CHAPTER 25
Asher
W hen Wade and Nash told me to let my guard down, to do something different, I figured bringing Olivia to my home would help us both get to know each other a little better.
The man I am now, the man I want to be for our child, the man I was destined to be.
But I wasn’t thinking about how I’d get to know her in return. And how easy it would be to like her.
“You just push it through here?” she asks now, her voice soft and clear in my barn.
I’ve always watched Olivia, wondering who she was and why.
And I realize that having a baby with her is dangerous in more ways than one.
It gives me a reason to get to know her.
It’s the logic that almost pushes past the worry in my gut that something bad will happen to her if I let her get too close to me.
Especially when she’s in my home, my space, and she’s enticing as hell.
Running her hand carefully over the white oak sitting on my planing table, she examines the wood I chose for her cabinets. I might die a little inside if she decides to paint it. It’s from a one hundred-and-fifty-year-old tree from Johnson
County; the grain is fucking incredible and once I lacquer the finished product, it’ll really pop. I pat the machine she stands in front of and nod.
“You just push it through.”
“And this is safe for me? To be out here,” she asks.
“In my shop, yes. It’s entirely dust-free.” I point to the hose and system that sucks the dust from the space and the HEPA filter in the corner.
That satisfies her as she crouches down to check out the gadgets attached to my industrial planer. Her pert, round ass is on full display, as if she doesn’t realize how perfect she is, or how desperately I want to take a fucking bite out of her.
“We’ll run the wood through maybe four times,” I say in an attempt to steer my mind away from the enticing curves of her body. “It’s a process.”
“I’m sorta invested now,” Olivia says. “Could you maybe show me how it works?”
She eyes the blades enclosed in the center box of the massive machine, like my wood shop is the most interesting thing she’s seen in a while. I can’t imagine it is. But if it keeps her here a little longer, I’m all in.
“This thing looks like it could flatten a car.”
“Pretty close,” I admit.
It’s a Fray 800 and, at over twelve feet long, it’s a beast of a planer. When this thing fires up, it vibrates the damn floor around it. I pull a pair of clear glasses down for her.
“Safety first,” I say, placing them on her face. She flashes me a grin in response. Goddamn that’s cute. “This is a powerful machine. It would be really difficult to hurt yourself on it. Still, it’s you, so we’re going to take every precaution.”
Olivia sticks her tongue out at me, and my cock involuntarily twinges with the sight. One taste of being close to this woman after weeks of starvation and I’m a fucking teenage boy.
“I’m gonna push this piece through here.” I grip the piece of rough wood and refocus, pointing to the center where the cutter head is partially housed, protecting us from the blades.
“These tables don’t do anything? Nothing sharp?” She pats the large expanse of stainless-steel table in front of us.
I shake my head. “Nope, they’re just a resting place. They allow me to plane very big pieces of wood. This side holds it as the machine sucks it in, the other side spits it back out when it’s done. Do you understand?”
She nods like a good little pupil. Everyone I’ve ever known looks ridiculous in safety glasses. But somehow, when Olivia puts them on, I want to hoist her up onto the table and fuck her into next week.
“Let the machine do the work. Slow hands are better than fast ones. Got it?”
“I think so,” she replies, studying my movements.
I gesture in front of me and back up. “Okay, you’re gonna do it now.”
“I am?”
“You are,” I assure her. “Lean up against the machine and guide the wood through. Once it’s free, I’ll bring it back and you can push it through again.”
“Sounds easy.” She shrugs, leaning against the wide table.
I reach over her and turn on the safety then hit the start button to fire up the machine. Olivia startles as the table comes to life and vibrates gently. It’s a smooth, deep, and steady hum, and I fucking love the sound.
“I’ll help you get started.” I lift up the two-foot-wide by six-foot-long board, deciding which side to smooth out, then lay it flat in front of her. She places her hands on the board, and I rest mine behind hers, as we begin to push it through the machine.
Olivia presses further into the table, holding the board in front of her.
“Don’t be afraid of it,” I say, low in her ear. “You’re the boss.”
She nods and continues to work the wood. Once it’s halfway through the machine, I make my way down to the other end of the table, ready to grab the finished product. I bring it back to Olivia.
“See how much better this looks already?” I ask, flipping it over to show her how the new wood compares to the rough side. She nods before moving back into position. Standing just behind, I steady the wood as my arms reach around her.
Everything about this turns me on. Our proximity, her eagerness to learn, the combined scent of her and the wood. Everything.
As we begin to push the wood through again, a tiny whimper escapes her lips and at first I worry she’s hurt. But when I look down to see her bottom lip between her teeth, I realize she’s fine. More than fine. Apparently, I might not be the only one turned on by woodworking.
But it takes me a second to understand why she’s worked up. The height of this table is perfectly lined up with her body. Right against her needy little pussy. But Olivia doesn’t back away. Instead, she leans into it more.
“That’s it, nice and slow.”
I breathe in her sweet-smelling skin. Her soft neck is just below my lips and the brush of her hair against my jawline begs me to lose my fingers in it. The steady purr of the planer is like background music as the heat from her body radiates to mine.
“Like this?” she asks, almost breathless, as we push the piece of wood through the planer.
“Perfect,” I tell her as the last of it disappears through to the other side. I’m rock-fucking-solid right now and I’m planing wood.
Olivia’s practically panting as she presses up against the vibration until her hips rock back and her ass grazes my hard ened cock.
At the movement, her lips part and a soft moan escapes her, barely audible under the hum of the planer.
I could withstand it if I thought it was accidental, but when she grips the sides of the table and her head falls back, my control snaps and I’m spinning her around, lifting her body up so she’s sitting on the table as I turn the machine off.
Olivia tosses her safety glasses to the floor—just as eager as I am—and I press my body against hers.
She moans as I slide my hands up to cage her face with them, hovering my lips just above hers.
“I just … This damn table is torture, ” she pants out.
I stop dead in my tracks with that word and the question I see in her eyes. Torture.
It’s like a sucker punch to the gut. A trigger. What the fuck am I doing?
Images of torture—real torture at the hands of my father—flash through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut to dispel them. But they don’t disappear, and I’m listening to my mom’s screams once again. They’re the last straw as I fight this with everything in me.
“Fuck. I’m sorry …” I grit out as I let her pretty face go.
“No, I’m sorry … I don’t know what happened.” She blushes furiously. “It’s just the table and these … damn pregnancy hormones. Who knew wood was such a turn-on—but we agreed, no complications. Right?”
“Right,” I agree so quickly there’s no chance of me changing my mind. “It’s best if we just stick to the plan.”
Fuck, I sound like such an asshole. Her gaze drops to the floor, and I have no idea how to keep my head but also let her in.
I wish I could tell her that I want to pick her up and carry her inside my house.
That I want to bury myself in her until the sun comes up, until she’s completely wrung out and begging for mercy.
But instead, I find the will to back up and help her down off the table.
Without saying anything more, I move to take her home. Where she’s safe.