Page 15 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

“Let me see!” I grab his hand and yank it to me, turning his palm my way and prying his fingers open to reveal a nasty gash.

He sucks air through his teeth, hissing. “It’s fine. I’ll clean it up when I get back.”

“Come on.” Getting a grip on his wrist, at least as far around it as I can reach, I pull him towards the house.

“It’s just a cut, Willow. Doesn’t even need sewing up.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a big tough man. I’m very impressed.” I roll my eyes. “I have a sink and first aid stuff right here. Don’t be stubborn.”

He chuckles, but lets me lead him. “If you want to play doctor, I don’t mind. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Inside, he seems more curious about the house than with his bleeding hand. “Have you changed anything since you moved in? Or is this all your grandmother’s stuff still?”

“What? You don’t think I picked out the chicken wallpaper border myself?” I leave him on a chair in the kitchen while I go to get supplies from the bathroom. “Do you want a dinosaur bandage, or pink hearts?”

“You know. I think it’s stopped bleeding already,” he calls out.

“Pick!”

After a moment of thought, he rumbles back, “Dinosaurs.” He sounds so certain I can't help chuckle at it. Typical boy.

I pull over a chair and scoot it up until my knees are right between his and his hand is in my lap. He sucks in sharp air again when I wipe a washcloth over the cut but doesn’t complain. I don’t see anything nasty in there, and it isn’t very deep, so I spray it down with antiseptic and wipe off the excess moisture before applying the bandage.

“I could do this myself, you know,” he says softly.

“It's easier with two hands.” I turn his hand over in mine, letting my fingers play over the backs of his knuckles. There’s dried blood between his fingers. “How did you manage that?” I clean his whole hand with the washcloth, frowning when it takes work to remove it all.

“Don’t know.” He gently pulls his hand back and hooks his index finger under my chin, making me look up at him. Despite his rough hands, it's a soft touch. It leaves me looking right into the blue pools of his eyes, so easy to drown in. His lips quirk into a mischievous crooked smile.

A thick, liquid heat settles between my thighs as last night makes a triumphant return in my mind.

“There she is,” he says, his deep voice raising goosebumps down my arms. “The girl from last night.” He leans in, not letting me lower my chin, so that our lips can't be more than an inch or two apart. I swallow hard, nervous, but not wanting him to pull away.

“I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah you do.” His breath is hot against my cheek. Everywhere we touch is burning up.

If I don't stop this now, what am I agreeing to? A kiss? Something more?

I don’t even try to get away.

With a soft, victorious chuckle, he tilts my head up just a little more before slanting his lips across mine. They're soft, much softer than I remembered, a stark contrast to his calloused fingers and the rasp of his beard. His tongue teases my mouthopen as he slides his hand along my jaw and to the nape of my neck where he cups the back of my head and pulls me into him.

I’m lost. No one has ever kissed me like this, possessive, taking ownership in a way that makes me want to be owned, even if it's only for as long as the kiss lasts. Closing my eyes tightly, I meet his tongue with mine, loving how we playfully chase each other. The give and take of our mouths as we learn each other until I’m dizzy and pull back, gripping his thighs to steady myself.

His blue eyes are dark and stormy, and there’s a hungry look on his face, like he’s imagining what I’d look like naked and spread out on the table for him to play with. Or maybe that’s just what I’m imagining. I touch my fingers to my mouth, savoring the lingering sensation of his lips while I stare at him wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

What are we doing? Do I have a crush on the criminals next door?

“Consider that lesson number one,” he says with a smirk.

I pull my hands away and stand up. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need lessons.” Turning away, I open the cupboard next to the fridge and reach for a glass. “Do you want water or anything? I meant to ask earlier.”

Skyhigh follows me, his chest right against my back. “I think you do.” He plucks the glass from my hand and puts it back. “Maybe I was wrong and you don’t have a fancy degree, but I know for damn sure that you are too smart and too curious not to wonder if I was right last night.”

“About what?”

“About us being able to show you that you’ve been missing the fuck out on the type of sex you deserve. The kind people write about in books.”

“I—” What’s stopping me? It's not like I’m betraying anyone. Not only am I single, I hardly even know anyone around here. The only thing keeping me from grabbing life by the balls—literally—is some messed up fear of being judged.

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