Page 9 of Horned to be Wild (Harmony Glen #7)

CHAPTER NINE

T he boards creaked beneath Lila’s feet as she handed Torin another nail.

Their fingers brushed, sending a tiny electric shock up her arm, and she smiled up at him.

This was the third day in a row she’d shown up on his porch in the morning with breakfast and a request for help.

Each time, he greeted her with the same disgruntled huff, but he didn’t send her away and he didn’t fool her.

He was enjoying this as much as she was, and she breathed a silent thank you to Etta.

Asking him for help had been Etta’s first suggestion.

“Males love to feel useful, especially monster males. Most of them have an innate protective instinct.”

“I certainly need the help,” she admitted, “but I don’t want him to think I’m just using him.”

Etta snorted. “Of course you are! You’re using him to fix your house. He gets to feel strong, capable, and needed. You get your house fixed. It’s a win for everyone.”

And it had been. The repairs had gone faster than she expected, and she’d taken the opportunity to get as close to him as possible, brushing against him every chance she got.

But that was as far as she’d gone. Etta’s second suggestion—that she give him time to accept the attraction between them—had been a lot harder to follow.

The memory of their kiss still haunted her dreams, but she didn’t want him to run away from her again.

But after three days of casual touches, of watching his powerful muscles flexing beneath that soft fur, of breathing in his scent—earthy, woody, undeniably male—she was nearing her breaking point.

And perhaps he was too. She was well aware that he had a seemingly constant erection. It wasn’t exactly easy to hide.

“Hand me that level,” he said, not looking up from the board he was securing.

She brought it to him, deliberately moving closer than necessary and bending over to hand it to him. “This one?”

He glanced up and his eyes widened as he realized how close she was standing. His gaze dropped to her mouth and then to her cleavage, and she watched his pupils dilate. Her own eyes dropped to the bulge in his jeans, the fabric tight across the massive outline of his erection.

“Y-yes,” he stammered as she handed it to him, letting her fingers trail across his palm.

“I thought I’d make pizza for lunch,” she added, not moving away, and he gave a barely audible groan.

Feeding him was another of Etta’s suggestions.

“You know how they say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? Well, in the case of a monster, it’s the way to his cock.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she laughed.

Etta echoed her laughter, but insisted she was right. “Food is a very primal thing. It’s a way of providing for someone—for showing that you care. And most monsters love to eat. Feed him something delicious and he won’t be able to resist you.”

Etta had been right about his pleasure in her cooking, but feeding him had been just as satisfying for her.

She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed cooking for someone who appreciated her food.

Jeremy was a picky, calorie-conscious eater who had always found something to criticize while Torin clearly enjoyed every bite.

“Pizza would be good,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I’ll get it started.” She squeezed his shoulder as she straightened, and his skin quivered beneath her touch. She forced herself to go inside, although what she really wanted to do was run her hands over every inch of his body.

“Patience, girl,” she muttered to herself as she went to the refrigerator. “Patience.”

The pizza was a success, and he eagerly demolished both of the ones she’d made for him. She could still see the hunger in his eyes after he finished, but she didn’t think it was for food. Time to step up her game.

“I want to do more to help this afternoon,” she announced, kneeling beside him, when he returned to work. “Show me what to do.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “It’s not necessary?—”

“I know, but I want to learn.”

He hesitated, then nodded, shifting to make room for her.

What followed became a delicious dance of awareness between them.

He showed her how to measure and mark the boards, his large body enveloping hers from behind as he guided her hands.

His breath tickled her ear, sending shivers down her spine that had nothing to do with the fall breeze.

She deliberately shifted back enough that her ass nestled against the bulge of his erection.

A small growl escaped his lips and she hid her smile.

By late afternoon, the porch was finished—solid, sturdy, and safe—and she was a wreck. Her body was on fire from his constant nearness, and her nipples were so tight they ached. She hadn’t considered the fact that she would be ramping up her own arousal as much as his.

