Pleasure from this man is a new requirement.
Considering the fact that I’m supposed to be evicting him, that’s a huge problem. But when Butch climbs back into the bed beside me, tucks me into his embrace and drugs me with his warmth, problems cease to exist.
For now.
Chapter Four
Butch
Jaw propped on a fist, I stare down at the miracle that has been sent to me.
Cindy enjoys my touch.
Doesn’t seem fearful of me at all.
Her body is curled up against mine with so much trust, my throat burns at the sight of it. She fell asleep an hour ago and now her leg is trapped between two of mine, her lips parted slightly. The drone of the machines one floor down is a soothing hum, as opposed to the mechanical roar I hear when I’m in the engine room. I’m torn between the peace this girl offers me and the fear of the unknown.
I can’t keep her down here forever.
Can I?
The engine room of an oil rig is not a safe place for a tiny female. And someone would come for her eventually. Someone will come for this rig because it has a monetary value. Until she walked down the stairs and enlivened my blood, I was prepared to remain in my home no matter what. Even if they chose to detonate a bomb and implode the rig, build a new one from scratch, I would have gone down with the ship rather than face the daylight.
Now I have touched the softest skin. Looked into fathomless green eyes and tasted her come on my tongue. Her melodic voice is in my head, her innate curiosity satisfies my mind. How will I be able to do anything but follow her up to the surface if she tries to leave? A better question is, am I enough of a lost soul, a monster, that I could drag Cindy back down into the darkness with me and refuse to let her go? That possibility isn’t out of the question. Already my heart is sprinting at the thought of her disappearing into the sunlight without me.
No.
No no no.
As if I’ve shouted those words out loud, Cindy’s eyes blink open sleepily and she yawns against my bare chest. She snuggles a little closer in a way that has my pulse playing leapfrog, but slowly seems to realize where she is. “Oh!” She struggles to sit up, but I don’t allow it. No, I roll her back underneath me and pin her wrists. I press our foreheads together and feel her. Feel the race of her blood, her inhales and exhales. I savor the life in her, trying to absorb it. God, I’ve been dead for so long. When I’m touching her, I feel revived.
My cock is throbbing ominously in my jeans. Pound pound pound. Stiff and swollen. In need of her pussy. In need of something I wasn’t born to take. The thought of her in pain is enough for me to ignore the incessant hunger plaguing my loins and search for a distraction.
“Cindy,” I say thickly, my mouth roaming through her hair. “Tell me about your gardens. Tell me about what you do in the light.”
I jolt into a groan when she wiggles one of her wrists out of my grip and trails hesitant fingertips down my ribcage, slowly dragging them back upward, her gentleness making me shudder with awe, with gratitude. “Well,” she murmurs. “Earlier this week, before I found out I owned an oil rig, I did a job at the local library. I built some trellises out of old liquor boxes and fastened them to the brick building, around the entrance. Then I brought in some wisteria vines and wound them gently around the spokes, guiding them in the right direction to grow. I planted some crepe myrtle at the base of those trellises and filled in the gaps with riots of black-eyed Susans and periwinkle…”
Her voice is hushed against my skin. Dreamlike. I want to stay here forever, her body trapped under mine, listening to her talk about flowers. The screams that never seem to quiet inside my head are dimmer now, fading with every word out of her mouth. She’s a miracle. And the longer I remain on top of her, the harder is it to deny myself the tight cunt between her thighs. If I feel close to her now, I can only imagine what it would be like to sink inside of her. To be joined with this female.
“I was able to get a good deal on the flowers from my local nursery. I’ve been buying from them forever. But I had to hire a subcontractor to mow the library lawn. My lawnmower is a cranky old man that only works when the weather is right.”
“And this is something you will be able to afford if you sell the rig.”
Her eyes search mine. “Yes,” she whispers, her fingertips running over the scars on my back, making me want to bay like a wounded animal. Not only for her touch, but the fact that I’m standing in the way of something that will make her happy. More successful. “Help me understand why you need to stay here so badly, Butch. I want to help.”
With a vile curse that is not suitable for her ears, I heave myself off of Cindy’s delicious body and sit on the edge of the bed, head in hands, my shaft like a spear down the leg of my jeans. There is silence for a moment, then the mattress shifts and I sense her sitting beside me. She doesn’t speak, just places her hand near mine, our pinkies touching. “No one can help me,” I say firmly.
“Okay. Maybe you can help yourself. Just by talking about your pain out loud.” She stands up, moving to the space in front of me. Scrubbing a palm up and down in the center of my chest. “There’s a lot of pressure here, isn’t there?” she whispers.
My eyes close. “Yes,” I rasp.
But she’s prodding at my demons and they are too ugly for her ears, her eyes. I don’t want them anywhere near this angel. So I evade for her sake. “Most of the pressure is here, little girl,” I grit out, taking firm hold of my erection. “Make me another deal.”
Inwardly, I’m shocked at myself. For asking her to bargain with me again. Is there a secret part of me that actually wants to continue upward, to the outside world? No. No, certainly not. I just want her touch so fucking bad.
“Um…” She wets her lips.
I yank her into the V of my thighs, burying my mouth between the perky mounds of her tits. A roar builds in my chest and I let it out, my oversized body vibrating violently against her smaller one. “Don’t lick that mouth in front of me,” I growl, biting down on front clasp of her bra, straight through her tank top. “It’s like having my balls twisted in a fist.”
She’s breathing fast. “Sorry.”
“Are you nervous? Are you realizing how easy it would be for me to hold you face down and bang your hot little ass?”
“I realized that a long time ago. You won’t.”
“How do you know?” I shout through my teeth.
“You would have done it by now,” she says, firming her chin. “You’re just trying to distract me. Scare me, so I’ll stop asking about uncomfortable subjects. Well, joke is on you, buddy. I’m from New Orleans. I don’t scare easy.”
My heart threatens to capsize.
This girl.
She’s one in a million.
One in a hundred million.
My wounds are not safe from her. She’s coming for them. But I’ve been protecting them for a long time and I’m not ready to have them sutured. No. I want to stay angry. I want to remain betrayed. To let go of that pain would mean forgiving those who fucked me over and I refuse to do that. I refuse to move on and allow the memories of my imprisonment fade. At my lowest points, my anger is what kept me alive and if I let go of it, the lack of rage will surely kill me. Won’t it?