#untamed

He takes the seat next to you, wonders aloud what a pretty woman is doing by herself on a Friday evening. You give him a half-smile, reserved and suspicious.

His conversational skills aren’t exactly honed to a point, but he usually doesn’t need to talk for long before he can get to what he’s really after.

You’re here for a couple of weeks. You’re interested in hiking this trail and that one. You’re pretty sure the raccoon living under your rented cabin’s porch has got it out for you. Blah blah blah. He talks as much as he thinks he needs to before he can ask to accompany you back to your room, voice low, intentions clear as spring water.

At the proposition, your eyebrows scrunch. You turn to your drink, eyes forward, arms crossing over your chest.

“No, thanks,” you say.

But Shane is a man familiar with the hunt. He tries to cover his tracks.

“We don’t have to do anything but sit and talk,” he says with an easy smile. Disarming. Coaxing a doe back into his sights. “S’not often I get to enjoy the company of such a beautiful woman.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” you say shortly. “I don’t do hookups. They’re not worth the trouble.”

Ok. So you like to be pursued. Shane loves the pursuit — for as long as he has the patience. The stubborn purse of your lips and the way you turn your nose up at him is doing something to that primitive part of his brain.

He leans into your line of sight again, lets you see that dirty blonde hair, the broad slope of his shoulders. Those redeeming qualities.

“I can make it worth your time, sweetheart,” he promises. “As much as you want to give.”

Your eyes do an up-and-down over his frame. His final judgement. “I’m not entirely sure you know or care where the clit is.”

For once, Shane is speechless. A deer caught in your headlights. An arrow straight through the heart of his poor ego. You stand with the barest hint of a smirk on your face, satisfied with your kill, and walk out the door with a swing in your hips as he stares at you like an idiot.

The first thought he has is well fuck you, too. The next, while he lays awake on his scratchy blankets, is that your assessment of him may not have been so far off the mark. It’s an ugly parasite of a thought. One that has him rethinking all of his past sexual encounters. The recurring pattern: brief and self-serving.

Get her clothes off. Get her underneath him. Touch what feels good. Grind. Grope. Release.

Whether or not she finds that release as well . . . He’s certainly not stopping her, but it’s not exactly on his list of priorities.

The thought makes a home in the burrows of his mind.

No matter how he tries to squash it, extract it, it stays hidden in those dark crevices.

Some stuck up woman is not going to get in his head like this. He’s a good lay. Obviously. He’s got the body count to prove it. And sure, maybe those one night stands tend to stay that way — one night only. But that’s how he likes it. He could have you screaming and soaking your sheets if he wanted to. Obviously.

He imagines it. You bring him back to your room. He gets your clothes off. Gets you underneath him. And then he . . . And then he . . .

Fuck. What would he do?

Touch you. Right. Women love his hands, big and rough and steady.

Put his mouth on you? Admittedly not something he makes a habit out of. But how hard could it be? To bring his mouth down low and stay there, winding you up tighter, tighter, until that coil springs loose.

He likes that thought. Likes it a lot, actually. Your pretty face screwed up, the pout of your lips parting, your soft body arching underneath him. He likes the thought enough that he spills all over his hand to it, sweat soaking through those scratchy blankets.

When he sees you at the bar the next night, his palms are sweaty. He makes a joke about bumping into you there again, something about getting bitten by the same snake twice. Stupid. You blink up at him with those unimpressed eyes.

He offers you something that’s half-way to an apology, which is more than just about anyone else gets from him, even if you don’t know well enough to appreciate it.

The hikes you mentioned yesterday — he can take you. He knows the best ones, the best times to do them. And maybe he looks a tiny bit pleading while he offers. Only a little bit. His heart didn’t grow too much overnight.

You let the offer linger in the air. Gaze assessing. Fingers toying with the straw in your drink. And then the corner of your mouth tugs up, barely.

“Sure,” you say simply.

So there he is, escorting you through the park like some lovestruck puppy. It’s embarrassing until he remembers that thought again — your soft skin, your pretty mouth, your taste on his tongue — and then he’s teaching you how to identify plants and pointing out hidden wildlife like he’s a regular tour guide.

