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"Try to relax, will you?" Sam throws back the rest of his brandy and then grins at me. "Maybe this shit will look a little better tomorrow."
"Not fucking likely," I mutter.
He chuckles, ducking out of the study.
I lean back against the wall, wondering if he's right. Will a change in environment bring a change in perspective too? Somehow, I doubt it.
I know what I want. Control over my own fate. I'm not willing to give that up to dance on my father's strings. Not for his little pawn of a princess. Not for anyone.
Two hours later, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath my boots punctuates the eerie silence as I approach the cabin, my bag slung over my shoulder. This part of the Fable Forest is so dense that little more than tiny slivers of moonlight penetrate the thick canopy overhead.
Anticipation coils in my stomach like a snake, though I don't know why. The air feels different, charged with electricity. Excitement over being back after so long? Relief at being away from the castle and my own kingdom? Neither answer feels quite right. It's as if I'm moving toward something monumental, something important.
"What the fuck?" I mutter, trying to shake the feeling.
The cabin rises out of the night like a portal to hell—cloaked in black shadows and foreboding. It's anything but hellish and foreboding, though. Some of my fondest memories happened inside.
When I reach the door, the old lock hangs askew. I'm unsure if someone has been inside the cabin or if the forest's harsh elements are taking their toll. It's been months since I was here last. Nothing seems disturbed as I push open the door and step inside.
Motes of dust hover in the air, dancing in beams of moonlight filtering in through the windows. The scent of age-old wood fills my nostrils as I set my bag down by the door and tug off my boots. My shirt follows, discarded on the couch in the corner. I flip on the lights and head for the fireplace to get a fire going for warmth. It's fucking cold, and there is no heat out here. Getting lights and running water was hard enough.
The memories of hunting trips with Samson have left indelible marks on the place. The deer head hanging above the mantle, his antlers glistening in the silvery moonlight, is from one of those trips. The wooden table is chipped on one side from a raucous game of cards that ended in a wrestling match.
This cabin has always been my sanctuary, free from the politics and power plays that come with living with my father. It's the one place where no one expects anything of me, no one wants anything from me, and no one gives a damn who I am. My decisions out here impact no one but me.
With the fire started, I climb to my feet, heading for the bedroom to start a fire in there.
As I flip on the light, my heart stops.
A curvy little goddess sprawls across my bed, dead asleep. Her golden hair cascades over the pillow like a waterfall of silk. Her plump lips are slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. She's completely naked and absolutely fucking gorgeous.
I stare at her in shock, my feet rooted to the floor, my cock throbbing in my pants. Jesus Christ. I've never seen anything so beautiful. Every inch of her is soft—her belly round, her breasts full, her thighs thick.
"What the fuck?" I whisper, my heart pounding against my ribcage as if it's trying to beat out of my chest. The entire fucking world narrows to her and the gentle rise and fall of her chest—to her hard pink nipples and her porcelain skin.
I grind my palm against my cock, trying to talk him down, but it's no use. She has his attention now, and he isn't settling.
I want her like I've never wanted anything. My balls ache with need.
I take a step into the room. And then another.
A parade of twisted desires runs through my head—each more fucked up than the last. Each more compelling than the last.
I want to know if she's as soft as I think she is. Would she whimper if I touched her? If I tasted her? Would she wake moaning if I wrapped my tongue around her hard little nipple and sucked?
The thoughts are wrong—so fucking wrong—but looking at her, they don't feel that way.
Every fucking part of me feels like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. Claiming her is precisely what I'm supposed to do.
"Please," she whimpers, her voice soft and needy.
My gaze snaps to her face. Her eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly as her chest rises and falls rhythmically.
Fuck.
I clench my hands into hard fists, fighting against the urge to touch, to taste, to take. I don't understand this pull toward her, this unrelenting desire to crawl into the bed and claim what isn't mine. But it's there, gnawing at me from the inside.
What isn't mine? No, that's not accurate. She is mine. I feel it in my fucking soul.
