Claiming His Valentine

by Lauren Milson

  A hear a whoosh of air. It’s like the air being let out of a hot air balloon as the flame keeping it afloat is extinguished quickly, as though all the propane has run out. Like someone didn’t pack enough for the balloon ride.

  Like someone wasn’t prepared.

  I scramble to my knees and my hand flies to the back of my neck. Now I can feel something. I can feel the imprint of his hand where he grabbed me.

  But otherwise I seem okay. And my heart has slowed down. I didn’t realize it before, when I was on the ground, but I wasn’t breathing.

  I suck in my first breath of clean, pure, cold air, filling my lungs completely.

  The sounds behind me continue. The whooshing of air and a few desperate grunts. But I don’t know exactly what is happening. I can’t work it out from just the sounds.

  I look over my shoulder.

  And I see who the guy who grabbed me was talking to. I see why he was grunting in pain.

  The guy who grabbed me is kneeling on the ground, his lip busted open, his fingers coming to his mouth and then down so he can see the bright red blood streaked against his hand. He keeps doing it like he doesn’t realize what’s happened. He doesn’t realize what’s happening.

  And standing above him, a man is pointing a rifle right between his eyes.

  “Go.”

  The man with the rifle growls. He growls and my insides flip. The guy on the ground puts his hands up above his head like he’s a criminal who’s been caught by the police.

  He is a criminal, but I don’t know who the man with the rifle is.

  He came out of nowhere.

  “I. Said. Go. You are trespassing on my property, and I have every fucking right to blow you away right now.”

  My assaulter nearly whimpers. His body drops down and he puts his hands on the ground. He keeps them there, head hung, shameful.

  The man with the rifle keeps his target. He keeps his rifle trained between my assaulter’s eyes.

  “Now.”

  I feel my eyebrows knit together and my mouth pull open slightly. My lips feel chapped and dry, but warmth somehow spreads inside me.

  I feel his presence around me. I can feel his energy. He isn’t looking at me; he still has his eyes squared intently on the man on the ground with the busted lip.

  But I can feel his eyes shift, as though he wants to look at me.

  And god, do I want him to.

  I want to see the eyes of the man who saved me.

  Like a crushed bug, the man who attacked me scrambles backward on his hands and knees, then pops up, and starts off in the opposite direction. He runs away from us. He can’t get away fast enough. It’s as though a lightbulb has gone off in his head and he knows to get the hell out of here.

  He clutches his fake rifle as he runs.

  The man who saved me puts his very real looking rifle over his shoulder.

  I gasp, needing air.

  What the hell just happened?

  My savior adjusts his gaze, his eyes trailing over the landscape between us, but only after my attacker is out of sight. Only after we can no longer hear the cracking of ice under his feet, only after the hint of his bright vest vanishes into the distance.

  This man left in front of me is beautiful. And it’s not just his face or his body. It’s the way he walks, the way he moves.

  The way he just appeared out of nowhere.

  And then, out of the shadows of the trees and the subtle beginnings of glistening moonlight on the white snow, the woods that haven’t been touched, the paths that haven’t yet been walked on, his shifts and moves toward me, and I see his eyes.

  I finally see his eyes.

  And there is concern in them, and fear, yes...I can see fear in his eyes, from this man who doesn’t look like he’s been threatened in his life, who is big enough to flick anyone away from him with a finger, who can pick me up and make me feel light as a feather if he wanted to. There is fear in his eyes, but it’s more. It’s wanting and desire, and it’s…

  It’s something else, too.

  Why is he looking at me like that?

  And I feel my heart clench and then heat sweep through my entire body. I swallow thickly.

  His eyes burn into me.

  I want him.

  And I’m almost speechless.

  “Aren’t...aren’t you cold?” I stutter.

  It’s all I can think to say. It sounds so silly, I know that the moment I say it, but it’s the only thing that comes out.

  Because now I can feel. I can feel again. And I can feel that I am very, very cold.

  He steps closer to me and I expect him to put his hand out to help me up, but instead he wraps his arms under me and lifts me up the way I knew he could, the way I wanted him to, placing me back down on my feet softly, and when I land, I still feel lighter than air.

  “You’re shivering,” he says, unwinding his scarf from his neck. I bow my head as he puts it around my neck, nestling it into the hood of my coat, under my chin. His fingers brush against my neck as he moves to keep me warm. And I can’t explain it, but a pulse of warm energy radiates through me.

  It’s the same one I felt when I saw his eyes for the first time. When he looked at me.

  When he saw me.

  My head is swimming with something unknown, something I can’t name...I can’t even describe it.

  “You know you’re trespassing on my property, don’t you?”

  His voice comes out as almost a whisper, but I can hear him loud and clear. His voice is deep and domineering, and the idea that I’m somewhere I’m not supposed to be - that I should never have gotten into this mess, should never have been rescued by this big, big man, makes me nearly quiver with apprehension.

  But it’s delicious.

