Yes.
He’s not just tall and broad and strong as an ox.
That thing between his legs is unnaturally large.
I live in New Orleans, so I’ve seen a thing or two. Forget the ruler, one would need a tape measure to determine the length of his shaft. And the circumference? It would take both of my hands to fit around him.
His huge, sensitive manhood.
The heavy balls beneath that emptied when they saw me. Violently. Turning Butch red and making every vein in his body stand out.
Yes. Yes, I should be terrified. This man is eventually going to realize he doesn’t need to bargain to take me. As many times as he wants. I hold none of the power here and yet, that’s exactly how he’s treating me. As if I personally hold the reins and control what happens between us. How long can that possibly last?
Perhaps unwisely, I turn and glance back at him over my shoulder and find him staring longingly at my butt. The protrusion between his legs has grown even more pronounced, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Sweat dots his hairline and grease streaks his jaw. I’m two steps ahead of him in our ascent to the floor above, but he’s still taller than me. Again, I ask myself why I’m not afraid.
Maybe it’s the scars on his back. The torture in the depths of his eyes.
There’s a reason he doesn’t want to leave the engine room.
This man has been through something terrible.
Perhaps because of that, or maybe because of my confusing attraction to him, I find myself breathing harder, wetting my lips in anticipation of the kiss. Did I inhale too many fumes or am I actually looking forward to coaxing this man off the oil rig? Because whatever attraction is kindling inside of me, whatever sympathy I have for him…there is no question that I need him to get off the rig.
Selling this thing will completely change my life.
No, it will give me a life. Allow me to eat three meals a day. My dream career is finally within reach and all I have to do is lure this man from his cave out into the sunlight. Once he’s there, I can bring him to the mainland in the helicopter and wish him well. I’m sure he’ll find employment on another rig. Right?
Trying valiantly to ignore the rising lump of guilt in my throat, I reach the landing and turn, giving Butch a come hither smile over my shoulder. Facing forward again, I see this floor is some kind of bunk area. There are beds chained to the walls—dozens of them. To the right of the bunks are a few round tables, chairs scattered around. Perhaps a place to dine for the rig workers?
When I veer in the direction of the dining tables, Butch puts a hand on my waist and stops me in my tracks. “We will do this on a bed, little girl.”
I stop short, gaping at the twin-sized offerings affixed to the walls. “But…you’re too big to fit.”
“So I’ve heard,” he rasps, cupping the back of my neck and leaning down to inhale against the crown of my head. “I’ll be able to fit on the bed as long as I crowd you down extra tight into the mattress.”
My pulse skitters, hot ice climbing up and down my spine. “That sounds like a lot more than kissing. It sounds like…” I drop my voice to a whisper. “Sex.”
“Sex,” he groans, his palm smoothing itself over the swell of my backside and gripping it tight. “I’d sell my soul to ride you, Cindy. But it’s not happening. You’re such a tiny little thing. I’d hurt you with what I’ve got.”
I nod, knowing he’s right.
This is not an empty boast. I’ve seen the proof.
Butch might be a hermit who has stashed himself away in an engine room, but apparently he’s a man with honor. So…when he assures me we’re not going to have sex, why am I not relieved?
That can’t be disappointment poking holes in my throat.
It can’t be.
Butch takes my hand and leads me over to the deserted sleeping area. With a grunt, he guides me down onto a bottom bunk, placing his hand on my shoulder and lowering me to the mattress. Lying there on my side, the halogen begins to flicker behind him, causing his silhouette to disappear and come back.
The gray walls, blinking light and silence are the perfect recipe for a horror movie, especially with the giant looming over me, adjusting his big erection. So why don’t I feel an ounce of terror when he lies down on the bunk beside me, scooting and advancing until I’m flattened between the wall and his heavy body?
What are those tingles racing up and down my inner thighs?
I’m trapped.
If he wanted to keep me pinned like this, he could do so indefinitely. There is no means of escape. He is blocking out the entire world. So why am I battling the urge to drape my thigh over his hip and grind the seam of my jean shorts against his bulge? Speaking of that denim seam, when did it grow so damp?
Butch cups my chin in his hand, turning my face up and studying it from several angles. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’m looking for a flaw.” He frowns. “I can’t find a single one.”
His thumb grazes my bottom lip, turning the oxygen in my lungs to vapor. “I-is that a pickup line?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “My dick is sitting between your legs like a bicycle seat, Cindy. I think we’re past that.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “You could at least pretend to woo me.”
Wait. What is this?
Am I flirting with the giant?
“You want to be wooed, huh?” He tucks his tongue into the inside of his cheek, his calloused palm dropping from my face to the valley of my side. “This is a pretty unusual first date.” Something seems to occur to him—and whatever it is makes him frown at me. Ferociously. “Do you date?”
Is it my imagination or are his hips pinning me to the wall a lot harder than before? “I’ve been on two dates in my life. During my one year of college. They were both terrible. Boys my age…” I shrug. “I decided to wait until I was old enough to date men. Older, more mature men.”
His upper lip curls on a growl and he shoves his hand down the back of my shorts, gripping my right buttock possessively. “That idea sucks.”
“Wow. Harsh.” I try to wiggle away from him, but he only wedges me tighter to the wall, the bunk bed groaning under his shift of weight and I barely contain a whimper. What is wrong with me? One second I’m flirting, then I’m miffed and through it all, I am definitely growing wetter. “What about you? Did you date once upon a time?”
“No,” he bites off.
“Are you a virgin, too?” I whisper.
“I wish I was. The memories of the few times I tried to…be intimate in my early twenties haunt me almost as much as the war.”
My eyes travel downward, lingering on the spot where our hips lock together tightly. So tightly. Without the benefit of clothing, he could seat himself in my body with a tilt of his hips. “It wouldn’t fit?” I whisper.
“Not without pain.” His forehead drops to mine, his exhalations shaky. “I wouldn’t do that to you, little girl.” His surprisingly tender fingers tunnel into my hair, stroking through the strands. “Especially now, when you must be grieving.”
“Oh.” I shake my head. “No, I barely knew my father. He was obsessed with this rig. Cared about it more than he cared about us. It just…consumed him.”