You want to see the sunrise, he’ll show you the best view in the park. You want to grab something to eat, he’s already got his wallet out. You want to go swimming, he knows the perfect spot, and when you peel off your t-shirt to reveal the scrap of fabric you call a bikini, he’s on his knees thanking God for finally smiling down on him.

He sits by the bank while you swim circles in crystal clear water, sunlight sparkling off the drops clinging to your skin. He doesn’t even pretend not to stare at the soft curves of your body. He’s an animal, a mongrel, a dog licking his lips, and he’s never been interested in pretending to be something he’s not.

You swim up to the bank before him and come to rest on your arms. Beads of water drip from your neck to the swell of your breasts, and he keeps his stupid mouth shut because he knows better by now. You’re saying something to him but the words are just noise in his ears, because you lean forward and your breasts are pressed up against your arms, the rounded tops of them swelling over the cups of that bikini.

You say his name and his eyes snap back up to yours. He has half a mind to feel guilty until he sees the knowing smile on your face.

You’re doing it on purpose.

You like this. You like him.

The realization makes it worth it when he has to walk you back to your cabin with a chub. You step inside the dimly lit room and he waits at the doorway because you still haven’t invited him in, and he’s developed a sudden interested in being a very good boy.

“Thanks for showing me that swimming hole,” you say.

“Any time,” he says. Behind your back, your hands are fiddling with the strings of your bikini.

“I know you’re working tomorrow,” you begin, and with a tug of your fingers the bikini strings fall limp. “But I was thinking maybe we could hike up to that ridge. See the stars, like you were talking about.” Your hands rise to work on the knot around your neck.

Shane’s heart drops straight to his ass. “Yeah,” he says, dumb, as that last knot tugs loose. “Yeah, we can do that.”

You hold the bikini top between two pinched fingers, breasts bare, skin glowing with the soft sheen of sweat.

“Great,” you say. “Text me when you’re done with work.”

A release, and the bikini top drops to the floor with a wet splat.

“Ok,” Shane says, voice catching, mouth dry. “Yeah. I’ll text you.”

He couldn’t tear his eyes from you if he tried. You, naked from the waist up in your doorway, cast in the warm light of the sun. Bare skin flushed and beautiful. The moment lasts an age and an instant.

He’s a dog. An absolute dog, and you must have a soft spot for mutts because you give him all of a generous 10 seconds to salivate while you stand there, half naked, in front of an open doorway, with nothing but his body hiding you from the rest of the world.

Your fingers wrap around the door handle, and Shane pries his eyes away from your chest in time to see that satisfied smile again.

“Bye, Shane,” you say, and shut the door.

He stands on your porch like an idiot for a full minute before he finally turns to make the trek back to his camp. The walk is long and miserable. Boots heavy. Pants tight.

When he makes it back to his tent he reaches straight for the beat-up cooler, swipes a hand into the icy water, and wipes it over his heated face.

You’re evil. You’re killing him. And he’s going to march right back to your cabin tomorrow night and take you to see the stars, just like you asked.

The folding chair groans as he sinks into it, a cold can of beer cracking open with a familiar hiss.

You want to be pursued. Shane loves this pursuit. He takes a long drink and thinks of tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, and what new skin you might show him then. Where he might put his hands, if he’s lucky.

Where he might do all those things he’s been thinking of, rehearsing in his mind, and hoping you’ll enjoy them as much as he will.

What you said that night you met: he’s going to prove you wrong.

And since he’s feeling so nice, he won’t even make you admit it. He’ll accept your apology in the form of you moaning his name.

He leans back in his chair, beer cold in his hand, stars twinkling overhead like the water sparkling off your skin.

Shane tends to get the women he wants, and right now, he only wants one.

Tears tracked down your cheeks. Every time you thought they’d stop they just kept coming.

Growing up with a father who cared more about his friends and going to the bar rather than helping your mother raise you had put you off from men for a long time. During your teenage years, you saw the reason your mom divorced him in the first place.

The guilt tripping was what started it.

