Page 7 of Innocent
“Oh, god, probably with you and Mark right before he left for college. I remember he was telling us that story about the seven foot aliens with the spiral di…” My face turns red as I realize I’m about to talk dicks with a man whose dick I’ve been thinking about nonstop since I was seventeen. “Anyway, he’d heard some crazy stories of the abductions up here. It’s always some lonely woman who’s been kidnapped and never returns.”
Huck laughs. “Yeah, I used to hear some shifter stories when we first moved out here. Bears going wild with need and turning to men. Men going wild and turning to wolves. I think it’s all just mountain stories. Something to keep people busy on cold nights like tonight.” He looks toward me, casually running his giant hand down over my arm. “You warming up? We can get back in the truck.”
“No. I’m fine.” My gaze goes to his and for a long moment we’re stuck there, our eyes locked in the waxy glow of the crescent moon with half a foot of snow crunched beneath the car and our boots. “Are you?”
He groans beneath his breath and a shot of excitement goes through to my core, thumping my clit, and tightening my nipples harder than they’d been. Is he feeling this too? Does he want to touch me as badly as I want to touch him, or is this all in my imagination?
It has to be my mind playing tricks. He’s tucking his hands into his pocket. That’s for sure the international sign for please let this end.
“We should head back down,” I say, turning quickly back toward the passenger’s side of the car. “I have an early morning and I’m sure you’re exhausted from your day.” As I turn, my bare knee catches the edge of the license plate and I let out a howl that scares an owl from his perch in the tree above us.
“Shit!” I drop the bottle of wine and stain the clean white snow, dark purple and red as my bleeding leg begins to drip. “God, leave it to me! I’m sorry. I don’t want to get your truck a mess.”
“I’m not worried about the truck. Let me see.” Huck bends down in front of me. His knees hit the cold snow, and he grips my thigh with his big hand. He rubs his palms together and breathes warmth into them before he touches me. “Fuck, honey. Come sit down.” With his hand on my back, he helps me to the truck, lifting me up onto the bench seat sideways before handing me his cell phone. “Here. Hold this light for me while I bandage you up.”
If I’d known cutting myself would get him this close to me, I’d have sliced my leg open years ago.
Opening the glove box, he pulls out a decently sized first aid kit and props it up on the dash. I move the light to the box while he fumbles through for some antibacterial wipes. “This is going to sting,” he says, lowering back down to my cut, “but we need to get it cleaned out good.”
I close my eyes and brace myself for the inevitable sting, breathing slowly as I wring my fingers into my jacket.
“Hold on to my shoulders,” he says, looking up toward me. “Give me a tap if you want me to stop.”
My mind goes to places other than the cut on my leg. Dirty places. Places I shouldn’t be.
I do as he’s suggested, leaning forward onto his shoulders as he swipes the wipe over my cut, but there’s no sting. Instead, I only feel the heavy touch of his warm hand.
He reaches up into the box for a large bandage and wraps white cotton around my leg once before taping it down. He’s squatting between my legs, working my cut, and I can’t take my eyes off him. Huck is quiet too, working slower now, swiping his thumb over the edge of the tape multiple times before standing. “You should be set until you get home. But make sure and take that off and wash it good with some antibacterial soap before bed. I’m sorry that happened. I need to get something around that, so it doesn’t happen again.” He stands slowly, rising up like a giant, the scent of his woodsy cologne in the cold air as he moves.God, why does he have to smell so good?
A litany of small confusions fills my head. Do I want to stop him from getting in the truck or not? Do I want him to stand or stay kneeling? What is the right answer to keep him with his hand on my leg until a world exists where he can do more to me.
He grips my legs and helps me in sideways, babying me as though I’m the most precious being on Earth. He’s careful and methodical in the way his hands graze my body. The broad center of his shoulder brushes mine and he’s close enough that I feel the warmth of his frame against my face.
I want to reach out for him, grip him close, pull him in, tell him I’ve had this feeling for years, that I wonder every second of every day what a life would be like with him.
But I’m not crazy, so I keep my lips sealed shut. Which right now, I should get an award for because feeling every ragged breath as it drags in and out of his body is near torture.
“You don’t need to do all this,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “It’s just a little cut. I can still move my leg.”
His hand drags up to the side of my face and his gaze dials in on mine. “You’re precious. You should be treated as such.”
My heart pounds hard as my hand lands on his back. Our eyes lock. I’m not sure who is leaning in. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s the world pushing us together. I’m not sure, but I swear our lips are getting closer.
“This is wrong,” he groans out as his lips brush against mine.
“It is,” I whisper. He’s so close now that I can’t see him clearly. I can only feel him against me… and I want more.
His lips brush past mine and he nuzzles into my neck, sucking in my scent. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to hold you.”
My nerves sing beneath his touch and my neck arches back, letting him in further. He nuzzles against me, growling under his breath as he holds me close. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?”
My eyes close and for one holy second the entire world makes sense. Huck’s big arms are around me, and mine on him. His breath’s on my neck, his hands in my hair. Everything is right, even though it’s all wrong.
He grips me tighter. His hand wraps around my wrist as his jaw clenches against my face, a low growl emanating as though he’s struggling with stopping himself.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you, Janie?” His forehead presses against mine.
“I reckon just as long as I’ve wanted you.”