“Fuck!” I punch the frame of the back door for the tenth time. My knuckles are spilt and bleeding, and I’m pretty sure I have a shit tonne of splinters digging in between the bones. My hand is a mass of throbbing pain, so it almost feels numb. My stomach is a knot so tight, a troop of scouts couldn’t loosen that fucker. I hate this, hate feeling so fucking out of control, which is why I never do this, never test myself. I know exactly where it ends up, only this time, I have a witness to my meltdown. One step forward threes steps fucking backwards. I can hear her light footsteps as they tentatively traverse the long hallway from the kitchen to the rear entrance of the house.
I can’t even open the fucking door to take in some of the fresh morning air; my hand cramped on the handle like it had set with rigor. The sweats then started, making it impossible to grip, even if I did have the balls to turn the handle, which I don’t, because I’m a motherfucking pussy who hasn’t stepped a foot outside this house for ten years. I can feel the droplets of sweat running down my back, and my hair is slick to my face where it touches. I’m dripping, and I hate that. Until Tia came into my life, I wouldn’t have given a flying fuck never to leave this house again, but now…everything has changed.
“Jesus, Logan, what are you doing?” Her tiny hand reaches for my arm, and she pulls my clenched fist away from the doorframe. “We’re going to need a new doorframe,” she mutters and slips her t-shirt over her head. It’s my shirt. I love it when she steals my clothes. They hang off her tiny frame like clothes on a horse, but I won’t deny she looks fucking sexy in my stuff. My cock twitches with the hope that she’s naked underneath. Shit out of luck on that score too. Today, she’s wearing one of those cami-tops that hugs her tiny waist and skims her perfect, round, pert tits. The thin straps are straining under the weight of those delicious curves. She’s not skinny, but at five foot nothing, she is tiny against my six foot four height, and whereas she is trim and athletic, I have spent ten years building bulk and muscle. She looks fucking perfect, almost naked, her pale, flawless skin next to my deep tan and ink—what is it they say about opposites? My cock continues to twitch and swell. “What’s wrong with you?” she huffs.
“I’m just letting off steam.” I shrug.
“No, I get that you’re mad at something or someone. What I mean is, your hand is cut to shit and you’re getting a hard-on. Do you get off on pain or something?”
“Not this kind of pain, no, but you are, in fact, wearing the skimpiest fucking top known to man, and you have a great rack,” I state flatly and don’t hide my smirk when she flushes a beautiful shade of dark pink high on her cheeks.
“Oh…damn it, Logan.” She wraps the shirt carefully over my bleeding hand and cradles it to her warm body. She turns and leads me like a wounded pup back to the kitchen. She pushes me to sit and then drapes a kitchen towel over my raging erection, which now looks like a floral tepee in my lap. She coughs to hide her laugh, but her cheeks have turned a ball-aching deep red now. And it’s really not helping that she keeps wetting her lips before sucking them into her mouth. Oh, man. I flex and squeeze my fist, splitting the skin farther just for some sort of distraction.
“You’re gonna need some tweezers. I may have a splinter or two.” I can feel the stabbing like shards of glass, and I was hitting that frame with all my strength. Those are going to be buried deep.
“Mind telling me what you were doing, aside from the obvious re-modelling.” She nods and digs around in the first aid box for supplies, pours the water from the kettle into a small bowl, and places the items on the table beside me. Pulling her chair in front, she shuffles and places her knees in between my spread thighs. I close my legs around hers and feel the spark of fire hit my balls, like it does every time her skin brushes mine. More recently, however, there’s been a warm hit in my chest too. Her long chestnut curls fall over one side of her face. She scoops the mass of hair over to the other side of her head and tries to tame it by tucking as much behind her ear as possible. Her pale green eyes search mine, and when I shake my head, her whole body deflates before I even utter a word. She knows what’s coming.
“Nothing.” I grit my teeth when she unwraps the blood-soaked t-shirt. Looking at the mess, I’m thinking it might not be splinters after all, that looks like bone sticking out on two of the knuckles.
