Page 21 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

I think I blacked out for a bit because the next thing I know, Henry is carrying me up the steps to the front door of his cabin. I lift my head to stare at the side of his face.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice coming out thick and sleepy.

He doesn’t look at me as he answers. “Getting you cleaned up.”

“Why? Last time, you left me in the woods covered in your cum.”

It might be a joke, but my heart is in my throat thinking he’s actually going to take care of me. That he’s going to carry me inside his home and not leave me alone like he did that time.

His jaw ticks beneath his beard, and my cock stirs at the memory of the rough scrape of all that hair between my cheeks. I’m going to have dreams about that for sure.

Henry sets me on my feet in front of the door. I stumble, my legs like jelly. I can hardly hold myself up, clinging to him for leverage.

“Really fucked you that good, huh?”

I could make another joke, but the simple, honest answer comes out instead while he helps to hold me upright with an arm around my waist, our gazes locked.

“Yes,” I say on a breath.

It was fucking amazing. I’ve never felt like that before in my life.

If someone had told me a year ago I’d love getting fucked by the former Sheriff of Nottingham as much as I did, I would’ve thought they were out of their mind.

Henry gives me something between a smile and a smug smirk, and it’s fucking beautiful. I swear my knees get even weaker. Fortunately, he keeps a hold on me as he unlocks his door.

“You never answered my question,” I point out.

“Because I don’t have a death wish,” he says as he opens the door and we step inside. “At least right now.”

“What does that mean?”

After he closes the door, he turns back to me and scoops me into his arms once more. I consider objecting, but my legs really are weak at the moment. And I won’t even deny that it feels damn good to be in his arms.

“I’m aware of how protective John is of you. Can you honestly say he wouldn’t want to kill me if I brought you home like this?”

I look down at myself for the first time and notice how dirty the front of my jeans and jacket are.

More likely, John would kill me for willingly running through the forest in the cold.

That’s why I asked Henry to use a condom.

My immune system is shit. It has been ever since we arrived in this world.

One of the first times I got sick, I ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. Since I had no medical records, a nurse there suggested I get a whole lot of tests done. That’s how I knew I was negative.

“I guess, yeah,” I answer, trying not to be too upset that that’s the only reason he brought me inside. “Maybe.”

As he carries me through his cabin, I notice there are virtually no personal items, nothing that says this place belongs to Henry.

Not that I’m surprised. The bunkhouse I live in is the same.

We all came to this place with nothing but our horses and the clothes on our backs.

It still makes me a little sad, though, because there’s nothing that belongs to anyone else either. He’s still alone.

When we get into the small bathroom connected to the one bedroom, Henry sets me down again. He takes off his jacket and turns on the water for the walk-in shower.

Holy shit.

Are we about to shower together?

It’s interesting how my nerves are fluttering even more than when I knew he was about to fuck me.

“Take off your clothes,” he says as he starts unbuttoning his park shirt.

I move to obey, but my hand freezes on the zipper to my jacket when I get my first peek of his bare chest. Dark hair covers the hard muscles of his pecs.

It looks soft, and I’m really tempted to reach out and touch it, to run my fingers down his chest and stomach where more hair is being revealed with each open button.

But I don’t. I have a feeling I know how that would go.

“Robin.”

I jolt, my gaze snapping to his as I realize he already has his shirt and shoes off and I’m still standing here fully dressed. “Sorry.”

I quickly unzip my jacket, unbutton my shirt, and slip out of both while he steps out of his jeans. I try to keep working, but…damn him for being so distracting.

There’s dark hair on his long, muscular legs too. I kind of want to use his thighs as a pillow. Or let him shove my head between them. I’d be okay with either.

By the time I finally get all my clothes off, steam fills the small bathroom, and Henry stands there in nothing but his tight, black boxer briefs.

Am I drooling yet?

The next time I’m brought to a halt is when Henry turns to check the temperature of the water, giving me his back.

There’s hair there too, but beneath it, I can just make out long pink scars, most of them either vertical or diagonal from his shoulders down to the opposite hip, many of them crisscrossing. Almost like they were done by…a whip .

