Blackwood

by Celia Aaron

  “We already ate.” His words slurred, and I forced myself to move faster.

  “I know.” I unclicked the latch and flipped open the lid. “I keep my kindling in here so it stays dry.” I pulled out a small pack of dried twigs and a lighter. Glancing to the break in the roof, I realized it was a good thing. I’d need the smoke to vent out that way.

  Setting the kindling aside, I flipped up my hoodie and headed back outside.

  “Don’t!” He gripped my ankle. “It’s not safe.”

  I leaned down and kissed him, his cold lips spurring me onward. “I’m going to find a few fallen limbs. They’ll be wet, but the rain only started within the last little while. I’ll cut down to dryer wood and we’ll be all set. Trust me.”

  “I’ll come too.” He tried to sit up from the wall, but only made it halfway before falling back. “Fuck.”

  “Stay here. I won’t go far. I promise. Two minutes, tops.”

  “I don’t like it.” He reached up and pulled me down, our foreheads touching. “Please be safe.”

  “I will. I swear.” I dropped another kiss on his lips and hurried out into the rain. I passed behind the shack and peeked out into the forest. The rain created a milky barrier. That meant I couldn’t see the shooter, but he couldn’t see me either. I hurried forward, my eyes trained on the ground. Up ahead, I saw a limb that would work. I snagged it and another and dragged both back to the shack.

  “Garrett, I need one more. I’m almost done. Stay awake.”

  He mumbled a response.

  I walked in the opposite direction and scanned the ground. An oak limb, the leaves long since rotted away, presented the perfect opportunity. I darted up to it and started dragging it along.

  Glancing back, I stopped dead. Beneath the limb, the ground was sunken in what appeared to be a six-foot by about three-foot rectangle. An unmarked grave.

  A warning sounded in my heart. I needed to dig. But I couldn’t, not until I was certain Garrett was safe and the shooter was gone. I forced myself to turn and keep going. Dropping the limb at the doorway, I walked in and pulled my hatchet from my pack.

  “I’ll have a roaring fire in under ten minutes. Want to time me?”

  “Merit badge if you make it?”

  I ran my hand along his forehead, hating the cold, clammy feel. “No. If I get it done, I get to use a flogger on you when we get home.”

  He grunted. “That’s a big reward.”

  “Hey, if you can’t handle it—”

  “Done.” He coughed. “What do I get if you don’t make it?”

  I kissed him again, then steadied myself so I could get to work. “Hypothermia.”

  I stared at the narrow door. The night beyond consumed what little light the moon offered, the rays gobbled up by the thick clouds and endless rain. Garrett slept beside me. I’d dressed his wound, stripped him, and covered him in fresh clothes from my pack. I’d dried my clothes by the fire and put them back on. We were both warm, well fed with snacks and water, and as comfortable as possible in the shack. Once I was certain he wouldn’t die from the cold, I let him sleep off the injury.

  Still, I worried that the shooter lurked just beyond the door, waiting for his chance. I adjusted so I could rest my gun hand atop my knee. If anyone came through the door, I’d shoot first and ask questions later.

  The fire crackled, and I tossed another piece of damp wood on the top. It would keep us warm until morning, though I intended to rouse Garrett and head to the house about two hours before daybreak. We’d be soaked through again, but the dark would keep us safe from the shooter’s scope.

  Midnight came and went as I kept watch, my eyes drifting closed and my hand drooping until I forced myself awake. The grave just fifty yards away preyed on my mind. Was it him? Had I finally found my dad’s resting place?

  And who was the shooter? If it had been one shot, I could have believed in a stray bullet from a hunter’s gun. But the second shot dispelled that notion. Someone had tried to kill Garrett. Maybe even me. What the hell was going on? Fresh mysteries piled on top of old ones, and my questions kept circling the grave like a drain. I spent the rest of the night like that—in between waking and dreaming, one eye on the door and my thoughts buried along with whoever lay in the shallow grave.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sheriff Crow and Rory burst through the front door as I leaned Garrett against the wall of the foyer. I’d called them as soon as I got within range of the house’s WiFi.

