Chapter 18 #3
My dad felt nothing for her, and I’m not sure he ever felt anything for me either. I might have been his child, but I was a throwaway kid, from a throwaway woman, after a throwaway night. I don’t want that.
I want a real relationship and a real life, and I want Warrick, but if I’m not brave enough to tell him that I love him, then I know I’m not brave enough to know for sure that I should marry him.
When the water in the shower cuts off, I turn to the door and wait, bracing myself for his anger.
But instead when he passes the bed, he leans down and kisses me, then heads to the closet to get dressed in his uniform.
His Rockhead Peak Rural Firefighters T-shirt is just a hint too small, the fabric clinging to his enormous biceps and stretching temptingly across his chest. His cargo pants and work boots are far sexier than they should be, and fresh tears pool in my eyes, because I love this kind, sweet, sexy man, and I hurt him and hate myself for it.
“Warrick,” I whisper.
“Yeah, amore mio,” he says, picking up the bag he packed last night from the floor and striding over to me.
“I—”
Cupping my cheek, he leans down and kisses me, silencing what I’d planned to say. “We’ll talk about it when I get home in a few days.”
“Okay,” I say weakly.
“I meal prepped all of your meals, so all you have to do is warm them up in the oven or the microwave, okay?”
I nod.
“Make sure you eat, Verity. I want the refrigerator empty when I get home.”
“I’ll eat.”
“I love you, amore mio. Promise me you’ll be here when I get home,” he demands, his words sounding almost desperate.
“I promise,” I say, and I mean it. I won’t leave. Maybe I should. Maybe the best thing for him would be if we’d never met, but it’s too late for that, and I refuse to do anything that would hurt him any more than I already have.
“Promise me,” he says emphatically.
“I promise,” I tell him, locking my gaze with his so he can see the truth in my eyes.
“You’ll eat, rest, watch hockey, hang out with the Barnetts and the other wives, and you’ll sleep in our bed, wearing my shirt.”
“Okay.”
“But you won’t make yourself come.”
“Okay,” I agree easily.
“I don’t care how needy you get; you won’t touch yourself.”
“Okay,” I promise.
“I don’t want you to go into town unless one of the Barnetts or Knight takes you and brings you home. I don’t know the ranch hands that well, and I don’t trust them to keep you safe.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats.
“Okay,” I agree again.
“Marry me, Verity. Be my wife.”
My eyes fall closed as I cowardly hide from him. “I can’t,” I whisper.
I feel him move seconds before his lips slam against mine. It’s not a sweet, soft kiss. It’s a brutal, angry, hurt claiming because I’ve rejected him. I could pull away, I could say no and he’d stop, but instead I accept his punishment, because I deserve it.
This man is everything good in the world, and I’m hurting him, and I deserve to take his pain and anger, just the way he told me he wanted to take all of mine.
My lips feel raw, my body is tense and needy, and I know he’s done this deliberately. He’s leaving for four days after making me promise that I won’t touch myself. But I won’t fight or disobey him. I’ll embrace the discomfort and needy longing because this is my penance.
“I love you, amore mio. The same rules as last time apply. Carry your cell with you at all times, answer my calls, reply to my texts.”
“I will,” I promise.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Bye, Warrick.”
Tears drip from my eyes the moment he leaves the room, and I curl up into a ball on my side and let them fall.
I must fall asleep because the sun is bright and high in the sky when I open my eyes. My body is sore and sticky, the remains of his cum dried and uncomfortable between my thighs. Without him here, the house feels too big and too empty, the air stagnant and thick.
Slowly climbing out of bed, I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
Once the water is warm, I step beneath the stream and let the heat soothe away some of my aches.
Grabbing the shampoo, I lather it into my hair, digging my fingernails into my scalp and trying to replicate the way Warrick does it when we shower together.
Rinsing the suds out, I smooth conditioner into my hair, then leave it while I grab the soap and clean the sweat, cum, and sadness from my skin. Rubbing my soapy fingers through my folds, I accidentally graze my clit, and a zing of pleasure tingles to life.
Freezing, I rip my hands from between my thighs like I’m going to get caught. But I won’t. I’m alone. Only I promised Warrick that I wouldn’t touch myself, and I won’t break my word, especially when I know how much I’ve already hurt him by refusing to marry him.
Letting the water wash the conditioner from my hair, I turn off the shower and climb out, wrapping myself in a towel as I try to imagine what our life would be like if we got married.
