft chuckle, the kind that usually makes you melt inside.  

“You forget that I know you, that we're connected. In sync. A duo. But, if you want to hide, that's okay,"  he muses.

You clap a hand over your mouth in hopes of quieting your breathing. You can feel your heart rate picking back up again, fear dancing across your nerves as you listen, noting the emphasis on the word “okay”. You roll it around your brain in the sudden silence. It almost sounds out of place coming from his mouth, like a taunt. It’s a normal thing to say, but nothing about Joshua is normal. And that's when it hits you. 

Oh-kay. 

Oak-ay. 

Oak

Somehow,... some-fucking-how he knew that you’re here behind this oak tree. You didn’t choose the first tree you saw, but one after. The second one, if declaring you two a pair, is another hint of knowledge he was dangling in your face. Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, and as if on cue, he chuckles. Like he knows exactly how long it will take for you to figure it out. You stare out into the forest before you, ears straining to hear his every move. With each step he takes, a crunch echoes, and that’s when you shift slowly to your feet, then fully upright, back against the tree trunk. And with the next footfall, you run again. 

You don’t know where you’re going. You only know the trees in this area are thicker and closer together—more coverage. Your body buzzes as you push forward, turning your head just enough to get a glimpse behind you. When you see nothing, you sigh. But then a noise passes your ears, almost like a buzz—a woosh. Then a solid thud draws your head to where it came from. You see it just ahead. An arrow. A fucking arrow. You obviously aren’t very good at staying hidden, but it didn’t matter. He’ll find you eventually, and the thought gives you a rush. You push your legs to carry you faster, your body on such high alert that if he were to nick you with an arrow, you’ll bleed adrenaline instead of blood. 

You can feel the exhaustion threatening to settle into your bones, but your mind and the occasional woosh of an arrow keep you going. You weave through the thick tree trunks, foliage brushing your legs as you dash like a madman. Occasional sticks and twigs catch your skin, only grazing enough to leave red welts in their wake. You can feel yourself slowing down, and your speed is not as high as it was initially. You need to sit or even stand still for just a bit. Just enough to catch your breath. Maybe stretch your legs. Something. There haven’t been any more arrows in a few minutes, and surely that means he isn’t close, right? You aren’t daft enough to believe he’s lost you, but hopeful that maybe you got far enough ahead to breathe for a second. So you dip behind the next big oak tree and press your body against the trunk. Your hands shake against it, the exertion mingling with the rush in your veins. 

You lean your head back against the bark, eyes closed, and take a deep inhale and focus to control the exhale, hoping to calm your system before you combust from adrenaline. You take another inhale, holding it for a small count this time, and then slowly exhale again. You already feel your heart rate lowering, but you also feel the effects of running. That exhaustion that was settling? It’s getting heavy. The ache in your legs burns less, but your legs are starting to feel like lead. Being still allows your body to feel the effects, and you are starting to get hot. Your skin starts to feel almost sticky for a few moments as it tries to adjust before your body begins to sweat. You sink slowly down the tree trunk until you sit against it. Your legs thank you immediately for the break from being used. You sit there with your eyes closed, listening, always listening. Birds chirp, rustling the branches above you as they land and take off. The wind brushes against the leaves, causing the tops to sway. Occasionally, the light will brighten the darkness behind your eyelids from the shifting branches overhead. Everything else is silent. No footsteps. No arrows. No taunting. 

You sit for too long, obviously having dozed off for just a few seconds, because the loud snap of a twig sends your eyes flying open and your heart into your throat. You pry yourself back up, your back pressed firmly against the tree, and, with eyes wide, listen again. You hear nothing. Your mind immediately begins to panic, and you fight against it. You’ll just run again, but opposite to where you heard the snap. If only you could remember where it came from. All you can think about is how close it is. Deciding not to give it too much more thought, you get ready to make a break for it when you hear it. That whooshing of an arrow and then a thud. A deafening thud and a tug at your shirt. And then a chuckle. That beautiful cocktail of excitement and fear buzzes through you at the sound, and you step forward to run again, only to feel pressure around your waist. That’s when you look down and notice the arrow pinning your shirt to the tree. 

