by Vivien Vale
I can only be thankful that in that one, singular instant, I actually took care of myself.
I kicked Adam so hard in his balls that I hope I turned his voice back to a prepubescent state.
Adam isn’t a man. Men don’t disrespect women like that. It’s deplorable.
And I know for certain that when I get back, I’m making my abuse known. I’m going to tell the whole world about how Adam tried to rape me.
I want to keep this fire he’s lit in me going, but as I stare down at the tattered remains of my gown again, all I can do is weep. I can’t even reach behind my back to take it off—after the car crash, my shoulder is too bruised for me to move my arm in that way.
As I wallow, the doorknob turns, and I hear a CREAK.
For a dumb, stupid second I’m afraid that it’s Adam, come to make sure that I’m wearing some form of this awful fucking wedding dress for the rest of my life.
But duh. Of course it’s not. It’s just Jack, his cheekbones tinged pink with cold and frost in his beard.
“Everything alright?” Jack asks, his brow furled and his mouth slightly agape, breathing in the warm cabin air after being out in the cold.
“Puh…Peachy,” I lie. Badly.
How the heck can I impose my troubles on this poor man? He’s already accommodated me for so much. But reading his face, he’s not buying my answer.
“Avery, I’ve carried you out of a burning car,” he says, shrugging his coat off and throwing his gloves on the floor next to his boots. “I’ve given you a place to rest, a place to sleep, and all my damn pancakes. I think we’ve established that anything you need, I can provide,” he assures me.
I take a deep breath. How far into this do I go?
Do I tell him about Adam? About my attack? Should he know why I was speeding up the side of the mountain?
It’s all so much, and even though he’s offered to help, I just can’t impose like that.
But since he asked…
“I need…a favor, ” I start.
“Alright,” he responds. His arms are now crossed and he’s waiting for my request, his brow still furled in expectation.
“I need you to take off my dress,” I say before he can rescind his offer.
I’m not fast enough.
“Nope,” Jack grunts, shaking his head. “I ain’t dumb, Avery. That’s bait.”
Bait for what?! This freaking man is so infuriating sometimes. I’m annoyed that I even asked now—but since I have, I might as well see it through.
“Please,” I beg him. “I can barely stand, let alone reach my arm behind to unfasten these clasps. Also, I think some of the embroidery beads melted together when the car was on fire, and now they’re stuck. I just can’t do it alone. You have to help me.”
Jack just stares at me for a little bit. I can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think of a way out of this.
Gosh. Men have been offering to take my clothes off for most of my freaking life. In Adam’s case, he didn’t even ask. And now the one time I actually ask a man to undress me, he’s looking for a way out?
Gee, thanks, Jack. That’s like, soooo flattering.
“I haven’t ever had a lady living here,” Jack warns me. Which, wow. He’s been up here for a while now, and he’s never had female company? My gaydar is usually pretty spot on—and I don’t get the sense Jack swings that way—so what gives? “I don’t have other clothes for you to wear once this comes off.”
“I don’t care,” I respond sternly. The tears are still rolling down my cheeks, and my voice now shaky from the anger that’s manifested in me. “I’d rather be out of this dress, stark naked, than have to sit in it another moment. I just don’t have it in me to bear it any longer.”
I see Jack surrender with his body before he does it with his mouth. It comes in a huge, heavy sigh, his massive shoulders slumping forward like he’s bowing down to my will.
Pretty sexy, honestly.
Not that I’d tell him that.
“Okay, then. Come here,” he says.
He meets me just in front of the fire. I can tell he’s keeping himself just a little bit away from me, but I come in closer and rest my body weight against his.
Beside us, Buck wags his tail and hangs his tongue out of his mouth, blissfully oblivious to how much this means to me as Jack wraps his arms around me and captures a clasp in his fingers.
“I have a garter belt that needs to come off too,” I add, last minute.
Jack gives me a narrow look, but he makes good on it. He squats down on his feet and lifts my dress to the frilly, white garter belt wrapped around my thigh. His fingers graze my skin gently, and I shudder.
The warmth from the fire really has me feeling…different.
“These too?” he asks. There’s something dark in his gaze as his fingers trail further north on my thigh and brush against the waistband of my panties.
They’re white lace wedding panties.
I nod.
“Those too.”
I see a flashing image of Jack’s tongue all over my pussy as he pulls my panties off of me.
My pussy now exposed to him and his breath running hot against it makes me wish I could just push myself forward against his face. But I can’t. I won’t. It’s not proper…
Even if I wish it was.
Jack brings himself back up and moves behind me slowly. His fingers graze the top of my back as he goes to reach for the clasps of my dress. His touch sends a shiver down my spine.
My heart beats faster and faster as he starts pulling the clasps free, one at a time. I bring my hand over the front of my dress to hold the top in place as he continues unlatching each little hook.
The last one stops right at the top of my ass. He unfastens it and wraps his arms around my waist, almost as if he’s admiring my body as much as I wish he would right now.
His hands move up, hovering over my breasts. He takes his fingers under the seam at the top of the gown and starts gently tugging it down.