This time, I can’t stop myself from stepping forward and reaching out to touch him as his name comes out as a haunted whisper.

“Henry…”

He spins around so fast he’s practically a blur.

His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist before I can touch him.

The look in his eyes as he scowls at me is pure murder.

Beneath it, however, is something different.

A fear. A vulnerability. He must know I can see it because he snarls, baring his teeth as his grip tightens, causing me to wince.

Then, without a word about it, he releases me.

“Get in,” he says, his voice stiff as he bends over to pick both our clothes up off the floor. “I’ll put these in the wash.”

I watch him leave, my heart sinking.

I guess I ruined my chance to shower with him.

Once he’s gone, I step beneath the spray, letting the hot water beat over me.

My shoulders are a little sore from my arms being forced behind my back for so long.

My cheek stings from where it was rubbing up against the tree.

I’m pretty sure I’ll have marks everywhere Henry bit me.

And don’t even get me started on how sore my ass is.

I almost didn’t think I was going to be able to go through with it for a minute there.

But none of that is what’s in the forefront of my mind.

What the hell are those scars from? Were they from his time back in Nottingham or did he somehow get them here?

And why do I want to hurt whoever put them there?

I know better than to think he’d tell me anything about them, so I really should let it go. I can try at least.

Finding a bottle of shampoo, I pour some into my hand and start to wash my hair.

Fuck, I’m going to smell like him.

If it’s not glaringly obvious, I’m becoming obsessed. My attraction to him hit me so hard and fast that I didn’t have time to question it. My other feelings for him? Well, those are creeping up slower. I could probably put a stop to them before I can’t control them at all.

I know it doesn’t make any sense, especially when he refuses to talk to me about pretty much anything. But I’ve never believed feelings like that come from learning little details about a person like their favorite color or what genre of music they listen to.

They come from how that person makes you feel .

Sure, when Henry first showed up here a few months ago, he didn’t make me feel all that great. But, since then, I’ve seen the edges of some of his layers. One of them makes me feel like he could take care of me. Another makes me feel like I want to take care of him .

If only the stubborn asshole would let me.

I guess if he would have let me five years ago, then it’s my fault he won’t now.

As I move back under the stream of water to rinse my hair, I jump when my back collides with a solid, wet chest. Henry gently guides my arms back to my sides, his touch lingering and making me shiver despite the warmth of the shower.

He takes over, his fingers raking through my hair, washing the shampoo out. I close my eyes and sink into it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Henry’s words seem to come out of nowhere, and I blink my eyes open as though I need to be able to see to know none of this is happening only in my head.

“Okay.”

He pauses what he’s doing like he’s just as surprised by my reply as I am by him mentioning it in the first place.

Maybe there was a time when I would’ve tried to pry, but I’ve learned that’s not the right way to deal with Henry. I haven’t quite figured out what the right way is, but I’m determined to crack the riddle.

After he finishes with my hair, he picks up the shampoo bottle to wash his own. I keep my back to him, wondering if I should speak or stay silent.

This moment feels so fragile. It doesn’t feel real .

I need to be careful so I don’t ruin it.

“You asked me before if I would go back if I could.” I pick up his body wash from the shelf, deciding I can’t help but want to talk to him, to try to peel back those layers. I just have to be gentle. “I never asked you the same thing.”

He’s silent for a long while, the sounds of running water and washing taking up all the space. I don’t push him, giving him time and the choice to answer at all or not. I keep my back to him too. Maybe if he can’t see my face, he won’t feel pressured. He won’t feel vulnerable.

Just when I think he won’t answer, my patience eventually pays off.

“I don’t think I would. I spent too much time learning my way in this world. Even though I had a rough start, I actually feel like I fit better here than I did there.”

It’s more than I expected him to give me and comes as a bit of a shock. I might feel the same, but I would have guessed he felt the opposite. I don’t say that, though, staying quiet in case he decides to give me more.

“That’s the first time I’ve thought that,” he says with an exhale through his nose as though he surprised himself with the truth too. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t particularly like people here either. But, here…they don’t expect as much of me.”