Page 22

GIDEON

J esus fucking Christ. Shutting that door has got to be the most monumental display of self-control I’ve ever experienced.

Everything inside me demanded that I claim her as mine right then and there.

The only thing that had snapped me out of my deranged stupor had been the sight of the scars on her back.

My arousal had swiftly turned into anger at who or what had put them there.

Thoughts of Winnow consume the entirety of my day, and some strange weight tugging in my chest seems to wind tighter the more I resist—like a fish on a line being reeled in. My crew noticed I was a little off today and steered clear, even if Beau was nosy as dick, as per usual.

“You got your panties in a twist today for any particular reason, or is it just your time of the month?”

It’s only then that I realize the tension in my face is there because I’m scowling. My eyes gradually lift from yet another one of Gertie’s godforsaken Excel spreadsheets.

“If Gertie were here to hear you say that, she’d smack you upside the head.”

Beau fists the front of his shirt as his body tips over to rest on the door frame. “Goddamn, I wish that woman would. From her, any attention is good attention.”

Beau doesn’t bother to hide his affection for her. Every time she’s in the room, his tongue practically lolls out of his mouth and onto the floor, even if she is eight years older than him.

I shake my head at the poor lovesick bastard, never mind the fact I’m about a day away from following in his footsteps if Winnow sticks around.

“Uh-huh. And how’s that workin’ out for ya?”

Beau huffs a dry laugh. “You just wait, Kincaid. I’m gonna marry that woman one day.”

A corner of my mouth tips in a grin. “Mhm. What’s she got to say about that?”

Beau heaves a sigh, rolling his bright golden-brown eyes. “Something about me being too young and not shitting where she eats, but it’s more than that. I see the way she looks at me. There’s something else holding her back, and by God, I’m gonna find out what.”

The near-perennial grin on Beau’s face returns. “But enough about my love life—I know that sour-ass look. Worn it too many times myself not to know what put it there.” Beau waggles his eyebrows at me. “I’d bet my left nut it was a woman.”

I know for a fact they don’t know anything about Winnow being at my house.

I’ve made damn sure of it because for some reason, I feel extremely possessive over her.

As much love as I have for Beau and Levi, I’m pretty sure I’d break someone’s nose if they tried to flirt with her.

And while Levi probably wouldn’t—because I’ve never seen that motherfucker flirt with anyone other than death—Beau could flirt the stripes off a tiger.

“If you must know, I have a crick in my neck.”

It’s not exactly a lie. The pull-out bed on the couch isn’t exactly comfortable, and I definitely slept wrong. Though it isn’t the reason I’m scowling, my neck is sore as fuck.

Beau studies me for a moment as if determining whether or not to believe my not-lie. “Uh-huh. You and I both know a crick in the neck can only be caused by two things: sleeping in a hasty fighting position and a woman. ”

The muscles in my back and neck scream in phantom protest at simply hearing the words hasty fighting position, and I immediately have to stretch my neck .

I have no doubt there’s a special circle in hell where the dead are only allowed to sleep in hasty fighting positions—a small pit where you’re forced to sleep with one eye open because you’re behind enemy lines.

I give him a rueful smirk, eyes dropping back to the blasted computer work in front of me, and call out, praying to God Gertie’s nearby to save me.

“Gertie! Come get your boy and tell him to mind his own damn business!’

Beau gives a dramatic gasp. “So it is a woman!”

“Fuck off. When was the last time you saw me with a woman?”

Gertie shouts back from somewhere near the stables opposite the barn.

“He don’t belong to me, Kincaid! Handle him yourself!”

Beau’s eyes lift to the wall behind me as if he can see directly through it to her, and a grin tilts his lips as he calls out. “And yet you knew who he was talking about!”

Gertie doesn’t even bother responding, and my heart pinches with sympathy because fuck me — the idea of Winnow treating me strictly as a friend and colleague, makes my gut churn.

I mean… I have seen the way Gertie sneaks glances at him. How she dresses with a little more oomph or wears make-up on the days he’s scheduled to be here, and not out teaching his survivalist or weapons handling and marksmanship training courses.

And it seems those lingering looks are all Beau needs to remain unthwarted.

“Mark my words, Reaper…” Beau lifts his left hand and points to his ring finger. “Gimme another year, and Gertrude Carson, soon-to-be Gertrude Shepherd, will be wearing my ring on her finger.”

Heaving a sigh, I lean back in my chair, stretching my neck again.

“Lord almighty, I certainly fucking hope so because god damn I’d hate to see you die alone, and with the way you chase that woman—it’s looking more and more probable. When was the last time you got laid anyway?”

Beau gives me a nonchalant shrug. “Not since Gertie stepped foot on this ranch, that’s for damn sure.”

My jaw drops. “Wait, for real?”

Beau’s brows drop like I’ve just insulted him. “Haven’t so much as touched a woman since I laid eyes on Gertie.”

That’s a far cry from the charming playboy I’ve seen pick-up girls faster than he can drink his damn beer.

“Well, god damn, brother. Good for you.”

“And what about you?”

My responding laughter is completely devoid of mirth. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

Beau gives me a pitying look. “Seriously, man. Not every woman is like she-who-shall-not-be-named. In fact, I’d venture to say, almost none of them are. No matter how… eccentric .”

I’m too tired for this conversation.

“I hear ya…”

“Can’t stay celibate forever.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Can’t I?”

Not if Winnow will have me.