He surveyed the finished product with satisfaction, a small smile tugging at his lips, and a wave of satisfaction washed over her despite her aching body.

He was so pleased with what he’d accomplished.

Maybe she should have felt guilty, but he was so damn sexy when he was happy that she couldn’t regret her methods.

“It’s perfect,” she told him. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, looking ridiculously shy for such a big male. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing to me.” She touched his arm lightly. “Stay for a glass of wine? To celebrate our excellent carpentry skills?”

He hesitated, and she held her breath. She had no intention of letting him disappear tonight. Not after the way he’d been looking at her all day. She could only pray that he wouldn’t run away again.

At last he nodded and she breathed a silent sigh of relief.

They settled on the newly repaired porch steps with their glasses, shoulders almost touching, and watched as the sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. Mabel nibbled lazily on one of the overgrown vines still climbing the porch posts, then settled down for a nap.

“This is a local wine,” she told him, admiring the deep ruby liquid. “I didn’t know what to expect but it’s delicious.”

He gave an amused grunt. “It should be. Satyrs know their grapes. I deliver wood to the owner,” he added.

“Do you deliver wood to everyone in town?”

“Pretty much. My father used to do it, and now I do it.”

“Is your father still in town?” she asked curiously. It was the first time he’d ever mentioned a family.

“Nah. He drank himself to death years ago.” His voice was low and even, but she could hear the pain beneath the words. Before she could respond, he moved on. “What about your parents?”

“They have a house in California, but they’re digital nomads. My mom makes nature documentaries all over the world so they’re hardly ever home.”

“That sounds exciting,” he said, an odd note in his voice.

“I suppose, but I’ve always been more of a homebody. There’s something very satisfying about this.” She waved at the finished porch. “I never thought I’d be any good at home improvement. My ex said my ‘artistic temperament’ wasn’t suited for such practical matters.”

He frowned at her. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know that now.” She took another sip of wine. “He was like that about my art, too. Called it a ‘cute hobby’ and talked about my ‘little paintings.’ He said I should focus on more ‘realistic career goals’ if I ever wanted to be taken seriously.”

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “He’d look at my work with this condescending little smile and ask when I was going to ‘grow out of it.’ As if creating art was childish. As if what I loved most didn’t matter.”

Torin’s expression darkened. “He was wrong.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “That’s one of the reasons I came here. So I could focus on my art, and paint without his voice in my head.”

He was silent for so long that she wondered if she’d said too much.

“My father called it whittling,” he said finally, his voice rough, and she gave him a confused look.

“My carvings,” he clarified, staring into his wine glass. “No matter how intricate or detailed, he dismissed it as just whittling. Said no son of his would waste time on such nonsense when there was real work to be done.”

He took a long drink of wine, his massive shoulders hunched.

“And then there was Annette. We dated all through high school, and I thought—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“What happened?” she asked gently.

“She wanted more than this town could offer. More than I could offer,” he said quietly. “The day she left, she told me she wanted more than a small town lumberjack. She looked at the pieces in my workshop, and told me they were just trinkets. Then she was gone. Off to the city, to a bigger life.”

The pain in his voice made her heart ache. She could see how those wounds had shaped him. His gruff exterior, his isolation, and his reluctance to share his beautiful art—all of it made sense now.

“She was wrong. They both were,” she said fiercely. “You’re an artist, Torin. A real, genuine artist with vision and skill that takes my breath away.”

His gaze shot to hers, startled and uncertain, and she realized with a pang that no one had ever told him that before.

“I mean it,” she said earnestly. “Your carvings are extraordinary. They’re not just whittling, or trinkets. They’re beautiful pieces of art. You bring the wood to life in a way I’ve never seen before.”

He stared at her as if he were searching her face for the truth. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the desire to believe her, and she couldn’t stand to see him doubt himself any longer.

“Wait here,” she said, and jumped to her feet. She ran to her studio and pulled out one of the paintings she’d worked on since she arrived, and carried it back to the porch. “I want you to see something.”

