Chapter 4
TAYLOR
We finish two rounds of drinks, dancing to the same beat of edging into flirtation and withdrawing to normalcy. The Cowboy’s playing it cool, taking his time. Not from nerves, that much became clear when he spoke about my body.
No, his approach comes from wanting to make getting to know each other more than small talk. He’s turning the mundane into a spectacle. Slipping and sliding in different directions, but one of us always manages to get back on track. To the evenings end. Where he, and I, will join in divine ecstasy.
No point in denying it, not to myself, or him. Those sails have set and float further into the horizon.
“Can I ask you something, Cowboy?”
His head tilts down and bright eyes meet mine, pleased with how I address him. “You just did. Might as well do it again.”
Smirking at his cocky response, I slip my hand onto his thigh.
Partly to gauge his response to things moving a little further, mostly because I can’t seem to keep my hands off of him.
I started feeling this way the second he came into view in the alleyway.
Felt my bodies primal urges barking and howling out for him.
My fingers reaching out delicately and latching on tight.
Not sure what it is about him, but there’s a connection that I can’t explain in words. Like we’re kindred spirits, bound by some unknown, cosmic force, fated to be right here, right now.
Silly as it might sound, I’m almost certain he feels the same. I can see it in his eyes. How his steely gaze can’t manage to break away from me for longer than a few seconds. Stealing naughty glances at my body when he thinks I’m not looking. Or better still, he knows I am and doesn’t care.
He wants me to notice his intrigue, his affection, his lust.
Whatever the case, it’s working.
Too freaking well.
“I get that you came up to help me, and I appreciate it tremendously,” I start.
The Cowboy’s eyes narrow and harden as I speak, as if he doesn’t like where I’m steering the conversation.
“But weren’t you afraid of what might happen to you out there?
” I finish quickly, so he doesn’t get the wrong impression.
This isn’t an attempt to get away from him, but one to understand him better instead.
I’ve already gotten under his skin, now I want to get inside his mind.
“I wasn’t,” he says simply. “I’m no stranger to taking a hit. It’s gonna take a lot more than some wannabe tough guy to scare me.”
“What if he had a gun?” Until tonight, I’ve lived a cautious, sheltered life. Heard stories on TV and from friends and family about how everyone’s carrying a gun these days, and it’s best to co-operate rather than instigate.
Then there’s my Cowboy, complete opposite to me in every way. A careless, carefree, risk taker.
“What if I have one?”
“Fair point,” I say, but the thought of him carrying a weapon doesn’t scare me as much as it probably should. As it would have earlier tonight, had he not swooped in to save me from disaster.
In fact, I think I kind of like it, the thrill and danger of wading through these unchartered territories.
His gaze remains stern, but there’s an odd caution in the way his eyes flick between mine and over my doll-faced mask. As if he’s studying me for the best response before he speaks again.
“Unjust cruelty,” he says, placing his hand atop the one I have on his leg. “Cannot go unpunished. No matter the risk or consequence, I will not stand for it. Especially when it’s directed at something or someone as precious as you.”
Without thinking, my free hand shoots up to my mask. I pull it off to show him my face. It’s the hardest part of nights like this, right? Exposing yourself when you were hidden for so long. Looks aren’t everything, I get that, but it’s easier said than followed.
“Fuck,” he finally speaks, after a long analysis of my exposed face.
My cheeks instantly burn red hot at his response to my unveiling. My heart starts thumping harder, faster, igniting the uneasy feeling of my tummy doing cart wheels.
His response, a simple word, has too many meanings for me to derive any concrete answers. Worse still, his tone didn’t give me any indication of if he’s happy, disappointed or somewhere in between.
Too nervous to speak, I wait for him to go on . . . Give me a sign that I didn’t just screw things up by taking my mask off.
“You’re stunning,” he sets my nerves at ease in an instant. “From head to toe, fucking perfect.”
Stunned by his reaction, my body makes moves my mind hasn’t fully caught up to. I scooch nearer to him, until scooching isn’t an option. Then I get on my knees in the booth, facing him directly, closing the distance between us.
He observes me with curious anticipation, one brow cocked above his eye, eager to see what I do next.
“Must be hard,” I say with a little grin. “Knowing exactly what to say and when to say it all the time.”
“Comes naturally,” a grizzled response from an eager man, fighting to stay in control.
“Well, tonight it comes with one hell of a reward.” Winking at him, I move my hand off his thigh and up to the pointy black end of his mask.
Deep rumbling emits from his chest as his hand snaps around my wrist, halting me from reaching my destination. His steel gaze doesn’t show any sign of disapproval, merely indifference at my attempt to demask him.
