Page 47 of His Favorite Color is Blood
Grim’s body was so fine, so smooth, but for the scars that marked his skin in several places. It was the body of someone who didn’t shy away from danger, and that made Misha want to kiss each imperfection that led Grim to his side.
“I kind of do.” Misha looked at Grim sideways. “I bet you could saw into that woodrealgood.” He loved everything about being playful with Grim, and he had known the man long enough to know he wouldn’t take things further than Misha wanted to go. Grim could be obsessive, and pushy, and narcissistic, but Misha felt confident he would listen to a “no” whenever it was voiced. He was also so eager to take care of Misha, and his sheer enthusiasm was enough to wash away all of Misha’s embarrassment about being bathed by someone else. They would walk through the woods—with Grim doing the actual walking—and fish in the nearby river. It was so serene with just the two of them here, and all the bad things that had happened only a few weeks ago seemed like a far-off memory.
“Then you need to come closer.”
Misha slouched forward with a grin. “I don’t know …I’m afraid of the big bad wolf in the woods.”
Grim’s eyebrows shot up. “But I’m so charming.”
“But your teeth are so sharp.”
“Not all of them,” said Grim and swung the axe again before pushing the smaller pieces of wood off the wooden stump he used for chopping.
Misha had been thinking about going into anal with Grim for a while now, but he was still too intimidated by Grim’s size to give him a green light. Day after day though, he was getting more comfortable with the idea, and he knew he’d had enough experience to know how to relax. Not to mention Grim surely had experience in using his … tool.
And then there was that insistent voice in Misha’s head, telling him that Grim was a devotee and all he cared about was having a partner without legs. Nothing else would matter to him, and he’d be just as attentive if Misha were any other amputee. Misha didn’t like that voice particularly, but it kept nudging him like a rusty nail stuck in his head. He wanted the sex with Grim to be different from his pathetic encounters with rapists. He wanted real connection and honesty.
“I’m afraid I’ll get splinters from the sawdust.”
“I think you are already itchy from sawdust and a proper wash is in order,” said Grim as he put another piece of wood on the stump and broke it in two with his axe.
Misha sighed in awe of Grim’s muscles yet again. He was about to ask Grim to take him to the bathtub for a long bath with pine-scented bubbles when Grim’s phone rang. A rare occurrence lately.
Grim stuck the axe into a log and looked at the screen of his phone. His eyebrows rose, and he gave Misha a fleeting glance before picking up the call. “What?”
Misa watched him groan and slouch. The conversation was quick, and from the tone of Grim’s voice, he guessed it wasn’t a pleasant one.
“I’ll be there,” said Grim in the end and stuck the phone back into his pocket. His gaze trailed over the grass, all the way to Misha, and he slowly made his way toward him.
“What is it?” Misha tensed up and pushed the blanket off his shoulders.
Grim’s face twisted into a grimace. “We need to drive back to Charleston. There’s a job for me,” he said and squatted in front of Misha, tracing his wood-scented fingers down Misha’s nose.
Misha reached out to grab his fingers. “Will I have to stay alone?” He’d gotten used to relying on Grim’s presence, and while being together in this forlorn house was a fantastic experience, just thinking of staying behind within the vast woods had ghosts of his past crawling out from the back of Mish’s head.
Grim’s mouth twitched. “No, birdie, of course not. You will be going with me.”
“Am I ready to be your sniper?”
Grim kissed Misha gently and trailed his fingers over his stump. “You still have much to learn. This time, I’ll be leaving you with my brothers.”
Misha got queasy in an instant. “Oh. Okay. Are you sure it’s safe?” He squeezed his hand tighter around Grim’s fingers.
Grim rolled onto his ass and sat next to Misha, all fragrant with fresh sweat, which beckoned Misha with the testosterone evaporating off Grim’s tan skin. “Sure. They will take good care of you while I’m gone.”
Misha ran his fingers over Grim’s pec. “Okay, if you trust them …”
Grim pulled back some of Misha’s hair, watching him for a brief moment, with a smile ghosting across his face. “They were my original club. That’s where I prospected and got my patches. I trust those guys with my life.”
Misha nodded. “Will we be gone for long?”
Grim entwined their fingers, his eyes so intense it felt like he was trying to look straight into Misha’s soul. “I don’t know. He can’t give me the details on the phone. Could be bugged by the FBI.”
“So what’s the job? Can you tell me?” Misha had been trying to pinch some information out of Grim for a while now, but Grim was secretive about the details of his work, and that always prompted Misha’s relationship insecurities to rear their ugly heads.
Grim slid his tongue over his lips and squeezed Misha’s hand. “You know what I do,” he said simply.
Misha liked to forget all about it when they curled up on the sofa and watched movies. He didn’t know how Grim’s job really made him feel. Self-defense was one thing. Killing people for a living? Quite another.
