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“You’d be surprised,” he laughs, staring into the fire.
I let my eyes run over his hard chest to his thighs. They are enormous, and the bulge pressing against his sweatpants almost seems to pulse.
His chuckle is deep before he sucks in a breath.
I quickly look up, watching him as he runs his thumb across his bottom lip. “Are you from around here?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“You mean, did I grow up on therez,” he says, watching me carefully, slightly tilting his head.
My cheeks heat, and I want to punch myself in the face. The man is beautiful. And here I am sounding like a racist asshole. He looks like the people on the front-page article inThe New York Timesabout the pipeline my father plans to build on their land. My cheeks flush even more. Shit,he must be part of the local tribe, except like he said, he doesn’t have long hair. I roll my eyes, cursing myself to think of the first indigenous stereotype coming to mind.
He stands when a bell rings from the kitchen, adjusting the waistband of his sweats as he walks. “I’m heating some left-over pasta from last night, hope that’s okay?”
“Yes, thank you, I’m starving.” I hear him groan from the kitchen, and my stomach swoops. I get to my feet and walk to the table to check if my camera is all right. I run my hand over his jacket and the Ranger patch, listening to him rummaging through a drawer.
I turn my baby on and do a little happy dance. It still works. A shiver runs through my body while I stare at the snowstorm outside. If he hadn’t found me, I could have died out there. I set my camera back down and pinch the blanket under my arms, remembering all my clothes are in the van. I swear out loud, no chance in hell I’m going outside. I can barely see the fence, let alone my truck. I stare at the open closet filled with outdoor clothing and slowly make my way to it while the fire pops behind me.
“You want something from me to wear?” he asks, holding two steaming bowls in his big hands.
I nod, trying not to let my eyes drop from the massive package between his legs. Now I know what the buzz on TikTok is with men wearing gray sweatpants.
“Knock yourself out. My room is at the end of the hall on the right. The bathroom is right across if you want to freshen up.”
I nod and walk on tiptoes through the hallway, opening the last door. Stepping into the room, my jaw drops. His bedroom is spacious, with a Franklin stove on the right, and a big bed made from logs, and a closet on the left. I sit on the bed, that has been made with military precision. Pictures of him and an older man camping in the woods line the walls. One photograph that’s on the floor with the glass shattered catches my eyes. He’s younger in the picture, wearing military gear, and standing in front of a large helicopter. Was he a soldier? He does fit the whole strong and silent with a dark edge vibe.
I place the frame on his nightstand and push up from the bed, letting the blanket drop. Walking naked to a big dresser, I skim my finger over a tiny wolf sculpture. The details are amazing, it’s one of the best I’ve seen in my life. I’ve been to enough museums around the world to know this is special. I open his closet, and rows of green uniforms greet me. In the back hangs a dress uniform with two arrows crossed over a sword on some insignia. I read the wordsDe Oppresso Liber. I glide my hand over the fabric and grin. He was telling the truth; there aren’t any women’s clothes here.
I grab a pair of sweats and an army green, long-sleeved shirt before going through a drawer, finding white socks and some boxers, along with a string of condoms. I giggle, trying to scan the foil for the size. Shaking my head, I start to snoop. “What else have you got in here?” I find a wooden box stashed under more socks. I open it up and my breath catches. I’ve seen the movieForrest Gumpnumerous times to recognize the medal of honor instantly. Why did he hide it here? The fire cracks in the living room, and I jump, dropping the rubbers and closing the box, before putting them back in their rightful place.
Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I hold my breath, hoping he’s secretly watching me change from the door opening while he runs a hand over his impressive bulge. Shivering from the thought, I quickly pick up the first hoodie I see and pull it over my head before heading back to the living room after a quick bathroom break.
Watching him add some logs to the fire, I place my blanket on the couch and roll up the legs of his sweatpants and the hoodie so I’m not drowning in them completely. The muscles in his back strain against the thin fabric of his shirt while he works.
Turning around, he catches my stare and frowns, like he can’t believe I would want to wear his clothes. “You look good—I mean, better.” He shakes his head, and his cheeks heat a little like he’s embarrassed. He takes a seat on the couch and grabs the bowl of pasta. “I reheated it for you,” he says, motioning to another bowl and starts to eat.
I feel totally exposed in this stranger’s living room. A stranger who saved my life, I keep reminding myself.
“You find everything okay?” he asks, his deep voice hitting the place between my thighs, as my palms start to sweat.
I push up my sleeves and take my seat next to him on the couch. He keeps staring at me. Judging by the strip of condoms, a guy like him has girls in his bed each night and chicks wearing his shirts the morning after. Why do I suddenly have the urge to find out more about this man? Why do I want to go all cave woman on him and fall to my knees between his muscular legs, pulling his sweats down to find out what he’s packing underneath?
“Eat,” he orders, shoving the bowl into my hands.
I do as he tells me, and we eat in comfortable silence. I thought it would be awkward. I try to hide my grin behind a big bite. This is the first in a long time I somehow feel at peace. I roll my eyes. I don’t even know him; he can pin me under him, and fuck me senseless, and my answer would be ahell yes. The guy has over eighty pounds on me. I couldn’t do anything to stop him. This notion alone gives me a secret, forbidden thrill.
He shifts and his knee brushes my leg. Warmth spreads from my chest to my neck, and my pussy twitches. I’m getting wet, thinking about what he could do, while I try to swallow the pasta. I’ve never had these thoughts before in my life—no, that’s a lie.I’ve had them alone in my bed late at night while I touched myself. I sneak a look at him from the corner of my eye. My stomach drops, and he’s staring into the fire again, not paying any attention to me.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, clearing his throat.
“Much better. Thank you for letting me wear your clothes,” I say, fidgeting with my fork.
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Promise me not to head into the woods without a good plan and letting people know where you are. You could have died, kid. There are wolves all around preying on a girl like you,” he says, his voice gruff like he cares about my well-being.
Nodding, I take the last bite. “I promise,” I whisper, our eyes clashing.
“Good girl.” He makes a grunting sound as he stands and grabs the bowl from my hand without saying anything else, then stalks to the kitchen.
After finishing my water, I walk around the living room looking at the pictures he has hanging on the walls. A couple are from when he was younger with the same older man, both riding a horse. I pick up a picture tucked behind a couple of others. It’s him wearing a sand-colored uniform again, with a rifle in a desert somewhere. He rips the photograph from my hand, and I yelp, watching him as he places it back on the shelf where I found it.
