Page 16 of The Mountain Man's Retribution

I place the mug on the table and sit back down. Before I can react or think, she climbs into my lap, snuggling against my chest and sighing contentedly. It’s like she needs me to feel strong, and it both thrills and worries me. Or perhaps it’s the rules from Big Man. I can’t imagine being starved of human touch my whole life and forced to live under the godawful conditions she continues to describe. Although I do know how lonely it is to grow up in an affectionless household …unbearable.

Deciding worry will get me nowhere, I wrap my arm around her, patting her back and kissing the top of her head. She lifts her chin, eyeing me hesitantly, before reaching for her coffee mug and taking a sip. I scrutinize her face, but she seems pleased, so I assume it’s to her liking.

Still wearing my detective’s hat, I ask, “Have you drunk coffee long?”

She nods, eyeing me with little birdlike movements. They give me the sense that she could skitter away at any moment, like a semi-feral animal I’m trying to domesticate. “Sometimes. When Big Man allowed it.”

“Did the coffee come from town?”

She eyes me nervously, her mouth quirking. “Why do you ask?”

I feel guilty saying this, though it doesn’t have to be a lie if I follow through. But my real motivation is vengeance, not pleasure. “If I know the name and store, I can get you the same brand.”

She frowns, shaking her head. “Yours is much better. Thank you.”

I frown, and her eyes drop to my mouth.

“I’m sorry?—”

“Little elf,” I say warmly, stroking her cheek. “When will you learn that you never need to apologize to me?”

She smiles, nodding and taking another sip of her drink. “Why do some people take this with cream and sugar?” she asks. “Does it taste better?”

I try to keep my face unreadable. I don’t want her to think I’m judging her in any way, and I want her to keep asking questions. But there are so many, and they are so basic.

“Would you like to try mine?” I ask, offering her my mug. “It has cream but no sugar.”

“Yes, please.” She grins, revealing her slightly imperfect teeth. Everything crooked or different about her is perfect. As though God hand-carved her for me. But what torments me is how much she has yet to learn.

Would anyone else be as patient with her? Understand her wild ways? I fear civilization would crush her beneath its boot without a second thought. Men would use and abuse her, take advantage of her naivety, her thirst for affection and touch, while despising it in equal measure. It’s as though I was created to care for her, even more than she was made for me. My need to protect her is fierce, far outweighing all other desires.

But what if years down the road, she grows to resent me for laying claim to her? Tying her down before she has a chance to experience the world? This concern is a vice-grip, painfully restraining me.

Her hand slips to my firming cock, gripping it, and I nearly jump out of my seat knocking her to the ground. “Please,” I say as gently as I can, putting her hand back in her lap. “Remember what I said about taking things slow?”

Her cheeks redden, and it relieves me. Maybe she’s starting to put two and two together. Understand that there must be a few ground rules when it comes to our interactions. At least atfirst. “Big Man says a man’s strength is in his loins. I need to feel your strength, Bodie, for I can tell you are a very powerful man, and it comforts me to be yours.”

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had weird, twisted fantasies like this in the past, especially during my teen years. What man doesn’t want a fully devoted woman who worships the hell out of his cock? But what I really need is a strong, independent girl with her own mind, not one desperate with fear. I want the woman who sat in my living room yesterday and made her desires clear and unequivocal about going to town prematurely.

“Heis not someone to take relationship advice from,” I grumble, unwilling to even speak the name she knows him by. “Did he make you do that for him? Hold him that way?” I ask, choosing to focus on retribution over sex.

“Never.” She gasps. “I told you already. We never touched. Ever.”

I exhale, relieved. I had to ask just in case things are so muddled in her head that she doesn’t get where I’m going with my questions. “Well, he was right to a degree that certain kinds of touching lead to places neither of us is ready to go yet, okay?”

She worries her bottom lip, her face conflicted.

“Remember what I told you yesterday?”

“Not to run away.”

“True, but I’m thinking of something else.”

“That I’m beautiful, and you want me, though you hold back.”

“Yes, but that’s still not it.” Tired of repeating myself but determined to make her understand, I emphasize, “That you are safe with me no matter what. You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to act a certain way or try to please me. Just be you.”

“That’s right.” She grins. “I am safe no matter what.”

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