Chapter 6 Harrison
HARRISON
Remembering the danger of the three old bridges, insurance, and lawsuits, I shake my head and run outside after her.
Lightning flashes as she yanks on the sedan’s door. The door handle is playing up, and the rain is coming down hard and fast. It is a messed-up time to be debating accommodation, but it has to be done to mitigate risk.
“Look, stay in the barn, and we’ll get you home soon.”
“The barn? How ’bout screw you!”
I look back at the chateau, trying to work out where she could stay without distracting me. She is too fast; she leaps in and races off.
As she showers me with pebbles, I raise my hand high. “No, wait!”
The hot mess streaks away, but a big branch comes down. Leaves blast her car, and all visibility is gone. She has also entered the old gate area too fast.
The car slides, hitting the side of the big gate. It demolishes an old statue, clips the gate side, and as the car lines up for the first bridge, a wheel drops into the river. “Fuck!” I yell, running as fast as I can.
I yank her door open and check her eyes. “In any pain?”
“Be specific.”
“Hold on,” I say, commanding her and crouching. I look her over and notice her leg is bleeding from a nasty cut. The sedan’s driver door has taken the hit, and steel has cut into her thigh.
“Back okay?”
She nods and winces in pain. I lift her into my arms, kick the sedan door closed, and walk her through the storm.
As we walk in the rain, I drip and look down. She looks up, and there it is again. There is something about her eyes. Having her back in my arms feels good, but I cannot do it.
Not now…
I get her to the chateau door, and we push in. Inside the lobby, she winces, and I look left and right. Because we are both dripping wet, I decide on the main kitchen.
Walking her straight through an oak door, I lay her down on the ancient wooden surface.
Chefs usually use it to prepare food, as its an old-fashioned kitchen island. It is huge, it will be suitable for cleaning her up.
I get clean tea towels from a drawer and fold several to put under her head.
“Where does it hurt? I ask, pulling off my suit jacket.
“Leg and head.”
“Where?” I ask, placing a soft hand on her forehead.
She touches an egg forming on her forehead. I look at her eyes to see if they are dilating. So far, they are not.
I check her thigh, and it is bleeding badly. “Your leg, we’re going to need to do something.”
“You’re not cutting it off.”
“You’re likely right,” I say, messing with her. “Wait here,” I command.
Two minutes later, I have a fully blown medical kit next to her. I place a tartan blanket over her chest to keep her warm, and finally, I look down at her black leather pants.
“Again, you need to take your pants off.”
“Funny.”
“No, really. Do you want to keep them, or shall I cut them off?”
“You cut, you die.”
“Right,” I say, stepping back, “then get them off.”
The hot, wet mess goes to sit up, but she can’t. “Need help,” she says, lying back down in pain.
“No shit,” I say before raising an eyebrow at her. “Would you like them removed?”
She eyes me carefully, and she sighs, giving in. “If you want to get in my pants again, you, Sir, will need to remove them.”
I go to do that, then pause at the thought. I continue but realize it’s cold, and I am still wet.
Yanking my once dry and pressed white business shirt off, I toss it aside. I use a tea towel to dry off, then I discard it. As I stand bare-chested in my navy suit trousers and damaged, wet Italian shoes, I peel off her pants. As I do, she squirms in pain.
“Don’t move,” I growl as more blood leaks out of her.
“Don’t keep commanding me like that.”
Our eyes meet, and we eye fuck each other for a split second. I lose focus and shake my head. “See, that’s why it wouldn’t work,” I say huskily.
“You just need to learn control.”
“You too,” I growl as I unzip her pants. I suddenly think about tasting her again.
She is wearing white lace panties this time, and they are cute. I groan without trying to. As I avoid her eyes, I pull her leather pants down the rest of her perfect, long legs. As I look up to avoid the white panties, I find her eyes. They’re worse.
“And don’t you steal those, they’re my lucky ones.”
“Well, they’re doing a great job.”
“Ha, funny.”
We both try not to laugh, and I place her leather pants on a pantry hook. It makes for a disturbing image, and I try to refocus.
“How’s it look?” she asks, trying to check the back of her thigh.
I roll her carefully over and stare below her hot butt. Again, it’s hard to focus.
“Do not check out my butt!”
“As if,” I lie.
I stare down at where blood runs from a wound. “You need stitches,” I say, calculating. “Likely six, and now.”
