Page 31 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)
brOOKLYN
Theo and Shane’s house was…big.
And yet understated. Well-loved, with landscaping that looked low-maintenance and desert-friendly, neat but not…formal, and a backyard fence meant more for dogs than for curb appeal.
Arthur unlocked the door, entered the security code, and hustled in—to be greeted like the long-lost conquering hunter. Returning to bring food to the starving masses.
Eb and Twain fawned over him, while Chili greeted me like a friend she hadn’t seen in, oh, two days, and Xandra regarded us from her perch.
Pretty much what I expected.
I clapped my hands. “How can I help?”
“If you could feed the gang and give Xandra her med, that would be amazing. I can head to my bedroom and start packing things. Third door on the left.” He waved down the hall.
As I oriented myself, looking for the kitchen, he hobbled away.
A reminder he wasn’t fully healed. He’d said something about showers and bandages on the drive over, but I’d been too obsessed with getting inside his pants again to listen.
Now we were here, though, I hesitated. What if he’s not healed enough?
What if I’m too in my head about Cheyenne? What ?—
Chili nudged my leg. I bent to smile at her. “Oh, you heard him say I was the food dispensing machine, huh?”
Three sets of ears perked.
I grinned. “Which way to the kitchen?”
Eb loped off with Twain hard on his heels.
Chili gazed up at me.
“Pets as soon as you’re done eating.” Nothing better than petting a dog for stress relief, except I hoped to be stroking a certain ginger hunk before too long. So yeah, actually, something even better.
We made our way to the kitchen and, quickly, three dogs had their food. Xandra appeared for her canned diet and I was happy to provide her with a small plate, her pill delivered in a teaspoon of tuna first. She purred loudly enough to put a smile on my face.
I eyed the patio door and counted hours backward from when Cheyenne had picked up Arthur. “Let’s run outside, shall we?”
Twain wiggled his butt as Eb licked his bowl to ensure no crumbs remained.
Grateful the yard was fenced, I let the dogs out.
Eb and Twain quickly found trees to water.
Chili sniffed and, keeping close to me, squatted, then bounced off to sniff at some ornamental grass.
The garden was peaceful, the dogs cute, and the air fresh, but a beat of arousal in me wanted to cut this idyll as short as possible.
The thought of Arthur and a bed and his meaningful stare made it hard to stand there casually and call encouragement and smile at their antics.
The shortness of my breath had nothing to do with Eb tugging on Twain’s ear.
I was willing to keep them out longer but, as if they sensed my urgency, they all returned, and we headed inside. I eyed them. “You’ve got to give me privacy—I don’t have much time.”
After a moment, Eb and Twain headed for their beds in the family room and an array of chew toys.
Xandra had returned to her window ledge, watching something outside with a flick of her plumy tail.
Chili eyed me.
“I promise I’ll be back, okay?” I wanted to make the ridiculous promise that I’d never leave her again—but I didn’t have the right.
Arthur was coming back to my place as much to protect Cheyenne as to be with me.
Had our situations been reversed, and he had a sister in need of protection, I’d have been by his side as well.
But him returning couldn’t mean as much as I wanted it to mean. We barely knew each other. Basically, we’d bonded over gunshots, dogs, and head trauma. Not exactly the promising makings of something permanent. Too soon my head told me. Exactly right my heart rejoined.
After a long moment, I gestured to Chili’s bed.
She eyed me, obviously making certain I meant it.
I nodded.
Finally, she headed toward the bed and flopped.
Taking that for the win it was, I hurried down the hall and found the third door on the left. I stood at the doorway of the large room and whistled. “Wow, nice place you have here.”
Arthur, who had his suitcase on the settee and was filling it, chuckled. “Yeah, and this is just the guest bedroom. Biggest of the bunch, but?—”
“I can’t even imagine the primary bedroom.”
“Well, it’s spectacular. I’d offer to give you a tour…” His voice trailed off.
I grinned. “We have better things to do.”
Slowly, I entered the room. Then, telegraphing my movements, I made my intentions clear as I closed the door. “So we don’t get any four-legged visitors.”
He eyed me. “Before we begin, I should probably point out I don’t have condoms. I mean, I know I’m negative…tested after, well, and it’s been a while…”
“I’m negative as well. Also tested recently. But I hooked up with a guy last month for a hot minute. We used protection, but I’d still prefer to get a retest before…you know…” We go bareback. Jesus, are we already having this discussion, even though we haven’t had sex?
“Thanks.”