You stare at it momentarily, a hundred thoughts tumbling in your brain. Your eyes are wide as you gawk at it piercing the fabric just inches from your side. In your fucking side. All the ways this could have gone wrong fight to win the forefront of your mind, because how long has Joshua been taking these lessons? You hear a scoff and look up, taking a minute to find him. You watch him like a deer in headlights. You want to rage about how fucking dangerous what he did was, but your body is short-circuiting at the fact that he’s caught you. Panic floods every molecule in you as he steps closer. You tug against the arrow, but are so tired you don’t have enough strength to rip the fabric. You haven't figured out why you want to run like you’re in danger because it was Joshua, but your mind keeps telling you to run, go, escape. It feels like it takes him ages to reach you, with everything moving in slow motion, when realistically, it takes mere seconds. He chuckles as he watches you tug at your shirt and the arrow, which was surprisingly hard to get out of the thick bark. The sound was low and husky, sending electric jolts through you. He places a hand on the tree next to your head, causing you to shrink.. 

“Look at you, princess, just a wee lamb caught in the wolf’s claws. Watching you squirm…” he sucks in a deep breath, leaning in closely. “I can’t wait to show you everything I have imagined doing to you.” 

His teeth graze your earlobe, and your body reacts two different ways at once. Heat pools between your thighs, a reaction you have yet to try to understand, not that you have had time. Your body also freezes, tensing in preparation to fight or flee. You grip the tree trunk, feeling your nails bend as they run across the rough bark. You jerk involuntarily, and you don't know which side of you causes it. 

“Mmm, look at you, baby.” A hand runs down your chest, trailing to your stomach before sliding around to come down your side and rest on your hip. 

“Seeing you like this,...” he draws in a breath before pressing himself against your body. You can feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach. You squeeze your thighs subconsciously, your body craving more of what that bulge promises, but your brain keeps you on your toes. You know he notices all of it. He never misses a thing with you, so you aren't surprised when he chuckles in your ear. 

“The chase got to you that much? Your heart is still pounding. I can feel you trembling….trembling for me.” He teases, an underlying strain in his voice. 

“My pretty, perfect princess.” His eyes graze your body, gaze lingering on your lips for a moment too long before his eyes finally snap away. 

“You look so good, sullied like this. I can't wait to fucking devour you.” He rasps as he leans in and presses his lips against yours. It isn't soft like usual. It’s rough. Claiming. All tongue and teeth, despite your non-participation, as you stand frozen. He rolls his hips against you, pressing against you again, and you stutter, a moan fighting its way up your throat. You begin to return his kiss, nipping at his lips before sucking the bottom one into your mouth and biting hard.

He winces as he pulls away abruptly, his fingers running across the mark you left. It's cracked slightly, and he hisses at the pain, scowling when his finger returns with a red dot on it. His eyes flick to yours, and you shudder at the darkness behind them. He scoffs, wiping his hand on his pants. 

“Are you playing with me, princess? Don’t fan the flames if you can’t handle the wildfire that will follow.” His voice rumbles like thunder across the space between you, knocking the air out of your lungs. You know you would do it again because your brain is in flight mode despite your body begging for whatever storm he’s brewing. So when he kisses you again, you bite the same spot. You can taste the tinge of iron as the blood that dribbles from it drifts to your tongue. Instead of hissing, he growls and brings a hand to your throat. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely angry because the aggression oozing from him blends either way. 

“You want to play it that way?” he asks, words sharpening as he continues. “Fine.”

He squeezes your neck, just enough to cut the amount of oxygen you can breathe in slightly. Enough to make your already panicked body panic more. 

“And if I just left you here battered and bruised after I had my way with you, hmm? This reminds me of something…” he pauses for a second, another taunt no doubt. 

“What if,...I just left you pinned to this tree. How long do you think it would be before someone accidentally ran across you and freed you?” he gives another cheeky, low chuckle, his tone switching to something more emotionless. His taunting rises. “Unlucky for you, there are no wells around here. Maybe if I pull this arrow from the bark, a priestess will appear and cast a spell to give me more control?”  

Joshua doesn't move back, his lips still hovering at your ear as he yanks the arrow from the tree trunk in one swift motion. He twirls it between his fingers like a pen, then slaps it against your calf. 

“Sit boy,” he whispers with a scoff before pulling back enough to look at you. He fakes a pout, his bottom lip jutting out. 

“Aww, it didn't work…..” He taps the arrow tip against his pursed lips as if in deep thought.

“Hmmm… maybe it's because you're missing the necklace. I left my pearls at home, though. A shame.” 