“And you know that because?”
“I’ve done a lot of remote traveling. The Himalayas. The Andes. Being able to fix broken bones and the likes means survival. Can we move on?”
She looks nervous.
“Look, do you trust me?”
“You are kidding, right?”
“Do you want a deep cut, or do you want tidy stitches? Answer me.”
“Tidy, bossy!”
“Good, then be nice. Or, using stitches, I can write anything. Anything that will be on you forever. Just like a tattoo.”
“Like?” she asks nervously.
“I have not thought it through, but perhaps 'Once tight pussy.'”
She laughs, as was my plan, and as she does, I pull out the piece of metal.
“Ahhhhhh!” she screams.
“There,” I say, placing the steel aside. It was part of the low door handle.
She inhales hard and fast, and I hold her hand as she winces. It’s just like when she was coming.
Coming for me.
“Just breathe and calm down. If you do, you’ll have a story for your crazy grandkids.” I pause, realizing what I’ve just said. “Sorry, I’m sure you’ll have lovely grandkids.”
We don’t say anything. We just share a look, and I force a smile.
She goes to smile, then the pain kicks in.
I don’t have any real painkillers. She tightens her grip on my hand and starts to moan and writhe.
Placing my hand on her shoulder, I look down into her wincing face. “Sam, you need to calm down, do you understand me?”
“It hurts, arghhhh...”
I see the blood coming out; the cut is not good. She needs to calm and slow her heart. Finally, she nods, biting her lip.
“Shhhhh, shhhhhh,” I say, calming her.
I controlled her mind and body the night before. I had also done it this morning. That was sexual. I’ve never commanded a woman like this, just with my hand in hers, my eyes, and my voice.
It’s confusing, but I must calm her more. I head off to get something fast. It’s the next best thing.
I walk quickly back with a bottle of whisky and two crystal glasses. Sam is calmer already, and the bleeding is slowing.
After pouring two glasses, I hold her up.
“Drink.”
Her eyes hold mine, and she gulps down the golden liquid. I am taken back to me coming in her mouth. I groan and let her down, knock back my own whisky, and hold her hand.
“You’re going to be fine,” I say.
She inhales and calms. She is now on her back, and I need her to roll over.
“Show me your butt. I mean side.”
Our eyes meet, and she rolls slowly over. I pull on surgical gloves and start to clean the wound. I avoid her eyes. “A little pain is not a bad thing,” I mumble, in the zone.
“You really are a twisted bastard,” she says, fists clenched.
I lean down near her jaw and kiss her sweaty cheek. “I keep telling you that. And that’s why… You. I. We cannot be close.”
I work away, the whisky now warming me. As I clean the wound, I know it is time. Lacing surgical thread into the needle, I prepare to make fine stitches. “This is going to hurt a bit.”
She nods, and I command her to breathe in.
As I drive the needle slowly into her skin, she moans. I continue, but it is putting me off.
“Don’t moan.”
“I. Can’t. Help. It.”
She winces and calls out in pain. “Ahh, fuck!”
“Just don’t moan,” I tell her.
I shake my head at the madness, and then I realize. All I did last night was make her moan, and this… this is payback.
As I stitch, weave, and cut, and stitch, weave, and cut, her butt tightens up inches from my face.
I also hear her pant, and she breathes deeply. It’s disturbing, and hot.
Finally, I finish, and the six stitches look clean. I wind a bandage around the stitches, securing it like I’ve been trained.
She still likely needs a good licking, but I work hard to remove that visual. I flick the surgical gloves into the rubbish, like in any good medical show. I next prepare my ‘I’m God, aka a doctor, and this is how your life will be’ speech.
I help her over, cross my arms over my bare chest, and look down.
We share a look, and she looks up, panting.
“Now, patient, keep it dry, redress it daily; in five days, have some grumpy arsehole or some boring wimp of a beta remove the stitches.”
She nods in pain and goes to sit up. As I help her, I remember the rest of the carnage.
That her car is almost in the river, her things are in it, she is staying on my property, and unless I like lawsuits and other legal distractions, I have to do this. The right thing.
As she sits there, all broken and down, I try not to think of a reason. A reason she needs to remove her panties.
I move on and put the old-fashioned kettle on to make tea.
“Look,” I say, hands on my hips. “Unless I have it wrong, you’re going to have to stay here. I have a few rooms you can use.”
“What, no barn?”
