Chapter 6 Chapter Six
CANDY’S POV - 6
I’ve always known my clumsiness will be the end of me, I just never imagined it’d be on some winding trail, on a hike with not less than twenty other participants to watch my dramatic demise on some island thousands of miles away from home. No, I always hoped it’d be in my house, a private event with Lindsay and Brent at my side as I wave goodbye to this sad, miserable world, preferably in my eighties or thereabout.
But the universe is apparently in a beef with me.
Grabbing onto something with my flailing arms, I finally slow to a stop, my heart drumming so loudly in my chest that it blocks out all the noise and voices calling after me with concern. The sigh of relief from above me tells me everyone has been watching me progress to my near death. Nice.
“I leave you for a moment and you try to jump the trail?” I hear from right next to me in an oddly familiar amused voice, my already bad embarrassment shooting through the roof, my temper with it.
“I almost died, asshole. Fuck you!”
I pick myself off the floor, dusting my butt clean while watching my shredded dignity roll in the mud like a pig.
“Your death? That’s a stretch.” My amazing neighbor says while biting back a laugh, note my shining sarcasm.
“What?” I ask furiously, glancing around and realizing I actually didn’t tumble that great a distance or through the throes of death like I’d thought. It was just a misstep that had landed my ass on the nearest level plain but it had felt like I was rolling down a steep end littered with death traps.
No wonder no one jumped to my Immediate rescue, it was because they could all see that I’d be fine and they were all probably thinking it- that I was too damn dramatic.
Well, fuck them too.
Leaning down, he picks me off the ground without my permission. “She’ll be fine.” He announces unceremoniously, letting the others quit their gawking and return slowly to their chattering and start moving again.
Brushing off his annoying hand while silently blaming him in my head, I start to match off but I don’t even make it a couple steps before I’m crouching down again from the excruciating pain spreading like wildfire in my left ankle. I think I sprained it. Why do I have the worst luck on the planet?
This one time I try something new and nice and I sprain my fucking ankle.
“Come here, firecracker.” He says squatting in front of me. “We’re almost at the top, I’ll carry you.”
“Oh no you wo….”
He doesn’t let me finish as he takes my hands, crosses them on his neck securely and stands like I weigh nothing. “Try not to fight me from back there, okay?” He says with false sweetness, rejoining the group even though we’re at the back now. I pout sourly even as I relax into the strength of his arms, relishing being carried.
The muscles of his back are firm, carved like the rest of his body and despite myself and the pain I’m enduring right now, I appreciate how good he feels and how yummy he smells from up here.
Is it thirsty of me to want to bury my nose in his neck and take a deep sniff of it? Or to run my tongue down his fascinatingly perfect skin for a taste like they do in the movies.
I’ve always fancied those kind of things you know, the explorative, sensual things but Brent never cared for them and he shut me down every fucking time I dared to try. It wasn’t his thing, that’s what he’d say and I’d believed it like the idiot I am until I stumbled accidentally on just how much of his thing it in fact was.
“Are you okay back there?”
Oh shit, I’ve gone and done it again, let my problems get the best of me until I’m fighting of tears and whimpers.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just my leg.” I lie through my teeth.
I think he knows but he doesn’t push it or badger me for answers and he keeps it that way even when we finally make it to the top, through the rest stops and even back down the trail which he carried me all through. He only pauses to ask if I’m okay or to reassure me that we’ll be back at the hotel I like so much so I can catch a break. A sweet, perfect gentleman that’s cared for me this whole trip like no one else has in my adult life.
“Thank you.” I say shyly when he puts me down next to my bed in my room, helping me lay on it.
He shrugs if off, doing that little smile thing of his that I imagine only him can pull off. Others will probably look like a constipated goat if they tried, me inclusive, but he just does it so effortlessly my insides start to feel funny instantly.
Without saying anything else to me, he pops off to his room leaving me to deal with the stir in my gut by myself.
I take a while to rest but it’s futile effort. Sighing, I climb off the bed, needing to go wash off this unwanted horniness that he just bubbles to the surface every time he comes near me.
I start stripping out of my clothes, getting ready for the bath when the door to my room just comes open without warning. Frozen, I stand next to my bed in nothing but my flaming pink Sofia the first comfy panties. The fuck!? Oh God, of all the fucking underwear to have on right now.
“Oh……” He starts, smirking hard.
“Didn’t think you were this eager to strip for me with your sprained ankle.” He goes in the bathroom and picks a bathrobe for me because I’m a blushing mess that can’t move right now to save my life.
“I didn’t- I didn’t think you were coming back.”
“I’m not that cruel. Went to shower and get you something for the pain, I didn’t realize you’ll be this eager to put weight back on that foot.”
He laughs lightly as my face starts to color for the millionth time since he walked in and saw me in the nude.
After getting me to take the painkillers he brought with him, he helps me to the bathroom, closing the door after me. And all the while I’m under the hot spray of water, I catch myself thinking about how good he looks in the quality wife beater he changed into and the shorts that does wonders for his legs. Mmmm scrumdiliyumyum.
Somehow, I manage to reign in my persisting naughty thoughts enough to keep it from showing all over my face, so I limp back into the room, freshly bathed and dressed in my favorite shorts and Tee. I find him sitting at the foot of my bed, his phone tucked to his ear as he listens intently to whatever the person on the other end is talking about, his brows furrowed.
He smiles when he sees me, patting the space in front of him. Being obedient for once, I go to him and seat in front of him, eventually reclining until I’m laying on my pillow and watching him boss around on his call. God, he’s beautiful. Absently, he reaches for my sprained leg, putting it across his thigh. His thumb rubs across it, gently massaging the areas around the sprain, caressing the hurt part.
I feel my body hum in response to him, provoked by the simplicity of his caress and the sweet taste of freedom after years of repression. The pain is lost at the back of my mind, over powered by something stronger, something better, something that’s begging for him to do something about it.
One look at me and he reads it all from my face like an open book, the new found knowledge of what he’s doing to me darkening his eyes and tautening his features. He mumbles something into the phone before tossing it aside his attention now focused solely on driving me out of my mind.
His fingers starts teasing with more than just my ankle, going up my calf and thigh, skimming my inner thigh. His eyes pin me like a hawk, adding to the fire already licking me clean in places I didn’t know it could. I want this man, probably always have from the first time I met him sober.
But I’m done being quiet about what I want and what I need, it’s about time I start asking and taking.
Holding his eyes with my every desire in this moment bare in mine I say in a whisper, “Can you stop torturing me and fuck me already?”
And he heard it!