  “How far out is the ambulance?” I started stripping Garrett’s wet coat from him.

  “Ten minutes or so.” Rory dropped to his knees and opened a duffel bag of medical supplies. Sheriff Crow knelt, and both men helped me pull his wet shirt down.

  “Just a scratch.” Garrett didn’t open his eyes.

  Rory pressed his fingers to Garrett’s neck and stilled. “Shit, pulse is slow. Too slow.”

  I pulled the gauze away from Garrett’s bullet hole beneath his clavicle. “There.”

  Sheriff Crow leaned Garrett forward and stared at the exit wound. “Came out clean, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “I had enough of a first aid kit to douse it with alcohol and pack the gauze, but I couldn’t stop the bleed. And the rattle in his lungs has gotten worse.” I tucked Garrett’s hair behind his ear.

  He leaned into my touch. “Red.”

  “Red?” Sheriff Crow asked.

  “That’s what he calls me.” I began pulling the damp shirt the rest of the way off, but lost my balance and hit the floor next to Garrett.

  Sheriff Crow grabbed my elbow and peered into my eyes. “Rory, get her upstairs and warmed up. She looks like she might fall over herself.”

  “No, I’m fine.” I shook my head and reached for Garrett’s hand.

  “No, you aren’t fine.” Worry creased around the sheriff’s eyes. “Rory, get on it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll wait for the ambulance. I expect it here soon.” Sheriff Crow rooted around in the duffel bag as Rory helped me to my feet. “Until then, I’ll check his wound. He’s going to be okay.”

  Rory steadied me and herded me toward the stairs.

  “Wait.” Sheriff Crow looked up from the bag. “Did you see anyone? Any clue who’d try to take a shot at you?”

  “No.”

  “Could it have been another hunting accident?” He took his hat off and threw it onto the small settee. “A stray shot?”

  “That would have been possible if there was only one shot. But there were two.”

  He shook his head. “I’m beginning to wonder why I took this job. What the hell is going on around here?”

  My foot hit the bottom step, and I stumbled. I leaned on Rory as he helped me up the stairs. A distant siren promised help for Garrett, and I was finally able to take a breath without fear overwhelming me. “I have to go with him.”

  Rory wrapped his arm around my waist and powered the rest of the way up the stairs to my room. “We’ll see what the sheriff says.”

  I started to strip off my coat, then gave the staring Rory a look.

  His face fell, and he turned toward the wall. “Let me know if you need help.” His tone still retained some hope that he’d get to see me naked.

  I sank onto the bed and slowly dragged my clothes off until I was down to my tank top. The siren’s wail grew to ear-splitting levels, then quieted. Voices wafted up the stairs, and relief hit me like a wave. Garrett was going to be okay. I closed my eyes, and my world went topsy-turvy.

  The last thing I heard was Rory’s voice. “Shit, you got hit, too.”

  “Red?” Fingers stroked along my face, down my jaw, and to my neck.

  I blinked awake. The septic smell of hospital seeped into my lungs as the light pinging of a machine told me my heart was still beating.

  “Garrett?” I turned to find him sitting next to me in a wheelchair. Dark circles ringed his eyes.

  “Thank God.” He kissed the back of my hand, his lips so
much warmer than they had been the last time I touched them.

  Memories of our last moments together hit me like a fist. “Are you okay? You lost so much blood.” I realized he wore the same hospital gown as mine, and the pole next to him carried an IV bag connected to his arm.

  “I’m good. I made it because of you.”

  He ran his thumb along my lips. They felt chapped.

  “How long have we been here?” I blinked hard to try to clear the floaters from my vision.

  “Only a few hours.”

  “Mr. Blackwood, please.” A nurse stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her name badge. “We need to get this done.”

  “In a minute.” His voice stayed near a whisper. “Had to see her.”

  I sat up, but the pain in my shoulder had me falling back against my pillows. “Damn.” I took a breath as the pain lessened. “What does she want?”

