Page 61 of Rope Me In

Presley shifts, snuggling deeper into me like I’m her own personal teddy bear. I grin into her hair and press a kiss to itsoftly. When she sighs, that contentment in my chest grows. Is it possible to feel this way about someone you haven’t even kissed? That seems irrational.

I’m sure if I would ask Gavin, he’d say I’ve never been good at being rational, but I disagree. He sees my anger as immaturity, but he doesn’t understand, not really. We’ve both lost. We both have insurmountable grief and have been through hard times. But he thinks my age makes me fly off the handle more quickly and make poor decisions. And while I have made poor decisions, so has he. I don’t think he truly gets that, even if he says he does.

Presley sighs and stirs again, her body waking up. I reach for the almost empty water bottle, wishing I had brought more with me. Normally, after what we did last night, I would have taken her to bed and made sure she had a full stomach and lots of water, even given her some ibuprofen. But we’d both been exhausted and fell asleep. I’m sure she’s going to feel a lot of things today, many of which are not pleasant. The thought makes the bit of sadism in me preen. As I told her last night, I like that she’ll feel me all day and be reminded of what happened between us.

I glance at my watch again and decide we do need to get up. I have an idea brewing in my mind—one she’ll probably hate—but I think, in the end, she’ll love it. I know we’ve both got shifts at Night Hawk tonight, too, which means we have a very long day ahead of us.

“Open your eyes, Lemon darlin’.” I smile to myself at the nickname, taking more pleasure in it now that I know she likes it.

Her eyes snap open, and she sits up way too quickly for someone hungover. She groans, pressing her hand to her forehead as her eyes close. I sit up and rest my hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“Drink this.” I hold the water bottle to her lips as she opens her eyes. She’s blinking rapidly, her brow furrowed, probablyconfused after waking up so suddenly. For a second, I think she’s going to refuse or try to grab the bottle from my hand, but she puts her lips to the plastic, letting me tip the liquid into her mouth. Her nose screws up, and she puts her hand over where I’m holding the bottle so I can’t give her more.

“It’s warm.”

I chuckle. “It’s been sitting in this muggy loft all night. If we get moving, we can get a good breakfast and cool water before chores.”

Presley’s eyes move to her hand over mine, then she pulls hers away as if she was burned. I try not to take it personally since she just woke up from a brand-new experience and is hungover. She clamps her eyes shut again, and as if she’s watching a movie, I see her replay last night in her mind. Her skin flushes, and then she grimaces at the movement of her butt on the floor.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

When her soulful blue eyes look into mine, they seem darker than usual in the low light. She purses her lips then takes in a breath. “I feel…” She pauses, looking down at her body then back to my eyes again. “…different.”

I school my expression to appear neutral, happy she’s not just running out of the barn embarrassed. That is what I would’ve expected from the woman I first met in the back alley of Night Hawk. But she’s right, sheisdifferent—or maybe she’s just more comfortable.

She rubs the back of her neck and stretches it from side to side then closes her eyes. She processes for another moment before she meets my stare again. “I…I, um…”

I quickly come to her rescue. “You don’t have to say anything right now, Presley—just let yourself have a moment. It’s normal to feel different after a big emotional release. Not to mention, you’re hungover and running on hardly any sleep. You should shower, get some food and water. Then, if you need to, we can talk more about how you’re feeling.”

She tucks some loose hair behind her ear and nods in agreement, her body easing at the affirmation from me that she doesn’t need to figure everything out right now. She can just be.

I stand first then hold out my hand to help her up. Presley shakes her head, refusing my assistance. Still stubborn, I see. But maybe another session or two will help her realize that she can accept help, even if she doesn’t technically need it. It’s obvious to me that whoever was in her life before didn’t give a rat’s ass about her or her feelings. They tore her down. Her comment about staying fully clothed—and specifically the one about me not touching her stomach—has left a simmering rage in me since she uttered them. I’m surprised it hasn’t burned a hole in my gut.

Once Presley’s standing, she winces again, bringing one of her hands to her butt. She hisses when her palm meets the fabric, and I have the urge to kiss it better.

“I have some balm that will help with the soreness.”

Presley’s head whips around to look at me as if she forgot I was standing there. If I had a wish, I would want to hear what’s going on inside her head right now.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, clasping her hands in front of her body.

I give her a firm nod before I collect the things from the ground with her help. Once everything’s secured in the canvas bag, I turn my focus back to her. “Let’s go before Art or one of the other ranch hands finds us up here, yeah?”

She gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh my gosh. I didn’t even think about that last night. Do you think anyone heard or saw us?” Her voice is high-pitched with worry, and her body goes taut.

I close the small distance between us and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She tracks the movement of my hand, licking her dry lips as if she’s imagining them somewhere else—maybe on her pussy again. The idea of it has the blood returning to mycock. I clear my throat to try to will that image away; we have work to do. Later, we can play if she’ll allow it.

“Don’t worry.” I pull my hand back. “Nobody comes here except me at night. Everyone is usually in bed by nine, anyway.”

She exhales her relief and bites her lower lip.

“Come on. Let’s get going.”

I hold my hand out for her to take, the action surprising not only Presley but myself. I’ve never really been a hand-holder, unless you count the girlfriend I had in my junior year of high school. Presley regards it curiously, as if she’s never held a hand, either, but then, after a short moment, she places hers in mine.

As soon as our skin touches, the ache in my chest that seems to persist most days eases. My shoulders I didn’t know were tense sag, and I squeeze her hand in mine as if it’s a tether to reality. It shouldn’t feel this easy with her, but I don’t want to question it.

I tug her hand and lead her out of the barn.

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