You didn’t want to watch a movie with him? Suddenly that trip to the beach where he dragged the wagon up the sand meant nothing.

You were busy with your friends for the weekend? Now that time he bought you medicine as a kid was his biggest accomplishment as a father.

From there is was all gaslighting and manipulation over slurred words and empty promises.

At seventeen you felt an emptiness. One that you wanted to be filled by being held in the arms of a man who actually cared, who actually wanted to treat you like someone instead of a burden.

Only a few years later, now an adult, you had been on the lookout for an older man.

Then you found Shane.

He was aware you were too young. Way too young for a man like him to even think twice about. But he couldn’t shake you. Couldn’t take his eyes off of you every time you walked into the general store or when he spotted you on a nice nature walk with your mom.

And when you kissed him that night he was only supposed to be comforting you?

Well, he was gone from there.

Your quiet sniffles and the sound of dried leaves crunching under your shoes were the only giveaway to your arrival at his camp.

Shane was smirking, wondering what his baby girl was doing finding him out in the forest at such a late hour. Usually it was because you were needy, fussy over the heat or the tenderness of your body during ovulation week.

He reveled in your reliance on him. How you, a sweet little thing, could ever need a man like him.

But as soon as he saw your glassy eyes and your puffy lips, his smirk fell.

“Hey, hey,” Shane rushed out, setting his beer bottle down and standing up. He caught your shaking frame with his hands on your arms, a grounding touch. “What’s my baby cryin’ ‘bout, hmm?”

You covered your face with your hands, feeling embarrassed for coming all the way out here just to cry. “My d-dad,” you hiccuped, pressing your forehead against his chest.

This wasn’t anything new. Not to Shane. Your father was a topic that got brought up more often than not. He was one of the leading sources of your sadness, always making you cry when you got the courage to see him again. You wanted to be the kind, loving daughter who had a good relationship with her father but he made that nearly impossible.

Those strong arms wrapped around you, Shane pulling you closer as his jaw tightened. “What’d he do this time?”

Your fingers curled into his dark shirt, keeping him close. “He was drunk again. But he tried telling me he wasn’t and then started rambling about how it was my mom’s fault our family was torn apart.”

While Shane wasn’t the best at comforting people when they were hurt, he was good at getting angry at the others who did the hurting.

There wasn’t another person who hated your father more than Shane. He couldn’t stand the man. Every time your dad got brought up in a conversation, you shut down. Your happiness was stripped away because of the man who’d never shown you the love you needed.

Shane knew it. Of course he did. He’d always questioned why you were with a man like him but the emotional absence of your father was answer enough.

“Stop seeing him,” Shane said firmly.

You shook your head. “I feel bad, Shane. He doesn’t have anyone. All his friends live in another state, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, he can’t keep a job. The least I can do is show up.”

There it was—the result of years of manipulation and guilt tripping.

“He’s a grown man, baby,” Shane pulled back, his entire face hard with pent up frustration from how many times this has happened. “He did this to himself.”

You dropped your arms to your sides, staring up at him with glassy eyes.

For too long now you’d heard that. Not only from your boyfriend but everyone else who knew your father. Didn’t mean you knew how to accept it.

“But Shane—”

“Stop that.” His words were harsh, pointing his finger in your face. “Stop defending that sorry excuse of a man. Do you really think he cares about his daughter? Huh?”

“Of course he does!” You fired back before digging your fingers in the camo jacket you had thrown over your nightdress. “In his own way.”

Exasperated, he scoffed with a humorless smile before his face screwed up in rage as he kicked an empty beer bottle. Once he released some of his anger, he ran a hand through his dirty hair, chest heaving.

Taking a tentative step closer, you grabbed onto his arm. “I know he’s not gonna change but… he’s still my dad.”

That was it.

Shane snapped, his fingers digging into your shoulders. “You walked miles in the dark to get away from him. Don’t you dare come to me just to defend him.”

You sniffled, flinching slightly at his tone but you knew he had a point. “I’m sorry, Shane. I just…”

His eyes searched your face before his hand came to squeeze your chin, pulling your head closer. “Just what?” His voice was still rough, angry.