But if that truly were the case, he wouldn’t have stopped me.
“What’s the matter, Cowboy?” I ask, playfully. We should be past this by now. We’ve spent the better part of an hour in this booth, chatting shit and making flirty eyes at each other. There’s no reason to be shy, scared or anything other than excited about taking this to the next level.
“Not ready,” he says huskily.
“Why not?” I don’t move away from my spot, lingering in the scent of his oaky cologne, our faces so close together, we could hear each other’s whispers.
I doubt that’s what either of us want to do with our lips.
He grumbles in response.
“If you’re worried about what I’m going to think when you take it off, Cowboy, you shouldn’t be,” I break free from his grip, sliding my hand down the front of his body.
He shivers as I reach his belt, grumbles excitedly as I brush past it, and crumbles in his chair as I brush my palm over his thick, already throbbing, manhood.
“It’s just gonna be a hell of a lot harder to kiss you, if you keep the mask on. ”
“You’re a smart girl,” he sounds strained, as though my touch is too much to bear. Right where I want him. “You’ll figure it out.”
He’s right.
I’ll overcome any obstacles to get what I want.
“Then I won’t take it off.” Keeping one hand against his cock, the other moves back to his mask. He’ll just have to trust that my intentions are pure. “But this is happening whether you like it or not.”
I can’t stop myself from chuckling at how creepy that would’ve sounded if the roles were reversed. But I can feel his want in the palm of my hand, pulsating and eager.
“Trust me, Baby Doll, I like it more than you realize.”
Staying within what I’d deem comfortable, I pinch the point of his bandana and lift it high enough to expose his sharp jaw, stubbled cheeks and eager lips. Still, to maintain some kind of anonymity, I cover his eyes to keep from getting a full glimpse of his face.
“Are you ready?” I whisper.
My response comes with the Cowboy flinging himself forward, and his hands wrapping around my midsection. He pulls me closer, our bodies, mouths and souls colliding in a heated embrace.
There’s nothing gentle about this. It’s an explosive release of the tension building up in both of us since the moment we met. My eyes fall shut, and I release his mask to fully lose myself to him.
Adding my second hand down his body, I start stroking him through his jeans. He groans into my mouth, allowing one of his hands to snap behind my neck and lock me into the kiss, while the other caresses my breasts on its way lower.
His fingers find their way to my over-eager pussy, caressing me through the layers.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans against my lips. “Soaked straight through your clothes.”
Hearing him say it is so damn hot.
“And it’s all your fault,” I reply, not giving him a second to breath before locking our lips together again.
This time I keep him as long as I can. Writhing in bliss from his wriggling and shaking from my touch, and his own that sends bolts of electric joy coursing through my veins.
But when time comes to escalate this to the next level and I part from him, my jaw smashes through the damned table. In the fray of our violent make out session, his bandana came undone and fell to the floor somewhere.
The missing wrap leaves me staring at the man who hours ago stood over my dad, bloody and beaten. His face stern, eyes hard, jaw clenched, staring back at me with the same intensity from the restaurant.
“It’s . . .” I stutter the word out a few more times than I’d like, staring awkwardly at his face. “You.”
Gawking is an understatement. I’m looking at him the way one would an alien. Confused and cautious by what’s in front of me, but too intrigued by what’s on display to pull back and run.
“It’s me.”
“Oh God, what have I done?” Rising panic claws at my throat from deep within my bowls. It stifles and chokes me, as those fears that felt banished a moment ago come crushing in around me like violent high-tide waves pushing and pulling me deeper into the current.
I knew I saw him earlier on the dancefloor. Should’ve suspected that he’d make his move.
Blinded by him being a savior, I let my instincts slip. Latched onto him like a pathetic little puppy because I didn’t want to face another horrible man.
At what cost?
“Nothing,” he speaks calmly, as if trying to convince me that I hadn’t just face fucked the devil incarnate. “Everything. Fuck, Taylor, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Then don’t tell me anything. I don’t want to hear it anyway,” I sigh, feeling my heart shatter into a thousand tiny pieces in my chest.
It’s just like me to make a stupid, life shattering decision on a whim. Boasting about how I do everything in my power to stay cautious and safe, when I’ve made two terrible decisions in the span of a few hours.
Somehow, for the longest time after disappointment crushes all the fight out of me, I stay seated beside him. Further apart now, still eyeing the brute who treated my dad like a punching bag, but still here none-the-less.
Half hoping this is a dream, that I’m going to wake up any second now with the day redone. Rickon saving the day without the disgusting business earlier in the night and our happily ever after kicking off right.
The cold truth is that it isn’t.
I’ve fucked up and it’s time to face the music.