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He opens my door and I don’t look away when I see the obvious bulge under his zipper. He’s big everywhere it would seem, and I look up into the intense gaze locked on my face.
Not my chest.
Unlike most men I’ve played with in my life for the first time I want to make a man smile. This man. Only him. I want to see him truly smile so I can see the flicker of joy reach up into his eyes and know I’m the one that put it there.
His air of possessiveness should put me off, but it doesn’t. It makes me think there’s something more here and all my assumptions start to fall away.
He looks at my feet as I turn in the seat and put them on the rocky ground.
“Wait. Don’t get out yet.” He turns and goes to the trunk, popping it open, then closed, returning with something in his hand.
Before I can ask, he couches down, one knee on the ground, one bent like a man proposing, unwrapping something in his hands. “Put your foot here.” He points to his bent knee and I realize he has a pair of brown socks he’s going to put on my feet.
“No, it’s okay. I have very tough feet, I rarely ever wear socks or shoes.”
“That’s nice.” He pats his knee. “Foot. Here. The path is rocky, there are sticks and things that could hurt you.”
He gives me a hard stare, staying silent, and I capitulate. His rough hands slipping on the soft socks makes me feel like Cinderella.
“I always keep an extra uniform and things.” He stands jerking his head toward the trunk then reaching for my hand and my heart pitter-patters in my chest.
“Thank you.” I’ve never had someone do something so kind and sweet for me. Such a brawny, dominant man, on his knees, all for the protection of my feet.
“Welcome,” he answers as he pulls me to stand and we head toward the tree line.
“Where are we?” I ask as I prance and spin in front of the stoic sheriff, who seems to give me a feeling of freedom. It’s another irony, because most people would think I lead a free, whimsical life, but the truth is far darker.
“It’s a surprise. Someplace I’ve been coming since I was a little boy. This is my family’s land, my place is about five minutes east of here. This still belongs to my parents but the view is priceless.”
“Priceless,” I repeat as I feel the shade of the trees arching over the path take the warmth of the sun from my skin. I want to know more about him. I want to have a real conversation that is without agenda and manipulation. “Do your parents live close then?” I ask, the feeling of wanting to know more about what lies behind those sad emerald green eyes. Everything about him makes me veer away from my usual forced conversations with marks, as my father calls the men I’m supposed to entice.
He snaps his eyes toward me and I think he’s angry, but the hard angle of his jaw softens.
“Yes. They aren’t too far from here.”
“So, they’re both still alive?” I query as we walk, my steps light, the feeling of the socks on my feet making me smile as I skip next to his heavy footfalls on the path. I look down for a moment, not at the erection pressing upward but the black leather that holds his silver pistol, and my heart speeds in my chest.
“Very much alive and well. Happily married for nearly half a century.” The reverence in his voice dispels my previous anxiety about him having nefarious intentions for traipsing me back into the woods. I’m beginning to trust this stranger and that feeling is foreign to me. It’s been longer than I recall that I trusted anyone, except maybe Genevieve.
“Wow.” My cheeks flame as his eyes trace up and down, then latch back onto mine. “A real love story.”
The way he runs his hand down his face has me confused but there’s no confusion when it comes to the way his confident gait makes my nipples pucker and it feels like feathers are tickling me between my legs.
“Yep.” He nods toward where the path branches off to the right and I see his biceps flex. The veins in his arms are pumped-up as though there’s some invisible pressure building inside him.
He doesn’t say anything else or ask me anything, so I nervously keep up my interrogation, only now it’s things I want to know. Things I don’t usually ask.
“So, is there a love story for you? Any little sheriffs running around calling you Daddy?”
He stops on the path, eyes narrow, and my stomach tumbles. There’s a change in his demeanor and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. In the distance, I hear rushing water and along with the breeze rushing through the trees it sounds like music, but it does nothing to settle the intense stare he’s locked on me.
