Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
If my head hadn’t hurt so much, I would have smiled. His show of spirit was a major turn-on, not that I needed any more of those. I sat up enough to make sure I wouldn’t pass out, but before I could string more than a few words together, Fuck You glanced at me. He sighed loudly and put down the basket, then closed the distance between us.
“Let me see,” he said. “Don’t move.” With him standing and me sitting, it meant my face was practically pressed against his groin. Unfortunately, when his fingers prodded a spot on the back of my head, my hard-on died a quick death. “You’re bleeding.”
“You almost sound worried, Fuck You,” I said, though the words were strained.
“You’re the one who pushed me down the stairs,” came the snide response. Then, just like that, his voice gentled. “Okay, you’re going to put your arm around me so I can steady you. I need more light to clean this.”
I would have liked to tell him I was fine enough to walk on my own, but I wasn’t sure. I still felt off balance and the last thing I needed was to take another tumble down the stairs. “Are you hurt, Fuck You?”
“I’m fine,” he said as he placed himself next to me and eased my arm over his shoulders then wrapped his arm around my waist. I wanted to look at him to see if he was smiling because it sounded like he was.
I had yet to see his smile.
Or hear his laugh.
As we climbed each step, his grunts and groans as he struggled to bear my weight woke my dick back up when I imagined those sounds coming out of his mouth while I fucked him. Once we reached the top of the stairs, the walking was easier, and I spent those few seconds telling my dick to stand down. I practically fell into one of the chairs when we reached the kitchen table.
Surprisingly, my head hurt quite a bit, so I closed my eyes and let my guardian angel take care of me. Not because I wanted him to but because I needed him to. I was used to taking care of myself and under normal circumstances, a gash to the back of the head and a bump to the noggin wouldn’t have been an issue, but the last thing I wanted was to walk out of that house and have my new colleagues and bosses watch me face-plant into the dust.
“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, and your hair hides the cut pretty well, but it’s going to be a few days before the swelling on your temple goes down. You might have a concussion so you should probably go to the hospital, but since you’re a butch, macho man who’d probably just slap some duct tape on the cut and then go ride your horse or lift those hay things or do… whatever… I’ve put some butterfly bandages on it, though they’re not going to stay put long.”
The guy’s words snapped me from the half-doze I’d been in. He was right about not going to a hospital, but I knew the signs to watch for if I did have a concussion.
“Keep the ice on it,” the man said before he disappeared again. A moment later, there was a tall glass of ice water in front of me. “Are you hungry?”
The pie that had smelled delicious not five minutes earlier now made my stomach churn. “I’m good,” I managed to get out. “You know if Xavier or Curtis are around?”
“Curtis went to meet a friend who has a bunch of cows around here somewhere.”
“Cattle,” I offered. “You call ’elm cows out here and you’ll find yourself getting horse—” I stopped abruptly when I realized I’d been about to say horsewhipped, a commonly used but entirely harmless threat that no one, not even the naivest of tourists, would have taken seriously.
But the man sitting next to me wouldn’t see it that way. He’d seen firsthand what the “wrong” behavior resulted in when it came to towns like Eden; towns that were, in many ways, still stuck in the past.
“Um, Xavier and Brooks, he’s Curtis’s nephew, they’re um… riding.”
I swore I saw the young man’s skin flush with color. He would suck at gambling.
“Riding?” I asked huskily as I was immediately transported to the night before when I’d imagined my dick sheathed in the hottest, tightest grip it would ever know.
Something in my voice must have triggered the young man’s next move. I snagged his wrist before he could escape me once again. “Is it me?” I asked. I began stroking my thumb over the inside of his wrist. “Or is it all hicks that scare you? Because we’re not all like those three men—”
“No,” he responded. “No, you’re not all like them. But yes, it is you.”