I yanked my wallet out of my back pocket and dropped two condoms on the bed. “From my private stash in my bathroom. Unless I’m reading this wrong?—”
“Oh, you’re not. Hell, even Cheyenne knows how much I want you. Want this—” He gestured to the bed.
“Damn girl sees too much. Knows too much. She’s so intuitive—so sensitive. Keeping my feelings from her is difficult.”
“Do you have to?”
I blinked. “Do I have to what?”
“Keep this from her. I don’t let people into my private life easily, but I’d never ask you not to be honest with her.”
“There are some things she doesn’t need to know.”
He reached over to finger a condom wrapper. “Well, you do have an expressive face.”
“And she gave us her blessing. But we need to, uh, move things along. I don’t like leaving her alone.”
“We could go back?—”
I strode over to him. Likely cutting off his words with my speed and clear vehemence. I grasped his bearded cheeks in my hands, lowered my mouth, and kissed him like I’d been wanting to do for two fucking, insane, overly-long days. Our tongues clashed as we pushed for dominance.
The kiss drugged me, intoxicated me, and yet was wildly intimate—all at the same time.
He grasped my biceps, urging me closer. Even as he did, though, he swayed.
I pulled back. “What’s wrong? Leg or head?” No matter how much I wanted him, I’d never want him in pain for me.
“I’ve been standing too long without my cane. My doc would read me the riot act.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t?—”
This time, he put his index finger against my lips. “Oh, we are so doing this. I’m healing. My head isn’t hurting. I don’t have vertigo. And, anyway…” He glanced slyly at the bed. “We have a horizontal option right here.”
“Then let’s get you naked and in whatever position you can be comfortable in. On your side, with pressure off your leg?”
He shook his head. “I want to be able to see your face.” His cheeks reddened. “We can arrange my leg so it doesn’t hurt.”
I had the feeling he would’ve said doesn’t hurt too much if he hadn’t been pretending he was fine to move things along. I’d be careful for him. “Lube?”
He pointed at a full bottle on the bedside stand. “Borrowed a spare from Shane’s stash—because I live on optimism.”
Funny. I’d never seen him that way. Pragmatist?
Yes. Realist? Absolutely. Optimist? I considered…
Yeah, okay…maybe. The way he plunged into animal rescue that could be full of heartbreak, and still was so warm and hopeful.
Around me he’d been both honest and passionate.
Those were traits I admired greatly. “Let’s get you undressed and laid down. ” I grinned. “As quickly as possible.”
“Yes. That.” He reached for the buttons on his plaid shirt.
“No, let me. You hold onto me for balance. That’ll get my engine revving.” Yeah, like your cock needs any urging — you’re ready to go as soon as you can.
He did as I’d asked, gripping my arms as I undid his shirt and slid it from the waist of his sweats.
I took a moment to admire the pale skin with the heavy pelt of red hair furring his chest and arrowing downward. “Let me slip this off you.”
He nodded.
I slid the shirt down his arms, as he let go one hand at a time, and tossed it over the open suitcase. I wanted to kiss, lick, and nibble, but I was aware he needed to be horizontal first. I snagged his sweatpants and slid them past his hips.
His cock strained against his boxers.
I brushed my knuckle over it lightly as I knelt to ease his pants off. “Hands on my shoulders.”
“Wait!”
I paused with his waistband just under his ass. “What?”
“My thigh. I don’t need the bandages anymore, but it’s not pretty. We could?—”
I cut him off by running my hand over his bulging boxers. “I’m not some prissy twink in a bar. I don’t need pretty, and you don’t have to hide your honorable scars.”
He hummed at my touch, then scoffed. “Honorable. A man shooting to protect his chickens.”
I kissed his thigh through the fleece fabric, the lightest brush of my lips. “A wound taken to protect a scared dog and a teen boy. I said honorable and I meant it.”
“Oh.” He looked down at me, his eyes intense and his fingers tightened on my shoulders. “Okay. Thanks.”
I tented the elastic wide as I eased the band past his right thigh.
He was right, it wasn’t pretty, but it also wasn’t that bad.
There was a big ring of bruising, purple, green and yellow, and a center hole the size of my fingertip that was thickly scabbed over and healing.
The exit wound on the back was bigger, rougher and spread out, but similar.
I slid the waistband to his knees, then leaned in and kissed his furry thigh six inches above the wound. “I’m so glad it wasn’t worse.”
“Me too,” he murmured. “Yay for small caliber and bad aim. Although he wasn’t really aiming at me. I don’t think.”
“Is he still in jail?”
“Unless he made bail. Last I heard, he was trying to get the money. They just charged him with misdemeanor negligence and criminal endangerment, and firing a gun within city limits, so it’s not too much.”