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Flexing my muscles, I pull the ax from the stump where I’m splitting wood before rearing back to sling it down again.
I don’t need any more damn wood, but something in my body is restless, pushing relentlessly at my psyche and making it difficult to focus on anything other than physical labor. The burn in my arms grounds me. Growing until it’s an inferno across my back; even so, I swing over and over again.
Maybe it will be enough to help me sleep tonight.
The sound of car tires and the slam of a door break into the monotony and repetition, forcing me to realize that I’m coated in sweat. Rivers of it slide down my back, drenching my shirt and the top of my jeans.
“Who the heck would show up here?” I place the ax beside the stump. Usually, the townsfolk leave me alone. No one wants to deal with my surly ass—just the way I like it. No one except for the animals, at least.
Chip squeaks loudly to my right, and I dig into my pocket to grab a few nuts before tossing them his way. The little chipmunk chases after them, and I head toward the backdoor of my home so that I might sneak inside without being spotted. There’s no reason to deal with people if I don’t have to. And since I live alone and have no friends, I never need to. People don’t need me—and I certainly don’t need them.
Closing the door quietly, so as not to alert the interloper, I breathe a sigh of relief at the quiet solitude that surrounds me. My home is my sanctuary—a place where nothing can touch me. But the relief doesn’t last long when someone starts pounding away on the door.
Whoever it is can just go away.
I wander through the house, head to the kitchen, and open the refrigerator. Cold air blasts me, fanning my sweaty skin until I grab a Gatorade and swing it shut. The top hisses as I snap it off, and fortunately, the banging stops while I chug the icy drink.
Now that there’s blessed silence, my curiosity gets the best of me and I head toward the front to spy on whoever dares to pester me. The floor-to-ceiling windows come in handy, and I spot a shiny little car in the driveway. It doesn’t look familiar, but I get closer anyway, pressing against the window, trying to spot the source of the disruption.
At first glance, there doesn’t appear to be anyone around, but then I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye as the porch swing sways. Long blond hair with blue tips ruffle in the breeze, and I’m instantly transported to a few weeks ago when I saw tresses like that for the first time.
The little blond with an angel’s body and the devil’s fire in her eyes.
Oh yes, Trouble, I remember you.
Like she senses my presence, the pretty little spitfire’s head snaps to where I’m standing by the window. She slips from thechair and stomps over. With the glass between us, I know she can’t possibly see me, but there’s no denying the heat in her gaze as she stares me down.
“I know you’re in there,” she declares, and although her voice is muffled, I can read the movement of her cherry-red lips. Lips I’ve spent many a night imagining around my cock.
I could open the door, pull her in here, and plunder her mouth, learning her taste and every sound she makes as she spirals toward pleasure. But unfortunately, Trouble isn’t here for that. No. Instead, she wants me to get on a plane and travel to a wedding.
A shudder rolls down my spine—fucking planes. I haven’t been in one since I flew back to the States with Drew after our failed mission overseas. The horrors rise in my mind, and I swallow hard. Turning away from the blond, I battle my demons, pushing them back into the recesses of my consciousness even if they don’t want to disappear.
“What the fuck am I even doing?” I mumble, wandering aimlessly through the expanse of my home. I know I should answer the door and send the little pain in the ass away, but I’m afraid those pouty lips could talk me into anything.
And I do not want to go to that damn wedding.
People trigger my rage issues. Plus, being around Drew might make my trauma bubble to the surface, and I prefer avoidance. Here, it’s just me, my anger, and my art. The world has triggers. Big groups of people have assholes. And I have no desire to end up incarcerated.
The plush carpet of my bedroom squishes under my feet and I veer toward the bathroom. Might as well shower while I avoid the door. Reaching over my head, I tug the sticky, soaked cotton shirt off and drop it into the hamper, followed by my pants and socks.
Yup. That’s exactly what I’ll do. Get clean and ignore the siren outside.
Twisting the knobs, the water bursts from the three shower heads, quickly steaming up the space, and I climb inside, letting the heat surround me.
The stress of Trouble’s appearance melts off, whirling down the drain with the soapy water. My shoulders relax, and I can finally breathe again.
By the time I get out, I’m sure she’ll be gone. If not…
A bubbly lather fills my hands and I grasp my still semi-hard cock. It twitches in my palm, and I can’t help but imagine Blyth before me.
“Since you interrupted my peace, there’ll be no speaking,” I grunt, using my massive hand to press her down onto her knees.
Bright blue eyes, full of mischief, capture mine as she gracefully sinks to the floor.
“Good girl. Now, how do you ask nicely for your gag?”
As expected, my words trigger her desire, and she lets out a wonton moan. Her rosy nipples pucker, and she rubs her thighs together, seeking friction and spreading her juices everywhere. Fucking hot. Blyth extends her hands forward, placing them on my thighs, still not giving me what I want.
