Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

Madeline raced down the path, feet crunching in the snow as her cape billowed out behind her. She filled her lungs with the crisp winter air, her skirts clutched tight in her fists. She had them raised up above the knee, freeing her legs to move.

She sensed Warren behind her, but she was too afraid to look back, afraid it would spoil the illusion to see him smiling or laughing. He wanted this from her. Needed this. There had to be a reason.

She loved him. She loved John Warren, gamekeeper of Alcott Hall. She had no idea what path her life was taking, but she wanted him at her side as she went.

Or in the present case, trailing close behind.

She couldn’t stand the not knowing. She darted a look over her shoulder, nearly tripping on a root at the same time. She gasped, taking a stumbling a step.

“Careful, little rabbit,” he called.

Her core clenched tight, aching with need. He was so much closer than she thought.

This was a game to him. He was teasing her again. He could outrun her easily. If he really wanted her, she’d be caught already. So, what was this about?

“Come here,” he growled, his feet pounding behind her as he snatched for her arms.

Squealing with excitement, she darted quickly to the left, stumbling through the deeper snow out of his grip. She glanced over her shoulder now, seeing the gleam in his dark eyes reflected by the wintry moonlight, so bright against the snow.

He wins if he catches me, she thought, dancing around a tree. And John Warren likes to win. Likes to dominate.

And how do I win?

Surely, to win meant beating him to the edge of the woods. It meant seeking safety on the Alcott grounds. She gasped as the truth blasted through her mind with the fury of musket fire.

He wants to catch me…do I want to get caught?

Yes, came the panting voice in her mind.

That’s how she won this little game, by giving up, by letting him win. She smiled, running a few more paces before darting sharply right.

“Where are you going, little rabbit?” came his deep voice, so close at hand. He was stalking her, protecting her. There was nothing in this forest to fear except him, and Madeline was not afraid of John Warren. Thus, there was nothing to fear.

She quivered with excitement, darting through the trees. Triumph pulsed through her, warming her against the chill. She spied a thick trunked tree, a lovely, patterned birch. She ran for it, collapsing against it with both hands as she turned, panting for breath.

Warren growled, boxing her in with one hand pressing to the tree above her shoulder, the other circling her throat and holding her tight. “You stopped running.”

She arched her neck, lifting her chin to hold his gaze. Their breath came out in little clouds, mixing in the freezing air. “You caught me, sir.”

“You stopped running.”

“If I run again, will you give chase?”

“Yes.”

“And if I stop?”

“Then I’ll fuck you,” he growled. “That’s the game.”

She raised her hands to his shoulders, linking them around his neck. “This isn’t a game to me, John. I’m not running, and I’m not afraid. Now, are you going to catch me or not?”

As she jumped into his arms, he groaned low, his arms wrapping around her bottom. He pressed her hard against the tree, his lips claiming hers in a fevered hiss. They were both ravenous, using teeth and tongues in a way that had her whimpering. He teased her back, his hands holding her tight as he ground against her with his hips.

She gasped, feeling his thick length rubbing between her spread legs. “More,” she panted. “John, please, more—”

He set her back on her feet, shoving her hips against the tree, dropping to his knees in one motion.

“Yes—” She helped him ruck up her skirts, not caring about the bite of the cold on her thighs as his fingers found her soft thatch of curls. Warren was freedom and feeling. Heat and passion.

He delved between her legs, his fingers sliding through her warmth. “Always so wet,” he groaned. “Such a good fucking girl. You want my tongue, Madeline?”

“Yes,” she said on a breath, trying to spread her legs wider for him.

He took charge, grabbing her leg and flipping it up onto his shoulder as he ducked down, his hot breath on her thighs. The first swipe of his tongue had her shivering with want. There was nothing to hold onto but him, so she placed her hands on his head, fingers digging into his long, brown hair.

He was aggressive, pushing and teasing. His tongue worked quick, and his fingers buried themselves deep inside her, lifting her up on her toes with the force of his thrusts.

“Oh god, John—” she cried out, loving the feeling of being dominated by him, of taking her body and making it his temple to worship as he chose.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his breath hot between her legs. “Come.”

He asked, and she wanted to answer. She wanted to come for him. She’d do anything for him. Clinging to his hair, she tipped her head back and gave in to the sensations swirling inside her. The unraveling started slow, like a pulsing heat. Then it spread faster, burning through her—up her arms, across her chest, down her legs, weakening her knees.

And then she was coming. White spots danced in her vision as she trembled, her core clenching again and again around his thick fingers. His hands were the only thing holding her up as he sank back, his mouth glistening with her release.

He was back on his feet in moments, flipping her around. He took her hands with both of his, lacing their fingers together as he lifted them, placing them on the tree above her head. Their fingers unlaced and he pressed down, flattening her palms against the smooth bark.

“Stay,” he growled, sliding his hands down her arms to her shoulders, her back, her hips. He jerked her hips back, pressing on her shoulder at the same time, leaving her in an arched position. “Kick your legs wider,” he ordered.

She could feel him working loose the fall of his pants and she waited, his hands brushing against her back. Then he was around her, his arms enveloping her, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth at her ear.

