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“This is Millstone Freehold Farm, correct?” I knew good and fucking well where I was, I’d been coming here for over a year, sitting a distance away where I could watch her, but I could see the sparkle in her eyes as she bought my lie.
Iris nodded. “That’s right.”
“The royal land council hired me to come do some maintenance on the barns. I’m a carpenter.”
Iris blew out an exasperated breath as a smile tipped her lips upward and the thought of them around my cock had me as hard as the anvil I saw outside the barn doors.
“Well, finally. Thank goodness for that. The far stables are one storm away from falling down.”
Never mind. If she wasn’t safe and well, I didn’t give two shits if every outbuilding on the property collapsed that second.
“The barns can wait. Let’s get you taken care of,” I said. “Tell me what to do to help you.”
She shook her head, embarrassed. “No, no. No need. You just go about what you need to do.”
What I need to do, gorgeous, is fuck you until you scream. To taste what I already know will be the sweetest pussy in the kingdom.
No. That’s wrong.
In the fucking world.
If only she knew how badly I needed to look after her, both in bed and out of it. But clearly, she wasn’t used to having someone care for her.
Tough shit. She was damned well going to have to get used to it.
“You just walked me through birthing a calf. Surely you can tell me how to bandage your leg.”
Iris looked away and a blush reddened her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
That fierce independence was sexy as hell, but she wasn’t going to win this one. Time to shut this discussion down for good.
“Iris. Do I look like a guy that likes to repeat himself?”
She looked right at me through wide eyes, and inhaled quickly in surprise. I could tell my change in tone startled her and I was glad. I fucking meant what I said, always. But there was something else as well. A willingness to obey that set my desire crackling.
Something changed in me around her. I nearly forgot about the monstrous appearance of my face. Her eyes showed me none of the disgust or recoil I usually encountered from delicate folk. She was someone that seemed to see me, not just my scars.
“I’m going to help you. Period. So stop with the bullshit. We clear?”
“Okay,” she said, looking slightly flustered. “There’s a basket of linen bandages inside. On the shelf beside the milk pails.”
Shit, yes. The way she looked at me when she was a little scared of what I might do? So fucking hot. “I’ll be right back.”
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the milking shed, but once they did, I had confirmation of what I had long suspected from watching her from afar: her father was a useless piece of shit. She ran this place, not her father. It all came down to her.
One side of the shed, where I found the strips of linen, was organized and clean; not a cobweb or a speck of dust anywhere. But the other side of the shed held a disused workbench, with tools encrusted in bedding dust and spiders’ webs.
The floor of the shed was immaculately clean, right up to the edges of the old bench, as if her father had warned her not to touch his tools, or else. It pissed me off, but I shoved down my anger for the time being. I finally had her alone; for now, all the rest of it could fucking wait. I carried the basket of bandages out to her and knelt before her once again.
As gently as I could, making sure not to touch any of the bruised areas, I placed her heel on my knee. I could tell she was in pain, but she was tough and strong. She leaned forward, making her breasts compress against her thigh in a tantalizing line. I pulled my gaze away from her cleavage and watched her lightly run her fingers over the bone of her lower calf, wincing every so often.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” I said, watching her every move.
“I’m feeling….” She gulped down a wave of pain. “…Feeling for anything broken or out of place.” Using her fingertips she moved up and down the bruised area.
“And is it?”
She gritted her teeth and shook her head at the same time.
“I don’t think so.” She leaned back and took a deep, steadying breath, wiggling her toes while rolling her ankle in a circle. “Just sprained, I think.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes, it’s good. But it’ll still take time to heal.” She handed me a few of the bandages and told me exactly how to wrap her leg. I went slowly, careful to keep some tension on the linen strips, but not too much. Once I had her leg carefully wrapped and the linen tied in a bow to keep it secure, she once again gave me that look of embarrassment.