He takes the tip of the arrow and runs it from the outside of your thigh slowly to your chest, where he lets it sit over your heart. Your eyes widen, lightheaded from the decrease in oxygen. You try to keep your breathing even so as not to hyperventilate, but the arrowhead presses against your skin enough to bite, and everything in your system erupts. You don’t remember thinking about moving, but you do. Your motions are limited, and you lift your foot and bring it down on his as hard as possible with the strength you can muster. It isn’t enough to injure him but enough to make him drop the arrow and move back enough to bend over to reach for his foot. A small window that you don’t waste. As soon as the arrow drops from his hand and the other leaves your throat, you bolt. You know he let you get away. There’s no way he wouldn’t have grabbed your arm as you passed. You don’t think about it, not caring about the logistics. You’re slower now. Your body is heavy and tired from all the adrenaline, and you hear him behind you as he growls out towards your running figure. 

“You’re going to regret that, baby.” 

You have no idea where you are or where you’re going anymore. You just run in another straight path through the trees before remembering that straight means Joshua can see you. You shift and change directions. It’s useless because you can hear rustling behind you, the kind that makes your stomach jump like you're fucking giddy. It gives you a slight boost, and you pick up speed slightly. The trees clear ahead, and you burst through their edge, finding a shallow stream. You run through it, water spraying around you as you hastily reach the bank a few feet away. The water is cool on your ankles, a slight relief against the heat of your skin. You don’t hear him come barreling behind you. And you don’t notice him as he dives at your waist, arms wrapping around you as you both fall. It takes your brain a moment to register what's happening when you connect with the ground. Your body makes a thud as it lands on the slick bank. You try to move, only to realize there's a body on top of you- that Joshua is on top of you after fucking tackling you from behind. You wiggle and writhe in attempts to get out from under him.  His breathing is heavy, and you can hear the anger in each ragged pant. He turns you flat on your back, coming quickly to straddle you. Using his thighs to pin your hands to your side, he settles on top of you. You try to fight even though you know it's a losing battle, and he smirks at your attempts.

His hand moves to his back pocket and returns with a knife. A well-crafted, wooden-handle hunting knife that glistens in the sunlight. Your eyes widen at the sight of it, the curve of the blade and handle fashioned to gut game. You know it’s sharp. You want to fight to get free, but the sight of the blade causes you to go still. He brings it to your body, pressing the tip softly into your skin right over your heart. He begins to drag it under your chin, using it to tip your chin up and head back, exposing your neck. You shudder involuntarily as he brings the blade to your throat, pressing just enough to make it bite. You can feel it bob when you swallow hard. He chuckles again. 

“Gotcha again, princess. We're about to have so much fun.” His eyes light up as they stare down at you, and something akin to fear and excitement passes in an electrical-like current from your head to your toes.

Before you can think, the knife moves in a blur. You wait to feel the burning, the pain, the warmth of blood, but nothing comes. Instead, he sits with another grin, blade pursed between his fingers as he slowly drags the handle down your body. Over your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach. Then he stops just under your navel. He trails his opposite hand down your hips, fingertips teasing the bottom of your skirt before he uses both hands to bunch it up around your waist. The cool air hits the inferno between your legs, and you gasp slightly. He brings the knife in view again, flipping it quickly, and slides it under the side of your light blue lace panties. The metal is cool but harsh against your skin as he swipes up, slicing through the fabric before doing the same to the opposite side. 

He tugs at the now-shredded pair of panties, pulling them from your body and setting them to the side. His hands dance across your bare skin, fingers dipping gracefully between your folds. He scoffs when greeted with a pool of slick, wet arousal. His fingers continue to slip up and down, coating them thoroughly as he teases you. 

“You're so wet,” he hums, bringing a finger to your clit. “Wetter than you usually get. Do you like this, princess?” He begins to make slow, soft circles as he speaks. 

“Do you like being hunted like prey? Do you like it when your little lamb turns out to be a wolf?” He grins, the hand still holding the knife skillfully flipping the blade between his fingers. He drags the handle down your folds and then back up. Using his other hand, he spreads you apart and presses the handle against your clit. He makes circles again, using more pressure. You try to clench your legs together as your hips lift instinctively, reaching for more of the friction. He doesn't give it to you for long. Instead, he slides the handle down slowly, letting it gather all the wetness on its way down before slipping it right into you. 