  “I was playing this game,” I begin to explain. “It’s this thing they do every year. That we do, I mean. Well, not every year. This is my second year. I -”

  “Stop talking,” he says taking a step toward me, pulling me into him quietly, with just his words. “Just. Stop.”

  I nearly gasp as he puts his finger under my chin, his gaze piercing right through me, sending heat spearing between my legs. I feel my thighs clench up involuntarily as he slowly tips my chin up, his eyes scanning my face, from my eyes to my lips and back again.

  I struggle to breathe, and I feel the muscles inside my neck tense up as I swallow thickly, struggling to find something to say.

  But he did tell me to stop talking.

  I guess I can’t help but obey him.

  He scans my face again. But then he allows his eyes to go lower. He scans down to my chest, my belly, even my legs, and even though I’m bundled up in my warmest coat and boots, I feel like he is really seeing me, and like he wants me.

  I feel my lip pull between my bottom teeth and I bite down gently to keep myself from whimpering right here.

  My body turns warmer and warmer with each passing second, with each lazy, intense, hard, soft movement of his eyes over the features of my face, my curves that are hidden just under my winter clothes.

  He slips one warm, strong hand behind my neck, the tenderness in his touch making me feel crazy.

  “What is your name, sweetness?” he asking softly, in his intoxicating, sweet voice.

  “It’s Valoria.”

  “Val,” he says. “That’s a beautiful name, Valoria.”

  Oh, the way he says my name makes it sound so different. It sounds like someone else’s name. The way he says it makes me feel like I’m a different person.

  “It means brave,” he says, pushing the pads of his fingers into the back of my neck, so softly, but with an intensity that makes me wet.

  “I know,” I say. My voice is small, meek. I don’t feel brave. I don’t feel like I have to stand up to adversity or that I have to push myself or sacrifice or struggle.

  I feel like I have to give myself over to this man. I feel hopelessly drawn to him.

  And it is not scary. It feels inevitable. Like the
only thing in the world that makes sense. The only thing in the world that’s ever made sense.

  Behind him, I see the start of a fresh snowfall dotting the sky, falling between the trees, and the snowflakes finally completing their journey, falling around us and drifting slowly to the ground.

  “I think your little game is over,” he says. “It’s dark. Everyone’s gone. And I don’t know if you’ll be able to get back to the camp on time.”

  My heart flutters into my chest.

  What is he saying?

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back on time, either,” I say. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  His chest rises and falls, his shirt pulled taught inside his coat, stretching against his broad chest.

  “You are coming with me,” he growls. I feel a few snowflakes flutter against my eyelashes. “You’re coming with me.”

  His fingers trail around from behind my neck and around to the front, under the scarf he’s pulled onto me.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  4

  Cole

  Her name echoes through my mind.

  Valoria.

  It’s not what I was expecting. Though, I didn’t know what to expect. I never imagined what her name could be. She doesn’t need a name. There’s nothing she should be called except sweetness, love, my pretty.

  But Valoria fits her. It is her.

  My Val.

  Her face is like pure white silk. Her hair is like cornsilk blonde, pure and made by nature, no, by something supernatural, from another world. And her eyes. They are infinite pools of light blue, flecked with gold and green. Supernatural.

  And her lips. Red, cherry red, Valentine’s Day red. Pure red. They make my heart beat faster, they make my blood pump harder.

  I want to kiss them, press my fingers between them and tease her, give her a taste of what she is going to feel between her lips, between her thighs.

  She is so innocent but with so much confidence. She looks like she doesn’t need a man. She is out here on her own.

  On the most romantic day of the year, she chose to come out here alone. Alone in a crowd of rowdy young idiot guys, alone in a group.

  She stuck out like a sore fucking thumb. There was a target on her back.

  But it’s not her fault. She is too innocent to think anyone could do harm to her.

  And they won’t.

  Not now that I have her.

  I reach down and grasp her wrist firmly, but softly. Her sweet lips part and her eyebrows knit in the middle as she gasps, her eyes flying up to mine.

  “Did I hurt you, sweetness?” I ask, pulling my hand away and taking both of her mittened hands in mine.

  “No,” she breathes, “I just...I wasn’t expecting that.”

  I need to control myself, because I need to be gentle with her. But she makes me feel like a fucking savage; I want to take her right fucking now, and I wouldn’t feel cold for a second. All I would feel is here; all there would be is her.

  But I don’t want to hurt her for a second.

  I am hard as a steel rod. I picture myself telling her - commanding her - to get down on her knees and open up her sweet little mouth for me, to take me all the way, to taste me.

  She isn’t hurt. When I look down at her, it is clear. I can’t hurt her.

  She wants me. Her eyes say it, her lips say it. I can sense her desire in the air around us. She is wet for me, and my touch merely confirmed what she already knew.

  I can’t get her back to my home fast enough. I should pick her up and carry her along the trail up to my house, along the path cut through the trees.

  I should throw her over my fucking shoulder and smack her on the ass, tell her she has been a very bad girl and she shouldn’t have been on my property, shouldn’t have been out all alone on Valentine’s Day.