“Just needed you.”

With a grunt, he let go and stepped back, shaking his head. He ran a hand over his blonde stubble, already thinking of ways to get back at your father for making his little girl so upset. He should’ve been thinking about how he could comfort you but since this was a normal occurrence, he just let you situate yourself.

You didn’t want to aggravate him more so you slowly crept around him, going to sit on the log by the fire.

Shane had his back towards you, looking like a statue with how still he was. Even though you’d been with him for a while, you never knew if the stillness would result in him calming himself down or the start of a crash out.

Tonight, you hoped it was the former.

Deciding not to trigger him, you stayed silent, fiddling with the lace hem of your nightdress to keep your hands busy.

Every time you thought those old wounds were healed over, you came to find that they had just been covered up by a thin bandaid. For a long time you didn’t want to believe it. That your own father loved getting drunk more than he loved his wife or child.

“You’re my world” he’d say or “I love my daughter more than anything.”

But his actions said otherwise.

The people in your life who knew of his behavior chalked it up to him being a good person but having his issues. You believed that. Until you didn’t. After you found out he cheated on your mother more than once, it made you sick to your stomach. It happened before their marriage and then during it as well. He made her take care of you while he was out at a bar, slinging beers and hooking up with random women.

There was no accountability either. He always tried to convince you that your mom was actually the bad guy in this situation when you already knew everything.

You knew the type of man he was—selfish, greedy, and the biggest narcissist you’d ever met.

But when you looked up at Shane through your teary eyes? You saw a man who’d actually take care of you. One who wouldn’t treat you like a chore or choose alcohol over you.

His right hand reached back towards his waistband. You saw the way his shirt came up a bit, revealing the matte finish of a 9mm pistol.

It didn’t scare you like it was supposed to. You knew he was a deer hunter, his hands knowing the way around a gun better than most. You’d seen him clean them, hold them, grip them. It made you flustered, watching him run his veiny hand over the sleek barrel.

But as you watched his fingers graze the cold metal, you realized that he only hunted with a rifle or shotgun.

The moment it dawned on you, fear gripped the back of your neck.

You’d seen those types of pistols in movies. The ones used for hunting people—not animals. Which could only mean he was considering tracking your father down and putting a silver bullet right between his eyes.

You swallowed hard, putting your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking. “Shane.”

He didn’t look at you. Instead, he pulled the gun out from his waistband and removed the empty magazine. “What is it?”

Think of something you mentally yelled. You needed to keep him distracted, get him to focus on you and not the twisted sense of anger filling his veins.

“I don’t wanna be alone right now,” you said quietly, the fire popping and crackling in the night air.

Shane slowly turned around, firelight casting dancing shadows over his weathered features. His dark shirt hugged his body in just the right way, revealing his strong biceps and the soft roundness of his belly even though you knew the ridge of his muscles there as well.

If you were anyone else to him, it might’ve been scary. And while you feared he’d do something irreversible to your father, he would never do that to you.

Being with Shane was thrilling. He braved the wilderness every day, sometimes letting you tag along but always making sure you stayed safe. Protection came easily to Shane, making sure his little girl never got hurt. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Reluctantly, he tossed the gun into a duffel bag before moving over to you.

His large hands spanned your waist, lifting you with ease before taking your spot. Just as easily he pulled you into his lap, your back flush against his chest.

You sagged back against him, arms crossed as his locked securely around you.

There were a lot of unsaid words still hanging in the air. Why is he had his gun out, how upset you really were about your absent father, how badly you wanted Shane’s comfort.

He knew that.

He just had no idea how to show it.

His chin rested on your shoulder, bringing one of his hands up to pull your hair to the other side so your bare neck was exposed to him.

With all the gentleness he could muster, his lips pressed lightly against your fluttering pulse. The single touch made you snuggle further into his chest.

A heavy breath was released against your skin as his other hand slipped down to toy with the top of your lacy knee socks.

“Wear these for me, baby?” He rasped lowly into your ear.

“Mmm,” you hummed, brain going fuzzy with his gentle caresses—completely uncharacteristic of him.