You gasp at the intrusion. The shape and girth aren't equivalent to anything you usually have between your legs. Joshua doesn’t give you time to adjust before he pulls it out and then pushes it back in. Once more. Twice more. He sits on his heels, leaning back to watch the handle slide in and out of you. His eyes fixate as he pulls it out once more before ramming it back in. You let out a soft cry, but it does nothing to stop him. Instead, he picks up the pace and finds a rhythm. It's not tender like you are used to, but so aggressive that it borders on violent. He tilts the handle upward as he thrusts, searching for that sweet spot. His free fingers brush over your clit before they begin to roll and pinch it. 

The sensations are overwhelming. It almost hurts, but that small pain bleeds into pleasure as he continues. Pressure has started to build somewhere between the roll of his fingers or maybe a thrust of his hand. Rapidly. Your hands ball into fists, nails scraping along the wet ground, dirt caking underneath them. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he praises you as he continues to push and pull the handle in and out of you. You whimper through a clenched jaw, brain swimming as you roll your hips into his hands. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your stomach, pressing them against the fabric of your shirt softly. Your body shudders at the kiss, a contrast to the way he's fucking you with a handle. He places another on and then another, making a small trail to your breasts where he stops with his lips right underneath one of them. The tension coiling inside you begins to snap, little by little, with every kiss. 

He knows your body, so he knows the signs, and when he feels you shake softly, the way your thighs clench a little, how frequent your whimpers and soft moans are becoming, he begins to work your clit faster. He starts by drawing soft circles before pressing firmer, circling faster. He syncs his fingers to the thrusts of the knife. You buck your hips against his hand almost wildly, running after the release you're barrelling towards. 

“That’s it, princess. Chase it. You're almost there,” he coaxes, his honey voice dripping with lust. 

And that's when it snaps. His soft voice, so husky, floods your senses and every cell in your body. You clench around the handle, back arching as much as it can while being pinned underneath him. You moan loudly, fingers digging deeper into the dirt. He keeps his rhythm, trying to draw out the pleasure, eyes heavy with hunger as he watches you come undone underneath him. 

“So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me,” he practically growls as you feel the last lingering bits of your orgasm fading. His hands stop, and he removes the knife handle slowly. He begins to knead your thighs softly, knife in one hand, before bringing the tip of the blade to the inside of one. He grazes it up and down slowly, sending chills up your spine. Your skin prickles with each pass of it, and the smile on his face widens with every new wave of them that appears. 

“You like that?” he asks, and you nod. You did like that. The chase, being pinned, being threatened, and even the sting of the blade against your skin. He grins before adding pressure to the knife, pulling it down your skin. It burns, but it also feels so, so good, and you let out a soft groan. 

“Use your words, princess. I asked if you liked that?” He cocks an eyebrow as he glares down at you. You take in a shaking breath before you let out even shakier words. 

“...y-yes.” 

“Yes, what?” His voice is firm and demanding, something you've never heard from him before, and it activates every cell in your body. That familiar ache begins again in between your legs, and you fight not to squeeze them together, especially with the knife blade dragging down the inside of them. 

“I like it. All of it. Being chased, being helpless, the way you fucked me with the knife, the way it feels when you do that…” you trail off, words tumbling around and around in your brain. He lets out a laugh, small and smoky. The sound of it makes you gasp. 

“Such foul things coming from such a pretty mouth…” His knifeless hand kneads your thigh roughly, and you gasp. 

“Should make it filthier,” he muses. He begins to shift, keeping your arms between his legs. In the process of it all, the tip of the knife he has pressed into your skin slips just enough to cut when he drags it forward to sit down next to your side. You feel the warmth and the burn, but think nothing about it as you watch him come to rest close to your mouth. His knees cage your head, arms movable behind his thighs. His zipper slides down over the hardness in his pants smoothly and quickly. He reaches in to free himself, and, with one hand wrapped around him and the other bracing himself against the ground above you, he begins to rub the tip over your lips softly. 

You know what he wants, and your mouth opens before your brain can consider protesting. He taps himself against your tongue, the contact making a wet smack with each repetition. It was filthy, especially for him, and it fans the flames rising in you. You don't waste any time. The second he leans forward, sliding the tip inside your warm, wet mouth, your lips close around it and begin to suck teasingly. Your tongue flicks over the tip before swirling around it. If he weren't riding your face, you would have pulled his tip out against the suction before diving back onto it. But instead, given your position, you tilt your head back as far as possible to try to let him fall from your lips. He catches you before you can finish doing just that, and he leans down even further, his upper body moving closer to your forehead. He pushes back into your mouth, slipping further into the warm, wet space with a slight groan. 