“The barn is full, try to keep up. Now, do you want to be carried upstairs to my bed?” We share a look, and I shake my head.
“My old bed.”
She is in pain, and she looks broken. She is far from the perfect, bouncy, hot, free woman I’d first met. Strong, full of life and with a spark.
Finally, she nods.
I wrap the blanket around her and lift her near-naked body into my arms. I carry her upstairs, towards my bedroom, and then down the long hall.
We reach my old bedroom on the first floor, and we walk inside. The room has a great view of the lake, and I do not want her near me on the top floor.
“Nice room,” she says as I lay her on the small, old-fashioned four-poster bed.
“It was my childhood bedroom,” I say.
“Lucky for some.”
“Not at all,” I reply before walking away. “Every one of my family is dead.”
“Oh. I’m… I’m sorry…”
I am already looking out of the window to the lake. I knew her eyes would be on me by now, which is why I timed my explanation. To the second.
I don’t need sympathy. Ever.
“Harry, my name is Harrison,” I say, turning and trying to move away from the pain and to start afresh.
“I’m Sam!”
“Not completely accurate,” I say, crossing my arms over my eight-pack and walking to her.
“Samantha, then?”
We share a look, and I extend a hand. We shake.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
I walk to the old fireplace and check it. As usual, the fireplace is ready to be lit. I crouch with the silver lighter from above it.
Two minutes later, the wood crackles, and I shuffle it around for maximum warmth.
“I’ll bring you hot tea, and as you can see, there are plenty of books. Your wound should not bleed but take it easy. I bound it tight.”
An entire wall is covered with books, and she and I sweep our eyes over them.
“They kept me entertained as a kid, but they also kept me far from the public and becoming social.”
As I walk to the door, she calls out, and I turn. “Hey, is that you and a tiger?”
I follow her eyes, and I nod. It is a photo of me and my tiger. I am reminded to visit him tomorrow.
“Yes, it is. And it’s a long story, now rest.”
I pause at the door, realizing she is shivering.
Returning minutes later with one of my own shirts, I sit next to her on the bed. “Don’t think anything of it.”
“As if,” she says, and our eyes catch.
She goes to lift herself up, struggles, and winces. “Need help?”
She nods, and I help her sit properly. As she raises her arms straight up, I avoid her eyes and her body. “Up higher, you’re wet.”
As I lift her wet top off her, it is hot as fuck. I keep looking away from her naked body, and my heart speeds up. I hold her upright and I get the fresh, pressed white business shirt. I help get her arms in it, and our eyes lock.
She watches me, as if I will admire her perfect breasts. I do not, but as I do up her buttons, one by one, I start to get hard.
Our eyes hold as I finish. “Now, lie down,” I command.
She winces as she does, and I try not to imagine her butt and the white panties. I then lift the fresh white sheet and cover over her as the fire light flickers.
“Still hate me?”
“More,” she says, meaning it.
I can’t help but smile, and we stare each other out.
She raises her chin and laser-eyes me as if she wants me dead. As she smells my shirt, she raises a suspicious brow. “Smells of you.”
“Right?” I ask, playing along. “And what smell is that?”
“Bossy, commanding, and cold.”
I lift the bedcover an inch higher around her chin to keep her warm. She looks all snuggly inside. I am close to her face, and I like it way too much.
“Well, at least I’m not making you moan.”
She squints and watches me closely. I like having her in my bed, and I like it way too much.
I tussle her hair playfully, resisting the urge to kiss her nose. “Now, rest up. Hot tea is coming,” I say, commanding her.
I stand and yank on the other shirt I’d brought in. As I do, she watches me, not even bothering to look away.
Screw her. If she’s that bold, I can do this. I unzip my navy trousers and slowly tuck the business shirt into my pants. I then zip up, exhale, and feel civilized.
“Enjoy putting on the show?”
I have to laugh at that. “You’ve got a quick tongue on you!”
I am about to walk out when I hear, “At least one of us does.”
I stop at the door, and I take offense. I am proud of my oral. Really f-ing proud, and I know I can kiss. The sneaky minx is now hiding under the covers, and she lifts the sheets over her eyes.
“Careful!” I growl.
“Or what?” she asks playfully.
“Lights out!”
I walk down the hallway, intrigued by my find, but also disturbed. I am unsure if I want to spank her butt or fuck it hard. Or both.
Time will tell.