But you weren’t complaining in the slightest.

You knew he was a rough man. Everyone did. And yet, you were the only one he made an exception for.

His spiky stubble scratched your soft skin and you felt him smirk. “That’s not an answer, pretty girl. Use your words.”

An involuntary whine escaped from your mouth. “Yes, Shane. Wore them for you.”

He let out a pleased hum. “That’s what I thought. Was that so hard? To be honest with me?”

You shook your head against his shoulder. “No, sir.”

“Good girl.” Shane gave your thigh a reassuring squeeze, making your eyes flutter shut as his calloused hands caught on the smooth skin.

Being touched by Shane made everything fade to white noise. It was just you and him, surrounded by miles and miles of untamed forest and mountains that would keep this moment between you two encapsulated from any outside observer.

You listened intently to the bugs chirping, the hoot of a nearby owl, Shane’s ragged breathing and the kissing sounds as he lavished your neck.

However, after the night you had, it would take a lot more than just a few kisses to make you feel better.

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes opened, staring up at the starry sky, silver twinkling against the canvas of black. “You… you aren’t going to cheat on me, right? You wouldn’t… wouldn’t do that to me?”

His kisses came to a halt.

You felt the way he stiffened, his body going ridged and you almost wanted to take your questions back.

But Shane knew exactly what he was getting into when he decided to enter a relationship with a young woman like you. Especially one who had never had a good relationship with any man before since that picture had been ripped to shreds years ago.

From the very start of your relationship with him, he knew you required constant reassurance. You had to know he still wanted you, still wanted to be with you, still wanted to hold you, still loved you.

While, admittedly, he did find it slightly annoying, he gave it to you every time without complaint.

He turned you to face him, now sitting sideways on his lap. “Now, just why would I do that?”

You forced yourself to keep eye contact with him, knowing he’d manhandle you if you didn’t. “I don’t know. Just, please answer me.”

His heady gaze traced over your face, his fingers grazing against your cheek before fitting them loosely around your throat. “Oh, sweet girl, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout that. I’ve got ya now.”

The air seemed to thicken as his face got closer to yours, feeling his breath fan across your lips. “Not your father, not any of those men at the bar. I have you, okay?” He tilted your chin up slightly with his knuckle. “I know what he’s done to you—what he continues to do to you—but I’m not gonna let it happen again, alright? You’re my little girl now. Not his. Mine.”

His words struck a chord within you. One that you didn’t know existed until Shane.

A longing that had been buried by years of neglect was hit dead on just with a few words. It made your heart pump and your cheeks to turn pink.

All that time you’d spent yearning for a man to take care of you and to love you unconditionally felt like nothing now. Not when you had Shane Maguire holding you close and giving you hope that things were finally changing.

“Hey. Look at me,” he said firmly, fingers tightening only a fraction. “Look at me and tell me you understand.”

Your eyes locked on his, glassy again with how overwhelmed you felt with emotion. “I understand, Shane.”

“You better. ‘M not letting you go.”

His mouth met yours in a deep kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips without warning. You gasped which just made him kiss you deeper, fingers digging into your throat to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

Your hands flew to his messy hair, latching on to ground yourself.

Shane kissed you like he was starving. Like he needed to prove just how much he meant what he’d said—that he was a man of his word. He knew his girl, knew that you liked gentleness and he was willing to give it to you.

Just not when he needed you to understand how serious his words were.

A lot of your life was a series of words that held no value, empty promises that were never fulfilled by the people you needed them to be fulfilled by.

As his fingers trailed up your thigh to grip the soft flesh, he knew he would be the one to break that cycle.

Your head went blank. His tongue was hot, sliding against yours almost obscenely. He didn’t stop. Not even for a second as he stood up, holding you tight like you were a feather.

Shane all but tossed you onto his sleeping bag. You yelped a little bit but it didn’t hurt. His large frame bent down as he stepped into the tent, zipping it closed behind him.

Then, he was all over you.