“You have an apology to make,” he says as he pulls back, bringing the tip to the edge of your lips. 

“You bruised my lip and now I plan on bruising yours,” he mutters with a cheeky smirk before slipping himself back into your mouth, pushing himself as far in as he can. You feel the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, and you work to not gag around the intrusion. He holds himself there, a long, drawn-out moan floats from his closed mouth like a hum. He places his other hand parallel to the one already above your head, his chest resting on your forehead. Your body shivers softly as he begins to roll his hips. He starts gently at first, that small glimpse of your sweet little gentleman making itself present before he picks up speed and strength. He begins to thrust fast, then harder, fucking your mouth like he was rabid. 

You work to hollow your cheeks and try to swallow around him when he holds himself deep in your throat, but you gag more often than not. He doesn’t give you the room to move off his cock when you gag, only giving you temporary relief and a few seconds to collect yourself before he’s ramming into the back of your mouth again. Tears pool and then ultimately fall from your eyes with every gag, each one more violent than the last. He begins to rut against your face when he’s holding himself in your throat. Oxygen is cut as he does, unable to catch a breath around him. Your hands instinctively come up to his thighs, grabbing the back of them. You dig your fingers into the skin, and he shifts back, removing himself from your mouth. You gasp and cough at the sudden flood of air, more tears falling down your face. 

He groans at the sight of you, a hand guiding himself back into your mouth to ram into the back of your throat and hold again. You grasp his thighs tightly to anchor yourself as he pulls back again. This time, a small sob escapes, and you see him shudder before he dives into your mouth again. His hands cradle your face as he fucks your mouth more. His fingers are rough, holding you almost possessively, but a hand caresses your hair even though he keeps plunging as far as he can go and holding himself against you until you feel like you might suffocate. You gag again around him, this time so hard it hurts, and he pulls back with a low groan. You cry softly as you suck in air. You know you’re a mess. Your eyes are undoubtedly red from crying, cheeks stained with the ghost of tears from before that the fresh ones follow. Spit has pooled in the corner of your mouth and slipped from the corners. And when he looks at you, he lets out a moan. Something that feels barely contained. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His pupils are blown, eyes clouded with lust. He looks one second away from coming undone. 

“Fuck,” he groans softly, “You look so fucking pretty when you cry.” 

And then he’s thrusting back into your mouth roughly. You try to suck as much as you can, to keep up with the rhythm, but it’s too much. His strokes are sloppier, less controlled, and the restraint he was holding snaps. He bucks at your mouth almost wildly, soft moans spilling from his lips and onto you like wine. Sweet and intoxicating. You can hear the quiver in his breathing, feel the slip in his grip, and see the way he twitches in your mouth. 

“Mm, baby, gonna fill this dirty little mouth up and you’re going to swallow all of it like you’ve been dying to have a drink of me.” 

With the next few rocks of his hips, he does just that. He thrusts into the back of your mouth, holding himself there, rutting softly against your lips as he cums. The warm, sticky ropes sting your raw throat as you gulp every drop he gives down obediently. Once the last waves reside, he pulls back and pulls out, a hand coming to pat your cheek roughly. 

“Good girl,” he says slyly, shifting back down your body to straddle you once again. “You’re doing so well..” 

His eyes still gleam with something mischievous, and you know he’s not through with you just yet. You watch as he reaches over and grabs the hunting knife again before slipping the blade under the edge of your shirt and pressing upward, then forward towards your face. The fabric makes a smooth ripping sound as it cuts in half, exposing your bare stomach and lacey light blue bra. He hums at the sight of it. 

“You know this is my favorite color on you,” he says with an igniting hunger. “Did you already plan for something today, baby? Did you match just for me?” he groans as he slips the knife under the middle of the bra. You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off. 