  “Surgery.” The nurse’s no-nonsense tone rose with each word. “We drew the air out from around his collapsed lung, but it’s not filling back up. He needs to have it repaired, but the stubborn jerk wouldn’t agree to surgery until he saw you.”

  I pressed my palm to his cheek. “Have you lost what little mind you had left?”

  He smiled and pressed his lips to my palm. “Maybe.”

  How had I ever thought this man was a killer? The love in his heart shone in his eyes, and I leaned forward slowly to give him a kiss. He returned it, then backed away and drew in a wheezing breath. I glanced at the nurse, who shook her head and glared at Garrett.

  “Go, stubborn man.” I kicked my chin toward the nurse. “I’ll be here when you get out.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I’ll be back.”

  “I know.”

  The nurse walked over and unlocked Garrett’s wheels.

  I wanted to ask her if he was going to be okay. No, I wanted her to promise me he would be. I bit back my question as my eyes welled. Instead, I asked, “Do you think you could give him a shave while he’s out? You know, surgery protocol or something?”

  “I don’t see any harm in asking Dr. Brown if it’s medically necessary.” The nurse smiled.

  Garrett grunted as she rolled him away. “Not cool, Red. Not cool at all.”

  The words, the three words that meant far more than just an arrangement of letters, beat on the bars of my heart, demanding I release them. But I couldn’t say them. Not even as he gave me one last soulful look. It was too soon, too intense.

  I lay back in my bed and listened to him go, the slight squeak of the wheels on the linoleum growing fainter as my tears became a deluge that drowned out everything else.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I need more blowjobs.” Garrett pushed himself up on the couch as I adjusted his pillows.

  “This is the fifth, no, the sixth time you’ve mentioned that since we got out of the hospital.” I finished getting him settled.

  He’d been camping out on the couch so he could watch me during the days. I messed around the house, cleaning and trying to get it back into top shape—all the while lecturing him on feminism as he agreed and stared at my tits and ass. I refused to let the wound in my shoulder slow me down, and I itched to get back out into the woods to inspect the shallow grave I’d found.

  “I think it’s a valid request.” He gripped my ass as I finished fluffing and stood.

  “You know what the doc said.” I grabbed his wrist, and he tried to wrest it away from me.

  He put up a fight at first, but then cursed under his breath and let me go. “When I get better, I’m going to blister your ass with my hand, Red.”

  My heart flipped at the threat, but I adopted a prim tone. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  He rubbed the scruff along his jaw that the nurse failed to shave away. “I’ll always catch you. And you’ll love every second of your punishment.” He glanced to my shoulder. “How is it?”

  I backed another step away and pulled down my tank. “A lot better. I clipped the stitches out myself this morning.”

  We’d been home from the hospital for a week. Garrett’s strength was steadily returning, but the doctor cautioned against any intense physical activity until the lung had healed completely. So, despite my patient’s grumbles and my own desire to climb on top of him and fuck him ragged, we had to wait. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t tease.

  I slid my tank strap lower. His eyes lit as he stared at my bare skin.

  “Lower.” His stern voice had me biting my lip.

  “I think you’ve seen enough.” Such a brat. “Healing up great.” I started to pull the strap back up.

  “Don’t you fucking dare.” He stabbed a finger at me, the bare muscles along his torso tensing with the movement. “Show me.”

  “My injury?” I simpered. “I already did.”

  “I swear to Christ I will get off this couch and put you over my goddamn knee, Red!” He started to sit up.

  “Wait, wait.” I held a hand out to stay him. “I wouldn’t want you getting excited.”

  “Too fucking late for that.” He ground his teeth together and pressed his palm to the erection that threatened to break free of his pajama pants. “Show me.”

  I trailed my fingers down the edge of my top, then pulled the fabric down to reveal my right breast.

  “Oh, fuck.” He reached inside his pants and started stroking.

  “Hey!” I darted forward to stop his hand. “You can’t do that. The doctor—”

  He grabbed me, one hand clamping around my forearm and the other yanking at my jeans. “I don’t give two shits if this kills me. I need to be inside you. Now.”

