Page 8 of The Pucking Grump

I look through the windshield. The sky has darkened considerably over the last six hours, but I can still see the outline of a small brick cabin a little way ahead, separated from us by an energetic stream and a narrow, U-shaped bridge.

As Blake helps me out of the car, my stiff limbs nearly trip over my gown.

“Where are we?”

“In the Michaux State Forest,” he says as he guides me toward the bridge, his hand pressed lightly on my back. “About two and a half hours west of Philadelphia,” he adds, noticing my blank expression.

My dress feels even heavier now, and I can see the delicate white fabric of the train getting dusty as I trudge down the narrow dirt path.

“Careful,” he says, moving quickly to sweep me into his arms. My breath catches as he lifts me effortlessly. His earthy, masculine scent surrounds me, mingling with the fresh forest air. Startled, I squirm to get away. This is way too much contact with a stranger.

“What are you doing?”

He looks down at me, his jaw clenched. “The bridge is a little wobbly. Wouldn’t want you to trip over that gown and break your pretty little neck.”

There, again. Under his words, there’s a simmering river of hostility.

He can’t stand me. And I’ve no idea why.

I have more things to worry about right now, so I shove that aside and continue to wriggle.

“Really, I can cross by myself. Let me go.”

I manage to slip lower in his grip. My feet are mere inches from the ground when he lets out an annoyed sound and tightens his hold. My heart stops as his palm cups my ass. Even separated by the layers of my wedding dress, the heat and hardness of his palm sears my skin, as though it’s pressed against my naked butt.

My cheeks grow warm. I open my mouth, ready to bluster about how inappropriate he’s being, but he’s crushing me once more against him.

I’m too embarrassed to keep struggling. I stay still as he marches us across the bridge and up to the cabin.

He sets me down gently at the door, his hands steadying my waist for a lingering moment. But as I step forward, my heel catches on my dress, and I stumble into him. My palms press against the solid muscles of his chest. His thumb grazes my cheek as he gazes down at me with stormy blue eyes turned indigo. I swallow, my heart skittering like a rock over thin ice, my entire body humming.

And then I feel something else.

Him. Hard against my abdomen.

My mind seems to explode in tiny fragments. I stay still, thinking that I’m imagining it. But he seems to be growing harder, propelled by my body flush against his. He is thick, thicker by far than Ben, the only person I’ve been with.

My face flames as warmth pools in my belly and spreads between my legs. A sensation I have not felt in at least three years. Even toward the end, whenever I wanted to have sex with Ben, I would have to get by with bottles of lube. I thought my vagina was broken.

Apparently, it’s not.

“Seems like you keep tripping over those dainty little feet,” he rumbles, and takes a step back, leaving my cheeks flushed and my body cold.

He fumbles in his pockets for his keys and opens the door. Then he flicks the lights on.

I turn and look around. It’s a typical cabin: brick walls, concrete floors, and an old couch in front of a TV that looks straight from the eighties, antenna included. There’s a fireplace underneath the TV. A table on the other side of the room holds a rotary dial phone and what looks like a phone book. The place is lined with bookshelves, but bare of pictures or any other personal items.

It’s the perfect hiding spot.

I want desperately to collapse on the couch, maybe even sleep it off, but I’m too wound up to do that. I cast a glance at the TV and then the phone. Blake wasn’t lying when he called this place off-grid. He seems to have taken every precaution to make sure the internet is not a part of his life here. Still, there’s every possibility the TV is working. Or at least the phone. If I could contact someone, anyone . . .

“The phone works,” Blake says, reading my thoughts. “If you know how to use a rotary dial.”

I turn to him. Unbidden, my gaze dips to his chest, then his torso before flickering even lower. It’s my last-ditch effort to determine whether I imagined him hardening against me.

My breath catches as I take him in. He looks even thicker than what I felt as he put me down, starkly outlined against the fabric of his pants.

“Do you want to?”

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