Big Man’s Claim Wylder, Penny (you can read anyone .TXT) 📖

I went to be alone because I don't know where I belong. And I found a man who made me forget. He took all of my fears and worry away, even if it was just for a single night.

Sliding in a second finger, my other hand grips my breast and squeezes. Pinching my nipple. The smell of his cologne and our sex is in the steam, rising from the tub. My hand moves faster and faster, and my hips rock as I drive my clit into my palm.

I'm doing everything I can to not cry out with pleasure. Biting my tongue, I hold my breath as the orgasm rushes through me like an explosion. My toes curl and my eyes scrunch tight.

As the orgasm buzzes from my head to my feet, I open my eyes. Goosebumps are making my skin feel textured and my stomach is trembling. Even out of sight, Branson has the power to make me smile.

Grinning to myself, I soak in the tub until my fingers prune up. I feel better. I'm clean, my hair is washed, and all the dirt is gone, but I still catch a faint scent of his cologne as I dry my hair with a towel.

I don't know what to do. If the rumors are true, it should be easy to forget him. It would be an honest mistake. A one-time whoops that I won't make again. Except that's not what I feel at all.

He's on my mind, he's in every thought, he's all I can think about. The person my brother described is not the person I met.

But a mask is easy to wear for some people. Maybe he's exactly who they say he is. Maybe he is some asshole dead beat that left his family.

Except, that's not who I think I met.

There's always some truth to a rumor. No matter how wrong it might be.

This man, this forbidden fruit, I shouldn't want anything to do with him. But as I lay in bed with Buttercup at my feet, there's something missing. Even with all the blankets keeping me tucked in, I still feel cold. This emptiness I feel is a void that's all around me.

I know exactly what's missing. . .

Bran's arms around me.

7

Branson

Hitting the piece of wood hard, I grunt. My hands hurt, my back hurts, my head hurts. Everything fucking hurts. I've done nothing but throw myself into my work for the past week trying to forget Melody.

It isn't working.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking sleeping with her. She's only eighteen, barely legal. Had I known that when I found her in the river, I'm not sure I would have lost control as easily.

Yes, she's of age, but it doesn't change the fact that she's just out of high school and I'm almost thirty. There's an entire decade between us. I knew she was younger than me, I just didn't realize it was so much.

And still that isn't changing the fact that she's on my mind every second of every day. It's been over a week since that night, and it's as if time has just stopped completely. There are sores on my hands from the handle of the hammer, and blisters from gripping the paint brush so tightly.

But her bright red hair, her shining emerald eyes, and all those cute little freckles keep infiltrating my thoughts. Her skin was so soft, her body so perfect, all I keep thinking about is licking her all over. Every crease, every dip and curve from head to toe.

I’ve got to get a hold of myself. This is fucking nuts.

Shaking my head, I grab the stool and pull it up to my work bench. Dabbing the tip of my brush into the white paint, I flesh out the eyes of my newest piece. It's a wooden face of a man with a long beard.

I've been working on it for some time now, hand carving it from a piece of fallen oak I found in the forest.

My hand moves in slow, precise strokes as I give life to his eyes. I'm trying so hard to focus, but I can't. I'm wondering what she's doing, and how her ankle is. I'm wondering if she's thought about me at all or if she's just gone back to living her life as if we never met.

Dropping the brush into the cup of turpentine, I lean back and grab my head with both hands. I can't keep going like this. I can't keep living with her burned in my memory this way. Groaning, I drag my fingers down my face, dropping them onto my lap.

This sucks. Why can't I just let her go?

Pushing away from the work bench, I look down at my hands. They're covered in paint and saw dust. Washing them in the sink, I grab a glass and fill it with cold water.

Standing at my sink, my house is quiet, but my head is loud as fuck. Our night together rushes in, the images vivid and alive. The warmth of her slit as it slipped over my prick makes my body tremble even now.

She was so wet, so tight, so damn fucking smooth. I harden at the thought, pulsing in my pants.

Letting out a heavy breath, I adjust my dick and decide to go to bed. I'm tired, and if I jerk off one more time because of her, my dick might fall off. I haven't been able to go one day without pleasuring myself.

Falling face first onto my bed, I curl my hands under my pillow and close my eyes. I just want to sleep her away. I want to sleep long enough that when I wake up I don't remember anything.

A fresh start. A new day. A lost memory. That's exactly what I need.

“Hey.” I hear a voice. It's so soft I almost miss it.

Opening my eyes, I rub them a few times to make sure I'm actually seeing what I think I'm