  “No.” I smacked at his hand, but he’d worked two fingers into my waist band and used his thumb to unbutton them.

  “Did you just say no?” He smirked up at me and yanked my jeans and panties to my knees. “You did, Red.” He fell back against the pillows with a pained groan. “Ow, fuck.”

  I took the opportunity to scoot away from him. I fell on the ottoman, my bare ass against the leather.

  “We can’t! I told you.” I tried not to look as he freed his cock from his pants. Tried. Failed. I wanted it.

  “It’s going to go like this, Red. Either you do as I say and get on my dick right now, or when I get better, I’m going to tie you to my bed, cane your ass slowly over hours as you cry and scream for me to stop. I’ll record the whole thing and make you watch it as I fuck your mouth, your pussy, your ass; do whatever I want.” His smirk grew. “And I can tell you want that. I see your pulse rising, your skin flushing. I know what I just said turns you on. And I promise you’ll get it. All of it. The difference, though, is that if you disobey me right now, I won’t let you come then or for an entire week after.” He stroked his cock, his palm sliding against the soft skin as he spoke. “It’s up to you. I’m going to fuck you either way. You don’t have a say in that. But do you want to come?”

  I couldn’t look away from him as the threat hung in the air. He would do all those things. The set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes promised me he would. My pussy was already wet just from the way he said it, from the violence I knew churned inside him. Yes, I wanted it, and no, not coming for a week did not sound like a good deal.

  Rising, I shucked my jeans and panties. He followed each movement, a satisfied grin replacing the smirk.

  “You’re an asshole.” I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor.

  “Water is wet. Just like your cunt.” He ran his hand down my ass as I pressed one knee onto the couch. “Mount up, cowgirl.”

  “If this kills you, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “Noted.” He dug his fingertips into my hips and situated me so I straddled him.

  He groaned when I sat on his cock, pinning it between us.

  “Are you okay?” I glanced to the bandage over his chest.

  “No, I’m not okay.” He rocked against me, his cock sliding across my slick skin and creating a buzz in my clit. “Not unti
l I’m inside you.”

  I gripped the couch’s arm behind his head and rubbed my pussy up and down against his hard shaft. He grabbed my left breast and squeezed. Wrapping one hand around my neck, he pulled me down until he could claim my other nipple between his teeth. He bit me, and I gasped and stopped moving.

  “Don’t stop.” A vicious smack on my ass put me into motion again.

  I rode him, my arousal spiraling out of control as he sucked and bit my breasts. He slapped my ass again, the sting like a splash of lighter fluid on a fire. I leaned away from him, and he let me go.

  “I can’t wait.” He pressed his thumb under his cock and pointed it toward me.

  I lifted my left knee to line him up with my entrance. When I slid down on him, his thick cock touching me in all the right places, a shudder of pleasure rocketed through me. I stretched for him, adjusting as he cupped my breasts with his large palms.

  My rhythm started slow, my hips testing the bounds of how deep he could go.

  “Faster. Fuck me.” His gritty voice was accompanied by another hard slap on my ass, then another.

  “Garrett.” I moved faster, keeping him deep and rubbing my clit against him with each stroke.

  Another hard slap ripped a cry from me.

  “Yes.” He hit me again. “Fuck yes.”

  I kept riding him, his strikes crossing the wires on the ticking time bomb of pleasure and pain. His name coated my tongue, and I moaned when he wrapped his palm around my throat and squeezed. Again, he hit the sore spot on my ass, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I chased my orgasm with reckless abandon. I could see it ahead, just outside my vision, taunting me.

  “Fucking hell.” He groaned. “Goddamn.”

  I dug my nails into the couch as filthy words poured from his mouth. Each one like another euphoric slap on my skin.

  “I knew you wanted it the moment I saw you.” He twisted my nipple, then slapped my breast.

  I jerked at the pain, but wanted more. Always more. “Yes.” I purred past his palm as my pussy tensed and he hit my breast again.