“I’ll buy you another one,” he whispers, voice low as he watches the knife cut through the fabric of the bra with ease. He pushes it aside to expose your breasts before roughly pulling it from your body. You watch as he tosses it and hear the thick, wet thud when it hits the water in the stream. Your nipples harden at the cool air that hits them suddenly, and he runs the tip of the knife gently down one. You shiver, hips moving up towards him ever so slightly, and he smirks before doing the same thing to the other one. You let out a small gasp when his fingers clamp around your nipple. He squeezes one, tugging it before rolling it between his thumb and finger. He leans down and takes the other into his mouth, he suckles softly, flicking his tongue up and down over it teasingly. He sucks it again, bringing it between his mouth before he pulls back, tugging it with him, then diving back on it. He repeats the sequence a few more times: sucks, flick, suck, tug. The last tug on your nipple, he lets it pop from his mouth before switching sides to give the other one the same treatment. You moan softly, back arching softly to push your breast into his mouth. Your hands ache from being pinned to your side with his legs. You want to touch him and tease him, but he doesn’t move to free them. Instead, he continues to tease your chest repeatedly to the point you want to explode. Your pussy aches with need. You want him inside you so bad it hurts, and tears are beginning to form at your waterline. He was teasing and teasing and teasing, and it’s too much. You squeeze your legs together and arch into his mouth again with a whimper. You feel him smile against your chest. 

“So pretty when you whine too,” he murmurs against your breast, tongue still flicking and swirling around your sensitive nipple. He grazes his teeth against it, and you let out a gasp that morphs into another whimper. He hums in satisfaction before giving your breast one last peck. His mouth comes to yours in another rough kiss. He nips and tugs your already swollen lips, and you moan into his mouth. He pulls away and begins kissing a trail down. Your chin, under your neck, your chest, your stomach. He stops right below your navel, leaving a lingering kiss. Your stomach rolls as do your hips, but his lips stop there. He sits up, much to your disappointment, and you watch as he unbuttons and then unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough. He wedges a knee between your thighs, pushing it out before doing the same with the other to settle between them. His hands grasp the underside of your thigh, right at the back of your knee, before he pulls you closer, placing your legs on his shoulders. Then he dives in. He bottoms out in one swift, hard thrust and a hiss. You cry out, your now freed hands coming to grasp his forearms. He pulls back and slams into you again, setting an almost punishing pace. His hands come to sink roughly into the tops of your thighs, using them as leverage to pull you towards him with every upward thrust he makes. 

Your nails dig into the skin of his arm as your eyes roll closed. Sex with Joshua had never been anything but pleasurable, but this side of him was different. All the feelings and thoughts running through your head and body are overwhelming. The ground is gritty under your back, his hands hold you tighter than he dared to touch you before, the adrenaline,.. It all mixes in a cocktail of sensations you have never tasted before. Moans flow from your mouth freely, much like the water babbling in the stream near you, and you make no effort to contain them. The world begins to fade, and all you can feel or hear is him, but before you can get lost in it, you feel his touch, a slight caress that keeps you from floating away completely. The sound of his groans dances around you as he pounds into you. That familiar warmth settles in your stomach with every thrust he makes. He leans forward, slipping further, hitting even deeper as he brings his mouth to yours, nipping your bottom lip. 

“You feel so fucking good, princess,” he moans softly, the echo of it crashing into your lips. “So tight, so wet. You clench around me so right. Like you were made just for me.” His words fall over you, laced in that dangerously deep, husky tone that has your head spinning.

Hearing him is bringing you closer and closer to the orgasm, building dangerously fast, but also about to send you period. He has never spoken to you in any other way than gently before, and to hear him so rough and raw is overwhelming your system. He places a soft kiss against your lips, disrupting the spiral you’re about to go on as he ruts almost wildly against you. A hand comes to your throat, his mouth still hovering over you. If your eyes hadn’t been closed, they would have fluttered at the pressure. Your back arches up towards him, hands gripping whatever part of him you can, desperately. His name falls from your lips in a low, sob-like moan, and he growls like a rabid animal at the sound. His lips crash against you, all tongue and teeth, while a hand tangles in your hair, almost gentle. A contrasting touch.  He nuzzles his face into your neck, nipping along it. It makes you shiver, sending little shocks through you. The warmth building gets brighter, an ember fanning into a fire with each aggressive snap of his hips. Every sound he makes drifts into your ear so you don’t miss the whispered praises and confession. 

“My good girl.”

 “...doing so well”

 “...sucking me in so good”

“Wanna stay buried in you forever.” 