“I’m going to take what’s mine. Going to claim her, fill her cunt, rut her senseless. She belongs to me. Say it.”

She whimpered, her core aching with the need to be filled. “Yes, John. Yours. I’m yours.”

He shifted her skirts, exposing her backside. Then his hand was delving between her legs, his fingers spearing her again, lifting her up on her toes.

“Ahh—”

“Shh,” he soothed. “In the light of day, she wanders the woods, such a prim young lady. No one can know she comes to me in the night. No one can know that it’s my cock she claims. For she is Artemis. She is Selene. She owns me, the lonely hunter in her woods. Say it.”

She pressed back with her hips, near wild with need. “You’re mine, John Warren. You will never touch another woman.”

“Never,” he growled, shifting her hips as he pressed forward with the tip of his cock.

“You will never look at another woman,” she panted, bending her legs to open for him, feeling his cock notch into place.

“Never. May the Furies strike me down. There is only you. My goddess. My soul. We are one.” And then he was plunging in deep, sinking inside her with a powerful thrust.

“Ah—”

His hand came around and covered her mouth, silencing her wanton screams. His other wrapped around her waist, holding her in place as he rutted into her, sinking himself deep. Her whole body shivered as she gripped to the tree. The aching sense of fullness was everywhere. He was in her mind, in her heart, filling her up. She breathed him in, pulling his essence deeper too.

“You love being fucked,” he grunted in her ear. “Love being speared by my cock.”

She moaned her agreement.

“Words, Madeline.”

“Ah—yes, I love your cock—” She was too lost to her pleasure to make any sense. “You ruin me. I’m lost. I’m found in you. Only you, John. Never stop—”

“I’ll never stop,” he panted, slamming into her until she felt it in her teeth.

Her whole body shook with the force of his thrusts. It was powerful and animal. She felt used and worshiped in one. He was pouring his strength into her, shoring her up, making her whole.

“So fucking perfect. My sweet girl. Mine. Only mine.”

“Only yours.”

They echoed their threats and their oaths as they climbed a steep hill together and leapt off the edge. Madeline came first, her entire body spasming until it was all Warren could do to keep her upright, helping her to sink forward against the tree. She strangled his cock, her cunt a thing of its own as it pulsed and fluttered.

He groaned, jerking himself free of her and then she felt wet heat on her backside as he poured himself out sliding his length between her cheeks. “Fuck, you’re so damn tight. So small. I’m afraid I’ll break you,” he murmured against her ear, his hand brushing her mess of curls back.

She turned her face, her body sagged against the tree. “I’m stronger than I look.”

He kissed her forehead, her temple.

She reached blindly for his hand, curling his arm around her front between her breasts, entwining their fingers and holding him to her chest. “Feel my heart,” she murmured.

He flattened his palm with hers, his body pressed close to her, protecting her. “I feel it.”

“It’s yours, John. Do you doubt it still?”

He kissed her temple again. “No.”

“If this love were enough, we could run away together now,” she murmured. “We could go to London or Gretna Green. We would marry and be happy together. We’d have my aunt’s money. We’d be happy, John.”

He nodded, nuzzling her, his breath warm on her cheek. “But?”

She turned in his arms, brushing the mess of his long hair back with shaking fingers. “But you need more,” she whispered, suddenly feeling the cold again. “You need Charles. You love Charles.”

“I do,” he replied, flipping her hood back up, sensing her need for more warmth. “I’ve loved him since I was twelve years old. I thought I’d never truly care for another person…until I met you.”

“And how did you get this?” she murmured, tracing her finger over his scar.

His eyes flickered with amusement. “So curious, little rabbit. That’s how you get caught in a snare, you know.” His hands roved down her sides to cup her bottom. “Had you already forgotten? Do you need another demonstration so soon?”

She pushed on his chest to no avail. The man was a tree. “Answer me.”

“Pirates,” he replied. “A nasty band of them. I fought my way out with tooth and nail. Kept this as a trophy,” he added, pointing with one hand at the scars.

She giggled. “You lie, sir.”

“Yeah, of course I do. I get seasick in a rowboat on the lake.”

“Warren,” she laughed, slapping his chest.

“Oh, so it’s Warren again? Not John?”

She bit her lip, hesitant. “You told me not to call you John when we first met, do you remember?”

He made a sound of assent, lowering his face to kiss her neck.

“You only like it when Charles calls you that.”

“I am a man reformed,” he replied between kisses.

“So, you don’t mind then? I can call you John?”

He pulled back, holding her gaze, his hand brushing her cheek. “Do you want to call me John?”

She smiled, brushing her thumb over his lips. “I want to call you mine. My John.”

“My Madeline.”

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes shutting tight as he leaned in again, tasting her skin with soft kisses.

“Mine. My Madeline. My Artemis. Goddess of moonlight, wife of everlasting night.”

“But our fearless hunter needs his Apollo too,” she murmured, trailing her fingers through his hair. “Sun and moon. Man and woman. I want you to have everything, John. Everything you need. Help me make him ours.”