His lips were on your knee, pulling the sock away from your shin with his teeth before letting it snap back. All while he worked on getting your cute little shoes off, tossing them in the corner. You were laid back on your elbows, watching him closely with your kiss swollen lips parted. He always made you breathless but when you felt him trailing those wet, sloppy kisses up your leg, oxygen felt far away.

“Take it off,” he growled against your thigh but the way he was taking small pieces of skin and nipping at it was making it hard to focus on anything else.

As a whimper escaped you, his teeth sank harder into the plush muscle. “I said, take it off.”

Quickly, you unzipped the camo jacket and pushed it aside. It left you in your white nightdress—plain, simple, silky. To Shane, it was the prettiest garment he’d ever seen. His eyes traced up your body, the fabric draped over every curve and dip, outlining the softness only he got to touch, kiss, bite. You nearly looked too beautiful to touch with your glassy eyes, swollen lips, red splotches on your cheeks, and messy hair. It sent blood rushing south, his pants instantly getting tighter just from seeing you all laid out for him.

Delicately, the rough pads of his fingertips stroked over your stomach where the silky fabric lay untouched. A shuddering breath left him as he pressed harder, curling his fingers until it bunched beneath his hand.

Shane nuzzled his face between your breasts, inhaling deeply. Gosh, you smelled so good. He did it again until his senses were completely overwhelmed by you.

Your chest rose and fell quickly under his cheek, feeling so much and yet needing more.

Squirming a bit, you pressed your hands hard against his shoulders, tugging his shirt up. “Shane… please.”

His lips curved into a smirk, hearing the desperate lilt of your voice. The feeling of your small hands pulling helplessly at his shirt made him harder and he gladly removed it.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he said, strong hands sliding up your thighs before pushing your nightdress up to your waist. With a groan, his arms wrapped around either of your thighs, pulling them open more.

A ragged groan tore from his throat at the sight of your pretty little panties, a wet spot already staining the center. He couldn’t stop staring, tracing circles on your inner thighs to see it grow.

You tried writhing again, the ache making your body react without your permission.

His grip tightened automatically, bruising in its intensity. “What did I say?”

Despite your best efforts not to, another desperate whimper fell from your lips. “To… to stay still.”

“Mhm,” he hummed before leaning forward, pressing a barely-there kiss right where you wanted him. He could smell your sweetness, making it hard to resist just giving you what you wanted.

“Shane,” you whined, your hips bucking up to try and gain more friction.

“Aww, is my little girl needy tonight?” He smirked, toying with the elastic of your panties, pressing hard into your hips to keep you from wiggling. His thumb pressed down against where you were most sensitive, watching as you tossed your head back in frustration. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll take care of it.”

Finally, his teasing stopped as he finally dragged your panties down your legs and slid them off, keeping your knee socks in place.

Stars burst behind your eyes as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue making direct contact with your wet heat. You thighs went to close at the sudden friction but he quickly tossed your limbs over his shoulders to keep you from going anywhere.

“Shane, oh…” you moaned.

Shane was a dirty man and the sounds he was making of your pleasure were proof of it. You could hear the squelch of his tongue lapping up your arousal, listening to the wet sucking noise as he paid special attention to the main source.

Before you met Shane, boys were never something you really paid any mind to. You were good in school, focusing on your grades and graduating. Your first kiss happened when you were 18 at a New Year’s party your friends had dragged you to.

But that was it. He wasn’t a very good kisser so you went back to not caring.

However, as the issues with your father progressed and you became intertwined with Shane, he changed it all for you.

He awakened something inside you. Something natural, something beautiful. You bloomed out of your shell, turning towards Shane like a sunflower turns to sunlight. He touched you in ways you never could have imagined before, earning those special noises and reactions only reserved for him.

Now, as he made you come for the first time that night, everything felt irrelevant except for him.

Outside the tent came faint footsteps. You blinked awake, the tent walls not doing anything to keep the morning rays away from your slumbering state. Early signs of life filled the forest surrounding the camp—birds chirping joyously, humming bugs singing, the trees rustling in the breeze.

A yawn stretched your mouth wide before it snapped shut again as you ran a hand over your face.