She took a deep breath and held the canvas out to him. He stared at it for a long time, then reached out to take it, gently cradling the delicate canvas.

“This is one of the first pieces I did here,” she said quietly. “It’s how I see you.”

She had captured him in motion, his shirt clinging to his powerful muscles, the sun shining on his horns, one of his rare smiles tugging at his lips. Behind him, the forest was a blur of color and light, and the entire painting was a celebration of strength and movement and life.

“You make me look… heroic,” he said, his voice raw. “Stronger than I am.”

“You are strong.” She reached out and took his hand as he carefully placed the painting down next to him.

“And kind. And generous. You’ve helped me without expecting anything in return.

You’ve shown me a world of beauty I never knew existed.

You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re a talented, amazing person who deserves to be recognized for his gifts.

Your father and your ex were wrong. You’re so much more than they thought. ”

His eyes met hers, full of wonder and hope, and then he was reaching for her, pulling her into his lap, and his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was an explosion of hunger and need. She melted into him, surrendering to the desire that had been building between them over the past few days. His mouth claimed hers, tongue delving deep to taste her, and her body responded instinctively, arching against him as she reached for his horns.

He groaned and one huge hand came up to cover her breast. She pressed herself into his touch, and when his thumb feathered across her aching nipple, she cried out. He immediately pulled back.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, and she could see the fear in his eyes—the fear that he was too large, too rough, too much. She could see him retreating, withdrawing behind his defenses, but she refused to let that happen.

“No. It feels incredible. Don’t stop.” She took his hand and placed it back over her breast, her eyes locked on his. “Please, Torin. I want you to touch me.”

His eyes darkened, and he groaned again, low and deep in his chest, and then he was kissing her with a desperation that sent a wave of heat through her entire body. He teased and toyed with her nipple until she was gasping into his mouth, then he pulled back, panting, and stared down at her

“We shouldn’t do this.” His voice came out harsh and strained. “I’m too big. I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly, and leaned back against his arm as she pulled his head down to her breast. He nuzzled the soft flesh and then that wide mouth clamped down on her nipple, sucking it through the thin fabric of her t-shirt.

His other hand slid up her thigh, teasing the seam of her shorts, and she arched her hips, silently begging for his touch.

He groaned again, and then one thick finger slipped beneath the denim and rubbed the damp lace covering her clit as he tugged and licked at her nipples, moving from one breast to the other.

The sensation was incredible—intense and overwhelming and absolutely perfect.

Her body quivered on the edge of climax, and then he gently bit down on a taut peak and she broke, her orgasm washing over her in waves of pleasure.

He held her through it, his finger never ceasing its slow, torturous circles on her clit, and when she finally collapsed against him, he kissed her softly and withdrew his hand from her shorts.

She immediately missed the contact, but the ache between her thighs and the thick insistent length throbbing beneath her reminded her that there was so much more they could share.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she found him watching her.

She could see the satisfaction on his face but also the beginning of doubt, and her heart ached for him.

“I wanted that,” she assured him as she sat up in his lap. Despite his obvious concern, his gaze immediately went to her nipples, clearly visible through the now wet t-shirt, and she hid a smile as his cock jerked beneath her. The doubt was still there, but it no longer dominated his expression.

“I should go,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

Disappointed, but not entirely surprised, she nodded. But then his thumb brushed her cheek in a gentle caress that made her heart stutter.

“I… I thought we could start on the siding tomorrow. If you want,” he added quickly.

“I want very much,” she said, meaning much more than help with the siding. She smiled up at him and was rewarded with a shy, almost hesitant smile in return.

He rose to his feet, carrying her with him as if she weighed no more than a feather, then set her gently on her feet. Despite his words he didn’t move for a long moment. The twilight deepened around them, fireflies beginning to blink in the gathering darkness.

“I’ll be back,” he said finally, and she felt the promise in those words.

A step forward , she thought as he picked up a sleeping Mabel and carried her into the woods. She just hoped it wouldn’t be followed by a step backwards.