Jack lowers the fabric off of my chest, exposing my perky, round breasts to the warmth of his cabin. The heat travels along my body as he pulls it down slowly.
The dress slides off of my hips and my bottom, exposing my ass and pussy to the cabin as well. The thrill of the sudden reveal has me all but climbing all over Jack to get a piece of him. I can’t tell if it’s the mountain air, the fire, or the way his hands feel all over my body, but I want him to take me.
Jack stands up, holding the gown in his hands. He gestures it to me.
“Where do you want this?” he asks. I snatch it right from his hand and toss it right into the fire.
That piece of shit can burn.
Chapter 9
Jack
The fire in Avery’s eyes is burning stronger than the remains of that fucking gown. It’s her way of freeing herself from whatever emotional prison she’s locked herself in. I support that shit heavily, even if I don’t necessarily practice it myself.
I know she deserves true happiness. Whatever marriage she was running away from, she wasn’t going to find it there. If she thought she was, she wouldn’t fucking be here.
But that happiness isn’t here either. I don’t know Avery all that well yet, but I can be damn sure I know that much.
She’s in my cabin, eating my food and under my protection, but despite all that, this woman still remains a mystery.
And if we know what’s good for us, we’ll keep it that way.
As embers fly out of the fireplace from the massive dress, I turn to her. She’s staring hard into that fire, figuring herself out in the process.
I know I shouldn’t touch. I know damn well that if I put my hands on this girl, there’s going to be more than just putting hands that follows.
But a hungry dog knows that he ain’t supposed to nose his way into the fridge and devour Christmas dinner, too.
Doesn’t fucking stop him from doing it anyway.
I move my arm over her, just placing
my hand against her shoulder to comfort a new friend. That’s what I tell myself: we’re friends. I’ve made it my responsibility to ensure this woman is safe. And right now, safe just means giving her some reassurance that everything is going to be okay.
Avery looks to me when my hand touches her body. She’s caught off guard, but not put off or scared. She gives me a small smile. Forced, but given the circumstances, it will do.
I’m doing my best not to draw attention to her…physique. It’d be rude of me as a stranger or a friend to think of her as anything more than another human being right now, especially when she’s in a position where she actively needs my help. I don’t want her to think I’m taking advantage of her in time of her vulnerability.
Even if the fucking monster in me wants to. Christ, the monster in me is clawing up my insides and howling at the door at the sight of a single inch of her bare, supple skin.
I can’t help it. I don’t know if it’s pure instinct or the unavoidable attraction that every man must have to her, but my eyes keep wandering. Part of me is ashamed.
The part that’s left is just grateful.
Her body is beautiful.
Perfect lips, pouted out as she clenches her jaw.
Perfect for suckin’, the monster inside me growls.
I shut him out as my eyes linger on her breasts. I try to look at her the way my mother taught me to look at art—objectively, but with an appreciation for her fucking beauty.
She has perfect tits. Big and full—a woman’s tits, even though the rest of her is as fragile and delicate as a doll. Peachy pink nipples standing erect in indignation, the areolas flushed in the firelight. A woman’s nipples. Firm and perky and fertile. Just the right color to catch a baby’s eye, draw its mouth near so it can latch on.
Or a man’s mouth, the monster pipes up.
I squash the damn thing beneath my mental thumb.
Her pussy. Her pussy is beautiful. Hairless—must have waxed before the big day. But I can imagine it with hair on those pretty little pussy lips too. Blonde as the hair on her head. Pretty little curls, like molten gold in the light of the fire’s flames.
Before the monster inside me finds some way to ruin that too, I broaden my gaze, taking in the full picture, and realize she’s filthy. Gasoline, motor oil, smoke and blood stain this poor girl’s skin.
“Bath,” I grunt. “Might be nice to get the day washed off you.”
“More like the week,” she laughs in reply.
Her whole body shakes when she laughs. I can’t help but stare.
“Can do,” I respond, turning and getting out of that fucking room before I hold her down on the floorboards and rut with her right there in front of the fire.
“Thank you, Jack!” she calls after me. Her voice is so sweet and angelic. It’s almost second nature to care for her.
I’ve got a big, old fashioned claw foot tub. Traded it for ten pounds of deer jerky at a swap meet about three years ago. I fill it up with every last drop of my hot water reserve. I’ll have more soon enough. For now, Avery needs it more than I do.
While the steam rises up out of the water, I pour in some oils. Lavender and jasmine. I bought them in case Mom ever wanted to come up here, but then I never fucking invited her. Because, of course I fucking didn’t.
If I was inviting people up to my isolation cabin, then I wouldn’t be alone.
Once the tub is filled and ready, I fetch her.
“This way,” I say. I lead her through my home to the back corner. There are several windows that open up to the slope of the mountain. Hell, if I squint through the blizzard, I can even see Avery’s car crash from here. But for the most part, it’s just the great outdoors in all their winter majesty.
I hold her hand as she goes to step into the tub. She lifts her leg and writhes in pain. As she grips her thigh, she squints and winces.
“I’m not sure I can get in here, Jack,” she explains. “I know it’s asking a lot, but…could you pick me up and help me in?”
