Page 41 of Proof

There was that familiar stubbornness that was built into the DNA of all the men in the Ferguson family. Sully was the proverbial bull in a china shop when he wanted something, while their father had been a quiet kind of stubborn. LikeGoldilocks, JJ had fit somewhere in the middle. He knew when to be the right kind of stubborn, and right now my JJ was being just that.

My JJ.

God, I missed thinking of him that way.

I was wise enough to keep the endearment to myself and spent the next several minutes focusing on the steps. Most of my cramping muscles began to relax, but I felt utterly drained.

And helpless.

God, I really fucking hated being helpless.

As grateful as I was that JJ was going to give me the only bed in the cabin to lie down in, I was more concerned about his need to rest. I had no idea how long he’d been in pain both before and after I’d found him on the floor the previous night. It didn’t really matter, though, because I’d seen the level of agony he was forced to endure when he had one of his episodes. It wasn’t even on the same spectrum as my own discomfort. He needed rest. Real rest. I just needed a few minutes to loosen up my body, pop a couple of ibuprofens, and I was good.

“JJ—”

“Cass…” he said in warning.

God, hewasfucking stubborn, but it had been that determination, that fierceness, that had saved his life after the shooting. He’d had to use it all over again when he’d woken up afterwards only to find that he’d have to learn all of the most basic skills needed to live life every day. On top of that, he’d had to live with the knowledge that he’d lost pieces of his own life.

I’d take his stubbornness over his hatred of me every time.

“We need to keep moving,” JJ said.

He wasn’t encouraging me anymore. He was downright telling me what to do.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be like that in bed. After our first kiss the night before he’d gotten shot, I’d tagged him asbeing more of the submissive type. The way he’d kissed me on the canyon road had changed my thinking. His current way of ordering me around was waking up the one part of me that was never tired when it came to JJ.

Would he take control in bed? Would it be a battle of the senses to see who ultimately determined how and when we each found the prize of sweet release? I had the advantage of strength, but JJ had already proven he knew how to get what he wanted.

I was panting when we finally reached the bedroom but as soon as I headed toward the bed, JJ veered me off course and in an entirely different direction.

The bathroom.

There could be only one reason he’d take me in there and it was a humiliation I really had no wish to endure.

“JJ, I don’t?—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? What did I tell you to do with that mouth?” JJ asked in disbelief as he looked me dead in the eye, daring me to continue.

With my free hand, I made the motion of zipping my lips. If JJ wanted to stand me in front of a toilet, or worse, sit me on one, he’d have no right to complain about it later. At least the embarrassment would kill off my impending boner. Of course, his comment about him telling me what to do with my mouth was counterbalancing the whole needing his help to take a piss thing.

I didn’t object again when JJ shuffled me into the bathroom. I didn’t object when he turned his back on me. I didn’t even object when he turned the shower on, waited until the temperature satisfied him, and then turned back to me.

A certain part of me didn’t object at all when JJ reached for the hem of my T-shirt.

Okay, he’s helping you undress so you can piss and then shower. Get control of yourself, asshole.

The removal of my shirt was bad enough, especially when JJ’s fingertips coasted over my abdomen, but when he went for the fly of my jeans, I did open my mouth to protest.

This time, I wasn’t prepared for JJ’s warning to remain silent. I wasn’t prepared because his mouth was on mine before I could say anything. I couldn’t stifle the moan that erupted somewhere deep in my chest. His tongue slid against mine for a whisper of a second and then his mouth was gone.

He flipped the button on my jeans open but then stopped suddenly and crouched down. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he ordered before he unceremoniously grabbed my boot and began pulling at it, forcing me to do as he said.

Shoes, right. He needed to take off myshoes.

Shoes.

Shoes.

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