Last night hung in the tent. Your jacket was in a heap, your shoes tossed in the corner, your panties carelessly draped over a lantern. Heat rose into your cheeks, feeling the deep care Shane had given to you deep in your bones.

Shifting slightly to throw the sleeping bag off of you, you winced at the very prominent ache between your thighs. Flashes of why they were sore ran through your mind—his fingertips digging in, his teeth sinking into them, his hips pushing you wide open.

Nervously, you peeled your nightdress up. You sucked in a sharp breath between your teeth as you carefully moved your legs to reveal the redness between them, the bruises on your thighs and hips.

Sometimes you forgot how mean Shane could be. Not in a way that made you feel bad, but in the way that showed you how he expressed his tough love.

Gently, you traced the bruises he left. It made a small shudder pass through you.

His eyes bore into yours, heavy breaths hitting your swollen lips as his hips relentlessly slammed into yours. “C’mon,” he grunted, fingers tightening around your throat. “You can take it. I know you can.”

The sound of the tent zipping open made you flinch, ripping your hand away and pulling your nightdress down like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

Shane stepped inside. For a second you thought he hadn’t seen you admiring his work but as soon as he smirked, you knew he had.

“Lookin’ at yourself?” He questioned, sitting by your legs, bracing himself on one hand while the other landed on your calf. “Dirty girl.”

“I…” you knew there was no point in lying. “I’m sore, that’s all.”

His chapped lips stretched wide and instantly you regretted your words, stoking his ego more than you should’ve. “Good. Means I did my job right.” He leaned over you, pressing a harsh kiss on your lips.

At first, you sighed, his kiss a soothing balm to your aching body. But then you tasted something unfamiliar. Something tangy, coppery.

Your face drained of color when you realized what it was—blood.

You pulled back quickly, staring at him in horror.

Already anticipating your reaction, Shane’s grip grew tighter, putting a heavy hand on the back of your neck. “Did you really think I’d let that poor excuse of a man get away with what he did to my baby girl?”

Your heart gave a sharp kick into your ribs, panic flaring. “What did you do?”

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. “What should’ve been done a long time ago. I made sure he won’t hurt you anymore.”

The worst possible scenarios started to spin through your head, nearly making you dizzy. You thought back to the gun, wondering if he’d found a full magazine and used it to make your father pay. It was the most extreme case but knowing Shane, you wouldn’t put it past him.

Shane could see the possibilities of what he’d done flicker over your face and he couldn’t have that.

After getting his sweet girl to cheer up after last night’s events, he didn’t want his success to be wasted by your father striking again.

“Don’t cry,” he said, seeing your bottom lip wobble and your eyes go glossy. “He’s just gonna have a hard time breathing for a little while. And when he’s fine? He’s never gonna hurt you again.”

Last night, after Shane had thoroughly pleasured you, he let you fall asleep on his chest.

But sleep never caught up to him.

He was restless, mind set on the tears he’d seen streaming down your cheeks when you stumbled into his camp when you should’ve been at home, asleep in your own bed. No matter how hard he tried to focus on how hard he’d made you come or the sounds you made when he breached your body, he couldn’t stop thinking about who had caused his little girl to be so upset.

So, before dawn could break over the Yosemite mountains, he had placed a kiss on your forehead and snuck out of the tent.

While he did consider bringing his gun, he knew all your father needed was a fierce right hook to the jaw.

Maybe then he’d get it through his thick skull that he was causing his daughter so much pain.

But once Shane felt his anger transfer from his chest to his fist, he couldn’t stop. It was one after another until your fathers face was a battered mess.

Sparing you the details, he just leaned forward until his lips touched your nose. “Do you trust me?”

Your answer came too quickly. “Yes.”

“Then believe me when I say you’re never gonna have to see him again. You have me now. Just me. Tell me you understand.”

You couldn’t argue. Despite the fact he wasn’t telling you in depth what happened, you weren’t quite sure you wanted to know. Your boyfriend was a violent man and there was no use in pretending any different.

“I understand, Shane.”

“Good.” He pressed a softer kiss against your lips this time. “Just need me. I just need you. My sweet, pretty girl.”