The blood roared in my ears. All the while I was kissing her, I was acutely aware of how fragile she was. That ragged gash in her forehead, the rough scratch of her sling - if I lost control of myself, even for a second, those were enough to bring me back.
I wanted her.
But I didn’t want to hurt her.
The rain kept up all afternoon and into the evening, but we didn’t care. We kissed, we talked, she impressed me with her ability to build a fire one handed, and seemed impressed in return when I showed off my one culinary trick and executed a perfectly flipped omelet.
The gray light slipped into darkness without us ever seeing the sun, and by then Willa was yawning. After some back and forth about whether she was tired enough to go to sleep, I swept her right up into my arms and carried her upstairs myself. I set her down in front of the big sleigh bed, the covers still rumpled from this morning.
We both froze. Me because all I wanted to do was tumble her backward into that deep nest of pillows. A day full of kissing and touching her had me suffering a near terminal case of blue balls.
She froze for a reason she was keeping to herself, but one that I could probably guess.
No, Willa. Not yet. Not until you’re ready. Not until I know for sure you can handle everything I’m going to do to you. Because believe me, I’m going to do everything.
“Turn around,” I instructed her.
The corner of her mouth turned up. “We haven’t gotten past that today?”
I laughed. “I was trying to be a gentleman, but if you insist.” I slipped my hand under her shirt and lifted.
Her eyes went dark and heavy-lidded. “Slowly now,” I whispered as she shimmied and twisted. Inch by inch, I peeled up the layer of fabric that had separated me from her skin this whole wonderful, frustrating day.
Gently, I tugged it up over her head.
And then she was there. With nothing separating me from her skin but the white cotton of her very practical, but still very pretty, bra. “Fuck,” I breathed.
Her eyes gleamed with mischief and…was that pride? She sure had every reason to be proud of those. “Nice mouth you’ve got there,” she teased.
“Wait til you see what else it can do.” I bent my lips to those pert, perfect breasts.
She shuddered under my hands. Her skin was as smooth as silk under my fingers, but under my lips it was velvet. I could feel her heart beating as I kissed the rise and swell of one perfectly shaped breast before dragging my lips down into the valley between them. She gasped as I bent, then knelt, kissing a line right down the center of her before sliding my hands around to cup her ass.
She moaned and I swore I could smell her desire. My head was thick with it. I was dizzy and starting to get desperate. If I did what was about to come next, there would be no stopping me. I would take it too far, and I might hurt her.
“Cooper?” She looked down at me, worried. Anxiety shadowed her eyes. “What are you—”
I shook my head. Then I placed one single, lingering kiss onto the fabric of her jeans, right at her very center. Her hips twitched and arched a little, pressing into me as her breath came faster. I could do it. I could do it right now. But then I wouldn’t stop.
I had to stop.
I pushed back and pressed my lips to hers. Hard and insistent, bruising them, nipping and sucking until I was sure she would still feel this kiss there tomorrow. “Good night,” I breathed against her lips. “There’s more where that came from tomorrow.”
“There is?”
“Promise.”
She looked down, veiling her eyes from me. Then smiled. “Fine then. But don’t think you’re getting out of taking me wading, too.”
I burst out laughing. “Careful now. You’re going to make me start liking you.”
“Could have sworn you already did.” Her fingers went to her lips and I watched as she tested the mark I’d left there.
“You’re right. I do.”
Then I went to the door and shut it gently behind me.
I barely slept that night. Even jerking off like a horny teenager - twice - wasn’t enough to calm my frenzied heartbeat. I slept fitfully, if at all, and the dripping of the rain in the gutters woke me up easily well before dawn.
Another rainy day. Not that I minded being stuck in this palace of a cabin with nothing else to do but discover the secrets of Willa’s body. But she was still sleeping, and I was bored of flicking through my phone. I went over to the bookshelf and pulled down a thick paperback history of World War Two and settled down with some coffee. But I’d barely made it to Pearl Harbor before I snapped it shut again and looked back out the window.