I make a small sound in the back of my throat as I try not to stare at her gorgeous, bruised body and wind up staring just the same.
“Sure,” I rasp. “I can do that.”
Idiot. Of course she can’t climb into this huge bathtub on her own. Even if she wasn’t bruised to all hell, she’d end up getting stuck with one leg over the edge, rubbing that sweet little cunt of hers against it while she tried to swing the other leg over and…
I need to stop thinking.
Just do.
I’m not sure why I’m so bent out of shape about this. She doesn’t seem like a girl who has any interest in a big, burly, under-groomed man like me.
I do my best to shake my trepidation and guide Avery’s arms around my shoulders. She links her hands together behind me. I slide my hand under her bare bottom and gently lift her body into my arms.
“This okay?” I pause.
I look down to Avery and she nods. She gives me a look of sheer trust and comfort.
I have to admit, I haven’t felt the need or the want for companionship. I’ve been with women in the past. If I’ve missed it, I’ve shut that shit down too fast to notice.
On my routine trips to town, there are always couples walking about. I notice them, sure. But have I ever desired what they have?
Not really.
It’s more than just wanting, though. It’s reality. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of another human succumbing to a whole fucking lifetime with my shitty fucking self.
So why the fuck do I still feel shaken by Avery? Maybe it’s just that she’s the first person I’ve seen that I feel I can truly help. The demons of my past still fucking haunt me, but maybe I can redeem some of my former self by saving her.
All of this races through my mind as I lower Avery into the tub. She moans ever so slightly at the sensation of the hot water against her soft skin. It’s melodic.
“Too hot?” I ask.
Makes me remember some of my old flings. Wouldn’t even sleep in the same bed as me during the summer. Oh, Jack! they’d whine. No way. You’re too hot, you’re burning up! Call me in December and we’ll talk, okay?
“It’s perfect,” she assures me. “I’m always so cold…I’m impressed you got it hot enough.”
“You’re thin,” I point out. Like a fucking idiot. “Probably why.”
“Yeah,” Avery laughs. “Mommy—uh. I mean, my mother. She had me on a pretty strict diet before the wedding. No fat, no carbs, no protein.”
“Fuck did you eat, then?”
Avery blushes. “Vitamins and water. And salt.”
“I’m making you more fucking pancakes,” I say without even thinking about it. Christ. Now I really feel like even more of a jackass. No wonder she wolfed those down so fast.
“Jack?” She looks to each side as if she isn’t sure what to do next.
“Need something?” I ask.
I sound so fucking eager, hopping to attention like I am for this girl, you’d think I was back in the fucking military again.
“You’re not gonna like it,” she warns me. “You’re doing more than I deserve already.”
“Want to help,” I respond.
I can’t even form complete fucking sentences right now, I want to help so bad.
“Well,” she says with hesitation. “I’m just so sore. I don’t think I can do this alone,” she continues. “Would you possibly be able to stay in here and…wash me?”
My cock salutes this fucking girl through my pants like she’s the goddamn stars and stripes. Not only have I been unable to keep my eyes off her, now she needs me to touch her body.
My rough, rugged hands are only used to making shit dirty. Blackening up everything I touch with my bad decisions and my fucking mistakes.
And sweet little Avery wants me to somehow use them to make her clean.
“I can do that,” I say, nodding.
I’m trying my best not to show how nervous I am or how quickly my heart is thrashing
beneath my breastbone. Thank God I’m already sweating, or she’d notice that too.
It could turn bad if she gets the wrong idea about what I’m trying to do. Don’t want her to get the wrong idea.
Because the wrong idea is exactly what I’m having as I roll up my sleeves.
She leans forward, and I take the sponge from the stand next to the tub. I dunk it into the warm, soapy water. I squeeze it out and place it gently on her back. I rub it around in a circle on her skin to lather it and get some of the dirt off.
She takes a deep breath and exhales at the warm water hitting her back. I continue to rub the sponge against her body. I take my time and am careful as possible to not discomfort her.
She’s relaxed as I make my way over her arms and legs.
But then come the problem areas. Her…chest. I can’t think of her breasts as breasts right now, though they’re big enough and womanly enough that it’s hard to think of them as anything but. Still, breasts need to be cleaned too. So does her, uh…
Her lower half.
She looks up at me expectantly and I take a deep breath.
Ten years without a woman and fucking now, of all times, it’s like I have no fucking restraint.
I bring the sponge over her breasts and lather her up. As contact is made with them, they jiggle in the water.
I swallow, but my throat is dry. I’m really not sure how I’m supposed to do this. It’s been so long since I’ve even looked at a woman. Let alone allowed myself to have any desire to please her. But the way Avery moans as the sponge grazes her tits, I’m questioning her intentions.
There’s one place left untouched…her pussy. I look at her face as my hand lowers down her stomach. I pause before I can get all the way down.
“Jack…I’m dirty,” she says shakily. She turns her chin up at me and there’s an entirely different look on her face.
It may have been a long time, but as I haven’t forgotten what that look means. There’s no mistaking how she feels right now: desire.
I recognize the look, because I might be going to Hell for it, but I’m feeling it too.