Warrick is a good man. The best man, and our life would be wonderful.
But the disparity between what I bring to our relationship and what he brings is so wide it’s practically a chasm.
He has a job and a house, money, and friends. I have me and a twenty-year-old body that won’t last forever. Warrick wants to take care of me, but I’d like that to be because he wants to, not because he needs to, and right now, I need him a lot more than he needs me.
Pulling on some of the new underwear and clothes he insisted on buying me the other day, I drag a brush through my hair, then strip the sheets off the bed and carry them downstairs under my arm.
Taking them straight into the garage, I put them into the washer, then add detergent, and hit the start button. Sighing, I leave the garage, close the door behind me, and pat my pocket to check my cell phone hasn’t fallen out. It’s not there.
Rushing back into the garage, I scan the floor, but I can’t see it anywhere.
Sprinting back into the house, I run up the stairs then crumple to the floor in relief when I find the cell phone still charging on the bedside cabinet, right where Warrick put it for me last night before he dragged me on top of him and had me ride his dick before he sprayed his cum all over my tits.
The memory of the way he manhandled me, and moved me like a doll fills my mind, and my sex twinges and pulses with excitement. It’s the first time he’s come on me, instead of inside of me, and I found the depravity of being branded with his release incredibly arousing.
Forcing my eyes open, I work hard to push the memory away. I cannot be this turned on when I’m not allowed to do anything about it.
Unplugging my cell, I carry it downstairs, open the refrigerator, and stare at the ocean of stacked glass Tupperware containers that are full of the meals he took the time to cook for me.
Each of them has a sticky label with what’s inside of them written on it, and I pull out the one labeled as a breakfast casserole and put it in the microwave to warm.
Checking my messages, I find two from Warrick.
Warrick: I’m hoping you managed to fall back asleep and you dreamed of how perfect our life will be when we get married. I love you. Speak later.
The second was sent thirty minutes ago.
Warrick: Heading out on a call, sounds like it could be a bad one. I’ll call when I get a chance, but don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. Call Knight or the Barnetts if you need anything. Love you xx
Fear swirls through my stomach as I think about how dangerous fires can be. He could be out in the middle of the woods, hurt or burned or dead, and I’d have no idea. Would they even let me see him at the hospital if he gets taken there.
When the microwave dings, I pull in a slow, calming breath and try to banish the irrational fear. Warrick is a highly trained firefighter. He knows what he’s doing, and he has a team of other trained firefighters out there with him. He’ll be fine, and he’ll call me when he can.
Using a towel, I lift the hot casserole from the microwave and tip it out onto a plate. Grabbing silverware, I carry my plate to the table and sit down in my chair, then immediately get up and head for the back door. Sitting at the table without Warrick’s huge, warm body beside me feels wrong.
Stepping out into the yard, I exhale when the warm sun hits my skin.
Sinking down into the grass, I pick at my breakfast as worry churns in my stomach.
For the first time since he brought me to his home, I wish that he still had people coming to check up on me.
Maybe they could reassure me that even though he’s out there fighting a fire, he’s going to be fine and will come back to me.
Like the words have gone from my lips to God’s ear, there’s a knock at the front door. Jumping up, I rush to the front of the house and throw open the door, finding Octy and Knight on the doorstep.
“Hi,” Octy says, while Knight stands like a stoic soldier at her back.
“Hi.”
“We’re not checking up on you,” she says. “Well, I guess we are, but not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Do you want to come in?” I ask, stepping back.
“Is that okay?” Octy questions cautiously.
I nod. “I’m just in the yard. Come on through.”
Leading the way through the house and into the yard, I sit back down in the grass beside my barely picked-over breakfast.
“Oh, you’re eating, we shouldn’t have disturbed you,” Octy says.
“Is that breakfast or lunch?” Knight rumbles, his eye twitching slightly.
“Breakfast. I fell back to sleep after Warrick left, and I only woke up a little while ago.”
Smiling widely, Octy points at me. “See, normal people sleep late,” she exclaims to her husband.
Knight’s expression stays perturbed as he eyes the plate of breakfast casserole with distaste. Pushing the plate away, I jump to my feet again. “Can I get you guys a drink?”
Knight’s brows draw together, and he turns his intense gaze on me. “Sit and eat. I’ll get drinks.”
“Oh,” I start, shaking my head.