Willa wanted to go wading. There had to be a place nearby. I should go find it before she wakes up so we can head out there as soon as the rain stops.
Happy to have found something to do with myself instead of just sitting there with my thumb up my ass waiting for Willa to wake up, I grabbed my hoodie and headed out the front door. Light rain pattered on the slate roof and rushed down the gutters in a lulling shush. I rolled my shoulders aback and noted how easily they moved. Was it being here that was making me feel so relaxed? Or was it being with her?
Whatever it was, I was smiling like an idiot, and kept smiling as I headed across the wide lawn and plunged into the dark, dripping woods. The rushing sounds of wind and water were all around me, but after a few minutes of hiking, I figured out where the sound was loudest. I picked my way over fallen trees and past moss-covered boulders as the mountainside sloped down and there, just on the other side of a small rise, was the narrowest trickle of a steam.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and considered. Up here, the stream was barely more than damper patch of dirt. If I followed it down the side of the mountain a little, my guess was that it would widen out into some pretty nice pools for Willa to walk in. But there was no way that she could walk safely down this way, not with her arm in a sling.
I thought for a moment, and a fleeting moment of recall had me turning around and climbing back up to the house. When we’d arrived, it had been dark, but I’d seen the pile of split firewood under the deck where it was relatively dry. We’d used some of it it yesterday, too. If there was firewood, there had to be an axe or a hatchet somewhere that I could use. Just something to clear a better path for Willa.
I located the hatchet in the back portion of the basement. Mr. Mulligan’s tools were a motley assortment of crap - even I could tell they were more for show than anything else - but the axe was sharp enough even if the handle seemed flimsy. I hefted it in my hand, listening for any signs that Willa was awake and moving around, and when I didn’t hear anything I headed out into the woods again.
Trailblazing was always my least favorite part of Scouting. But with the gentle rain falling to keep me cool as I worked up a sweat, and the strange music of the drops falling all around me, I found a kind of peace. After an hour or so, I’d cleared a pretty nice path for us, and what’s more, I found I was right. The stream did widen. I just needed to trim back this sapling and Willa could step into the stream right here. I pushed down the hanging branch to brace it and lifted the hatchet.
“Ow shit!” The slippery wet handle turned in my hand, drawing a nick of blood. Instinctually I yanked my hand back and that’s when the branch chose to snap back, whipping across my face.
“Augh!” I clapped my hands to my eye, stumbling backwards. Tentatively, I drew my hand back, horrified to see blood it, but relieved that I could see it all. I touched my eye. Then touched my eyebrow. “Shit.“
I grunted, grimaced, and swore my way back over the rocks towards the house, but as soon as I got inside, I clamped my mouth shut.
Willa was still asleep. I needed to get cleaned up before she saw me like this. I rushed to the bathroom and ran water over the fancy hand towel hanging there, but the trickling blood blinded me. I fumbled for the soap, then dropped it with a curse.
“Are you okay?”
I let out a long breath before I turned. “Did I wake you?”
“I was awake,” she said. “What wrong?”
I sighed. And then turned to her.
She jumped back. “Jesus, Cooper!”
“It’s fine!” I held up my hands. “I know it looks bad, but it’s just a scratch.”
She stepped closer and looked me in one eye, then the other. Then grinned. “You’re going to have matching scars now…“ she observed.
“I was wanted to be symmetrical,“ I cracked. Then winced as she pressed the wet cloth to my face. “Ow.”
“Let’s get you fixed up,” she said, gently tugging me to the kitchen table.
“Willa, I’m fine. You don’t have to help me.”
Her glare was withering. “Do I hear an echo? Look, the only reason I’m not scooping you up and depositing you in this chair is because I have a broken arm. Otherwise I’d be taking a page from your book.” She pointed at the chair. “Sit.”
I sat.