“I liked that t-shirt.” She scrunches it up and throws it over to the bin, hitting it at the perfect angle to slide through the flap.
“Nice shot, ace, and I have others I’m sure you’ll steal to replace it.” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but she barely twists out a strained smile.
“Hmm.” She lays a fresh towel on her lap and places the bowl of water on top. She gently submerges my right hand. The water instantly colours bright red as my hand continues to pour out blood. Damn! That stings like a motherfucker.
“Is that just water?” I grimace.
“Stop being a pussy; I put a little antiseptic in. Those are some deep cuts, and it’s not like I can take you to the emergency room,” she throws out, but before I can say anything, her eyes are wide with mortification.
“Low blow, T,” I add even though I can see she already regrets her outburst.
“Oh God, Logan, I’m so sorry, really I am.” She places her hand on my cheek. It’s wet from the water and warm droplets trickle down my neck. She cups my face, and her eyes become glassy with tears, and that’s not what I want.
“Forgiven.” I turn my head and kiss the softness of her palm. She resumes washing my cuts, and after several long seconds of awkward silence, she huffs and straightens her back. Her face furrowed with concern and I’m guessing frustration.
“Damn it, Logan, you have to give me more than ‘it’s nothing’.” She sighs, and her eyes seem to double in size, looking right through me, searching for my murky soul, wide and pleading like a damn puppy dog.
I can’t.
I shake my head and affix a dark, warning scowl I only pray she heeds. She takes a moment and swallows what must be a lump in her throat. Despite all our time together, I still make her tremble, though she must know I’d never hurt her. She shakes off her nerves and powers through regardless.
“Nuh-uh, you don’t scare me.” She narrows her eyes, and her voice waivers just a little, belying her assertion. I raise a brow because I have to admire her stubbornness or her stupidity. “You’re not allowed to shut me out when I have to tell all. I’m damn well not allowed to give you the ‘it’s nothing’,” she declares, and if her hands weren’t busy washing the blood from mine, I imagine they would be perched on her hips, a mix of sass and indignation to go with that sexy pout.
“My house, my rules,” I counter flatly, shutting the conversation dead with my tone.
“You want to die of septicaemia? Because if I don’t get those splinters out…” she threatens, and I scoff.
“Fine, I’ll just call a doctor.” I pull my hand from the bowl and shake the excess water and blood onto the floor.
“Do you want to call a doctor?” A little line appears just at the bridge of her nose when she frowns with concern, and her face looks suddenly sad. The question itself sounded more like a worried gasp, the way she rushed the words. I should know better than to push her.
“No,” I offer softly and replace my hand in hers, which she then guides back into the water.
“Good.” Her face instantly lights up when she smiles, even when it’s tentative and only just curling the corners of her mouth.
She looks so damn pretty when she smiles.
We fall into a comfortable silence while she cleans the wounds and picks the splinters from my skin. Some are really deep, and she has to gouge at the flesh. She keeps apologising, but it isn’t her who’s an idiot with anger issues.
“I’m twenty nine years old this year and I haven’t been outside this house in ten years, Tia.” I break the silence, and what I chose to break it with surprises me much more than her. To her credit, her jaw doesn’t drop or anything comical like that. She just tips her chin and replies in the softest voice.
“I know.” She holds my gaze, her green eyes sparkling as they fill with tears. I’ve never done this with anyone, and I’m pretty sure she knows this.
“I mean, I’ve never wanted to, either. I haven’t even been near the back door the whole time I’ve lived like this, and the front one you’ve seen how I’ve had it modified so it opens automatically. Any deliveries are just put straight inside the house. I never test myself because I know the goddamn answer, and I’m just angry that I tried today. That’s all.”
“Oh. ” She pulls her lips inside her mouth until they disappear, and a tell-tale thin line is all that’s left. She’s literally biting back what she wants to say, and I don’t blame her. I made it perfectly clear if she asked questions, she’d find herself sleeping on the street before the words left her mouth.