Beau smirks, eyes twinkling like all the secrets of the universe lie behind his amber eyes. “The very nature of this world is change, broski. And it’s about damn time you—and your dick— finally find a good woman to call home.”

It isn’t until I return home around dusk, knowing that I’m about to finally lay my eyes on Winnow, that some of the weight on my chest dissipates.

My desire to resist it is waning by the second because I am absolutely powerless to it. Like a drowning man holding his breath, his autonomic nervous system will inevitably take over, causing him to reflexively inhale water.

Intuition whispers incessantly at the back of my mind to give myself over to this—to her.

That life will be better than I ever could have possibly dreamed if I just let go of all the fear and apprehension that living in survival mode has taught me to have.

It’s like trauma has re-wired my nervous system and I’ve been trying to fix it ever since.

Taking care of this land and these animals has healed me in ways I’d never dared to hope, but there’s always been something missing.

The sensation that ‘something’ has been a Winnow-shaped hole all along is… mildly unsettling.

That cowardly voice in the back of my mind—the one that’s still wounded and afraid of betrayal and change and the rug being ripped out from underneath me—reminds me of the fact that I barely know this woman.

I owe her nothing, and she hasn’t earned my trust. But if I’ve learned anything in life, unless there’s something truly life-threatening, it’s that basing your decisions on fear will only ever obstruct the path on which good things travel.

Even if this woman is a little crazy or eccentric, who the hell could blame her after what she’s endured, if those scars on her back are anything to go by? This world needs more gentle, loving hands. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to make a living working with animals.

It’s only a little after noon by the time I get back. The house is quiet. It might even seem empty if it weren’t for what I swear to God feels like an actual fucking cord tying me to the woman that I can viscerally feel on the other side of the house.

Quieting my steps, I approach the bedroom door and listen. Trigger’s claws click against the floor behind me, making my stealth efforts an exercise in futility, especially as he trots in place with excitement—just as fucking eager to see her as I am.

We’re both hopeless for this woman.

With a sigh, I gently knock on the door.

“Come in.”

My brows pinch with concern at the sound of her raspy voice, and I swing open the door, breath catching for no other reason than simply laying my eyes on her.

Is that a flower?

I blink, and the pale pink blossom I swear I just saw in her hair is gone, making me wonder if it was even real, as Trigger rushes over to her.

“Everything okay?”

My eyes dip from the lush pool of her sunset hair to her blue eyes. She has the covers kicked off, and the sight of her dressed in my boxers and t-shirt as she gives a contented yawn like she fucking belongs here makes my dick ache nearly as much as my heart.

She asked you a question fuck-nut.

Clearing my throat, I straighten, coolly folding my arms as I lean against the doorframe. “Yes, ma’am. Just came to check on you.”

Winnow sits up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed so she can lavish Trigger with attention.

Lucky bastard.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yes, sir. Slept like the dead. I think yesterday really took it out of me. How’d you sleep on the couch?”

Terrible. “Fine.”

Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t quite believe me. “Well, it would make me feel better if you let me take the couch from now on.”

Absolutely not. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

She purses her lips in a restrained smile.

“Is that your way of saying no?”

I’m forced to restrain my own grin. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Winnow’s head tips back with a laugh before she stands and saunters over to me, looking both bedraggled and beautiful, and good enough to make my fucking heart stop.

She sidles beside me in the doorway and lays a hand on my arm, making my entire body tingle with awareness as she meets my gaze.

“Come on, teach me how you like your food so I can make myself useful while you get cleaned up.”

Her hand moves and pats my abdomen as she echoes my words from last night. “Bet you could stand to put something warm in your belly.”

She saunters away, and my head tips forward, eyes locking on the prominent bulge in my jeans to verify that, yes, I am rock-fucking-hard.

Goddamn, this is going to be a test of fortitude.

“Be right there,” I call back, knowing that I’m going to be a few minutes because there’s no way I can follow her out there with my dick on display.

I don’t even bother to move to the fucking bathroom.

I just shut the door where I stand, unbuckle my belt, unzip my jeans and pull my dick out.

My head tips back on the bedroom door as I swipe the pre-cum dripping from my tip over my engorged crown.

My rough strokes quickly hasten, all while increasingly depraved images of Winnow in submissive positions flicker through my mind:

Tied up and spread wide while I feast on her and coax her into a squirting climax.

Taking every inch of my dick down her throat.

The noises she’ll make, the way her body will tighten and tremble as her pussy flutters with an orgasm around my dick as I fill her with my cum.

That last one is what does me in.

As my orgasm begins to rise, my eyes leap to the unmade bed, and the space where Winnow will be sleeping for the foreseeable future. With a few hurried strides, I’m standing at her side of the bed.

My climax ascends, and my cock heaves torrents of hot, pulsing spurts of cum onto the spot directly where she lays.

A twisted sort of satisfaction blossoms in my chest as I continue to milk my cock with gentling strokes, causing sloppy wet sounds to fill the room all while I envision it’s Winnow’s pretty, pink pussy that I’m painting as my fist works over my cum-drenched length.

I have zero intention of cleaning it up. I want her to sleep in my cum every-fucking-night until we both finally give into this and I can instead bury my seed where it belongs– in her pussy.

The burning desire I have for this woman isn’t dimmed in the slightest by my post-orgasm haze.

Instead, it burns all the brighter, and my cock remains unyielding.

If Winnow wasn’t waiting for me, I’d continue, but I’m desperate to be in her presence, so I force myself into the bathroom, rinse my dick off, and try to make myself presentable.