  I should never have seen her on those fucking security monitors. I should have had her in my bed with my face buried between her legs, consuming every part of her, making every inch of her perfect skin prickle beneath the touch of my hands, my lips, my kiss.

  She should already be my Val.

  But we continue on, silently, the desire and want in the air between us thick and heavy and undeniable, and the snow falls between us and brightens up the space between us.

  If I were a romantic, it’d be the most romantic moment of my life.

  She is a romantic. I can see it in the glimmer of her eye when she looks up into the sky and then turns her head to see me, and then closes her eyes and smiles, her eyelashes tickling her skin.

  I keep my hand locked onto her wrist, holding her firmly as I guide us up to my home. It is getting colder by the moment, and the snow is starting to become heavier.

  My house is nestled into the side of a rocky hill in the Northern California woods, above the power lines and looking down over the beautiful terrain. I chose this house on purpose. I chose this land on purpose. I don’t get a lot of company up here.

  I haven’t ventured out in a long time. I’m able to go into town a few times a week if I want a drink at the local bar, and I have a staff that takes care of everything around the house, from cleaning to cooking to grocery shopping. I don’t have to leave the property if I don’t want to.

  And I haven’t wanted to.

  I haven’t wanted company.

  I haven’t wanted companionship in a long time.

  Not since…

  My house appears at the top of a small set of wooden stairs cutting the distance from the narrow dirt road up to the path to the house.

  It has everything I need. Everything I’ll ever need. Everything Val will ever need, too.

  Valoria instinctively grabs onto one of the banisters flanking the stairs, and I grab her by the waist from behind, helping her keep her footing as I guide her up. Because of the snow I’ve let my staff have off for the day, and though they were supposed to come back tomorrow, I think I’ll tell them to take a paid day or a few off.

  I need some time alone with Val.

  Her hips move and sway as I let her walk ahead of me to my house. She looks so natural walking toward my home, the modest-looking cabin from the outside and adorned with luxury on the inside.

  And no one will hurt her again. I have the best security in this place, and I’m the only one who will lay a hand on her ever again.

  We get to my front door and her eyes trail up my home, taking in the view. The tall, magnificent trees around the home shoot up to the sky as the snow continues to fall harder and land on her perfect face.

  “You live here?” she says, leaning softly against the door.

  I cannot help myself for another moment, and I step toward her, erasing the distance between us in one fast motion, taking her face in my hands and crushing her lips with mine.

  I am like rock when I feel her soft tongue move against mine, her soft lips kissing me with as much want and desperation as I feel growing inside my body.

  I press my thumb against the side of her cheek and she moans, and I move to pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her back, pressing her hard against the wall. Her legs give out softly and I pull her up, putting my large, steady hands under her small, curvy ass. I want to feel her skin, and as I push myself against her, she opens her mouth wider, moaning into me as I press my cock up against her.

  My Val sighs and wraps her legs around my waist, throwing her arms around my neck.

  “You won’t ever be alone on Valentine’s day again,” I whisper into her ear, pressing my lips against her skin.

  Val.

  My Val.

  My Valentine.

  We disentangle from our kiss and she floats down to the ground until her feet are planted firmly, standing before me.

  I’ve wanted her for a fucking year. I thought about her every day. I never touched myself while thinking of her, though. It wouldn’t have been right. She is too perfect, and I didn’t want to spoil it.

  I’ve never wanted something for so long. Everything
I want, I take. I claim what I want. I don’t ask, and I don’t take no for an answer. There is no answer, because I don’t ask a lot of questions.

  But she has been the exception. She is the one thing I’ve been unable to have. Because I locked myself away.

  But I have been away for too long. For too damn long.

  And now I can make her mine.

  5

  Valoria

  Have I completely lost my mind?

  I can feel his hardness against me when he picks me up and presses me against the wall. I want him to reach down and push his hand between my legs and touch me there.

  But I should tell him the truth.

  I should tell him that I’ve never done this before.

  Any of it. I’ve never done anything but kissed a guy before.

  He must know that I’m young. It’s dark outside, but I’m barely twenty-one years old. He can tell that I’m young.

  He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

  And I want this. It feel so right.

  It is so wrong. Screw what’s right and wrong, though. It feels good.

  He puts me down and my feet hit the ground softly, though I feel as though I could fall over. I am lightheaded, and completely intoxicated by him.

  Who is he? Who the hell is this man?

  I feel something for him. I don’t know him, but I feel like I do know him. I know how he looked at me, how he is looking at me, how he saved me from danger, I know that I was traipsing around on his property, breaking the law, trespassing, and he could have come outside shaking his fist and yelling for us to get off his damn lawn, but he didn’t. He came out of nowhere and positively rescued me, and then he didn’t just leave me.

  He took me. He claimed me.

  And now I’m on fire for him.

  Before I know it, his mouth is on mine again, our lips and tongues crushing against each other’s furiously, and I am aching for him, aching with need - not just want, but need - and need him to slip his fingers down and touch me.

  For the first time.

  To feel his fingers against my untouched skin, and...and more of him. I don’t know what it will be like.