“You can ask me one question, but I’m not promising I’ll answer it. I just won’t kick you out, either.” I smile but I can already feel the tension rising inside me. My shoulders stiffen, and my jaw clamps like a vise. She takes her time, and I can see the effort she’s exerting to contain her excitement. Her breathing elevates, and her eyes get a little wider. I’ve never given her this option, and too late, I’m challenging that wisdom.
“Why?” She grins.
“I bet you think you’re really smart don’t you?” I sniff and let out a flat laugh, because as open-ended as that question is, she’s only getting one answer.
“A li’l bit.” She holds up her thumb and finger with the smallest gap. I open my mouth to speak, only to hesitate and then fall silent. She finishes wrapping gauze and a bandage around my knuckles. I still haven’t said a thing.
“You don’t have to tell me if its hard, Logan. We don’t have to share all of our darkness.” She places her hand lightly over mine but doesn’t squeeze. The comfort and warmth just seeps in from her touch, her very presence.
“I want to tell you.”
“Then you will, when you’re ready. There’s no rush, Logan. I’m not going anywhere, and you can tell me anytime you’re comfortable. Right now, though, I think you’re still angry and in pain. It’s probably not the best time for a trip down memory lane. I know I’d definitely need alcohol for that journey if it was me, and it’s way too early to be hitting the bottle. Besides, I’m working tonight so maybe a rain-check is best.”
She offers a get-out without hesitation, and I know she must be dying to know why I’m like this. I drop my head to one side and stretch, letting out a loud crack first on one side and then on the other side of my neck, as the air pops and releases some of the tension.
“Another time, then.”
“Yeah, Logan, another time.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek. Her eyes lock with mine for a moment, and I get that hit to my chest again, tight and warm. “Would you like me to bring you a sandwich or something before I head off?” She clears the debris and puts the first aid box back in the cupboard.
“What time do you leave? I thought you were working nights.” I nod toward the kitchen clock and her eyes follow mine. “It’s still morning, T.” She screws up her face in a cute grin and snickers.
“Yeah, I am working nights, but I have to take Maria’s picture to get it framed, and I need to get some more supplies.” She starts to rinse the dishes, and I can’t keep my eyes off the way her arse jiggles as she rubs the plates clean. I cough to clear my throat and step in front of the chair as I push it under the table, mostly using it to hide my ever-present hard-on.
“I can get you those supplies online,” I offer, shifting and cupping myself to ease the ache that has been building since she leaned forward in that skimpy top and started tending to my hand.
“No, I’m good. I like browsing, and the art shop is right next to the vintage bookstore. It’s a musty old world utopia for a bookworm like me. I can lose days in there.”
She flashes me the widest grin, and I stifle a groan. Damn, she makes my balls ache with that sexy little smile. She barely draws a breath. “I was going to head out around two, so if you want me to fix you something—I’m not cooking,” she clarifies with a flash of panic on her face that makes me laugh. “Just a sandwich Logan; I wouldn’t want you to risk more injury,” she quips.
“You’re so thoughtful,” I retort, and she flicks some soapy suds my way.
“I like to think so.”
“No sandwich, I’ll get a takeout delivered later. We can share the leftovers for breakfast when you get back.”
“Well, get Chinese then because cold curry is gross.”
“And cold chow mien is better?” I scoff.
“You know it.” She wrinkles her nose and blows me a sassy kiss.
“Thanks for this.” I lift my bandaged hand, but she isn’t looking.
“What?”
“Playing nursemaid.” She just shrugs it off, so I add, “I might have to get you a uniform.”
“Oh, you’d like that, I bet.” She barks out a dirty laugh, and I turn to leave.
Under my breath I let the words fall. “You have no idea.”
“Just maybe use the punching bag in the basement gym next time, less blood and mess,” she calls out after me, and I stop just at the threshold to the hall.
“Right.” I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, taking a moment before I leave. “Thank you for staying, Tia.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be, Logan.” Her eyes meet mine, and I know she’s so nearly mine…so damn close I can taste it. The only thing harder than waiting for her to come to her senses and let us happen is knowing what made her this way.