Your moans have turned to sobs; everything is too much but also just right. Joshua pounds into you, pace relentless, strokes slowly becoming more sloppy as his hands roam your body, gripping painfully at your skin—no doubt leaving bruises in their wake in the morning. You can feel it get tighter, getting brighter. Pleasure was running towards you, ready to tackle you off the edge he was pushing you towards. His name falls from your lips like a whispered prayer when you feel it snap. Over and over as you shake under him. You clench around him, nails digging into whatever skin of his you can find. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, but keeps fucking you through it. His calculated strokes begin to falter. His moans and groans are more frequent, louder, and deeper. You can feel it as he twitches inside you. He’s so close to the edge, and you also want to send him flying over the edge. And so you begin to plead softly.  You ask for it. Beg for it. Desperate. 

“Baby, please, “ you whisper in his ear, voice laced with need. “I need you. Cum for me. Please, fill me up.” 

You can feel it all as he empties inside you. The shudders, the warmth of the sticky ropes as he cums, his body tense as pleasure holds him in a chokehold. He stops shortly after it starts and rests his forehead on yours. Then, as if coming from under a spell, he shifts back. No longer a wolf but now the lamb. He kisses your forehead softly. His hands immediately begin to stroke your bare skin softly. His voice is back to being soft and sweet like honey. His eyes shine like amber in the sun again. 

“Princess,” he whispers against your forehead while placing another tender kiss on it. “Talk to me. Tell me how you are. Are you okay?” 

You can’t speak, too spent from the entire escapade: the chase, the aftermath. You just nod with a hum. 

“Can you tell me with words?” he asks, leaning back to look in your eyes. His hands begin to stroke your hair gently as he watches you. And you answer him in a soft, shaky voice. A quick yes as you gaze into those familiar eyes that feel like home. You let out a shuddering sigh and lean your head slightly into the hand petting your hair. He smiles at you and slips out of you slowly. You gasp almost inaudibly at the emptiness, feeling the cool air hit the absolute mess in between your legs. He slips a hand under you to tug you up. Once upright, he removes his jacket and wraps it around your bare shoulders, then sits back and fixes his pants. When he finishes adjusting his clothing, he comes back to you. He helps you thread your arms through his jacket and buttons it up. His fingers snap the last button together, his hands cup your face, and he kisses you softly. He wraps you in his arms, pulling your face into his chest. Your arms instinctively come around him, and he holds you, rocking slightly as he gives you soft touches. 

“You did so well, baby,” he whispers and kisses the top of your head. “So proud of you. You took it all so well. I love you so much.” 

You smile into his chest, body relaxing against him as he continues to whisper praises. He lets you hold him as he holds you, giving you time to return from everything. When you shift and look up at him with loving eyes, that’s when he suggests going home. He helps you up, a hand around your waist to let you steady yourself on your feet. When your legs buckle slightly, he doesn’t hesitate to sweep you up and carry you back to your picnic blanket. He sets you down next to it and gathers everything himself, not letting you lift a finger to help. Once everything is packed up, he slings his quiver and bow over his shoulder and threads his hand through the picnic basket handle before picking you up. He carries you to the car and places you in the passenger seat with such delicacy that you would think you were fragile. He buckles your seatbelt around you, tosses everything else in the backseat, and slides into the driver’s side. A hand immediately comes to your thigh and never leaves it the entire drive home. His thumb traces idle circles on its inside while he promises you a complete look over when you get home, a warm bath, and being tucked into bed. 

He does just that. Joshua sits you on the edge of the bath and gently peels his jacket and your skirt off, hands roaming your skin tenderly as he checks every inch of you. When he dips past your stomach, he finds a scrape from the knife. His fingers graze the already forming scab as he begins to apologize profusely. His eyes are soft, with a hint of regret that tells you just how bad he feels about accidentally hurting you, despite it being superficial. He apologizes more when he catches sight of the welts from the twigs scratching you as you ran. He frowns as he lifts you slowly into the warm bath, taking time to wash your hair and body. His fingers massage your scalp thoroughly, and his hands are gentle when he washes you. He lifts you from the tub and wraps you with a soft towel before carrying you to bed. He sits you on the bed's edge and disappears, returning with a first aid kit. Once satisfied he’s cleaned and covered every mark you sustained, he pats your body and hair dry. He dresses you in your favorite, most comfortable pajamas, and then Joshua tucks you into bed. His warm lips press softly against your forehead, and watch him disappear into the bathroom.