The Redemption of Nixon Thorne

by T Steele

  I shake my head, making myself come back to the present as I prepare myself to see just the man I was thinking of. I open the door to the ranger station’s employee entrance, and when I go to sign in this time, Nixon is already there. I try not to stare at him, but then I accidentally make eye contact and hurriedly look away.

  Dammit!

  I have to focus.

  I lean against the wall, staying out of Nixon’s line of sight.

  Winston and Nicole—our co-workers—come in together, and I stand up straight, then we make our way to the Gator. Nicole drives us to Tamolitch.

  Nixon’s arm brushes mine as we sit beside each other in the back, and I pretend not to notice the chills it causes.

  It’s a dreary, cloudy day and I’m so glad I remembered to throw my raincoat in my bookbag in case it starts to rain. When we pull up to the beautiful pool of water, I’m the first one off the Gator, ready to move and leave the awkwardness of sitting so close to Nixon. Not that my body feels that way, though. . .

  Nicole giggles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’ll take the section up by Trailbridge Reservoir today, if that’s okay with you guys?”

  “Sure,” I respond, because what am I supposed to say? If I’m being honest, even if it is awkward, I’d rather it be just Nixon and I alone out here. Nicole and Winston make me uncomfortable. I don’t know if they’re dating or not, but the way Winston always stares at me lustfully creeps me out.

  “You know,” Winstons drawls, “you could join us if you wanted.”

  “Um, no thanks,” I say, and at the same time, Nixon says, “Get the fuck out of here.”

  Winston shrugs, and they drive off.

  I glance over to Nixon, and he’s watching the Gator driving away with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

  Then his eyes meet mine and hold, but I break the stare first, making my way to the trees. We’re supposed to be removing mulch today and picking up trash.

  So, that’s exactly what I start doing, trying my best to ignore him.

  I feel a raindrop here and there and curse inwardly. I’d forgotten my bookbag in the Gator.

  Oh well, a few raindrops never hurt anybody, I think to myself as I continue to get lost in my work. I’ve fixed the mulch on two heavily traveled areas of the trail and gathered an entire bag of trash. I’m just about to call out to Nixon that it’s time to go find Nicole and Winston when thunder crackles overhead, and I glance up at the sky. It’s going to start pouring any moment. What we thought was going to be some slight drizzle turns into an outright downpour. I’m instantly soaked, my clothes heavy and sticking to me. My head whips back and forth, looking for a place for cover.

  “Ella!” Nixon yells, and I find him inside a small alcove near the waterfall.

  I run toward it, my feet suctioning into the wet undergrowth as I go. I step inside the shelter created by the outcropping with a heaving chest and chattering teeth. The rain sounds like drums pounding into the rock outside.

  My eyes meet Nixon’s, and he’s barely wet. My clothes are soaked and clinging to me, leaving little to the imagination. I lean my back against the hard rock wall and start shivering. The rain must have brought in a cold front with it.

  I tilt my head to the side, wringing out the water from my hair. But then I feel exposed, so I cross my arms, trying to cover my pebbled nipples. I continue to shiver, but what’s more uncomfortable is this sexual tension with Nixon. It seems like he takes up all the space inside this tiny alcove. My eyes meet his, and his body is tense, jaw clenched. His eyes dip, lowering to my soaking wet body, and he shudders. Was that revulsion, or is he cold, too? I blush, wondering if he thinks I look disgusting. Wondering if he’s thinking of that kiss we shared. The kiss I can’t stop thinking about. The kiss he stopped and then acted as if he was angry with me, even though he started it. Was he disgusted with me then, too? Or does he know just how inexperienced I truly am? I want to squeeze my eyes shut as I inwardly cringe.

  “You’re nervous.”

  Nixon’s rough voice brings me out of my thoughts, and my eyes fly up to his once more. A muscle tics in his cheek, making his sharp cheekbones look more pronounced.

  “No, I’m not,” I lie.

  He moves closer to me now.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asks.

  “No,” I lie again, teeth chattering. “I’m just fr-freezing.” I don’t necessarily fear him, it’s more like when he’s around none of the brain cells in my head work properly.

  “Most women fear me… or want something else…” he trails off, standing so close that I can feel his body heat.

  I crane my neck back to look at him. “Something else?”

  “Sex,” he says, caging me in with his arms. “Is that what you want from me?” he whispers in my ear, causing my heart to beat so loud I’m afraid he’ll hear it.

  “No.” I try for a strong voice, but it comes out hoarse instead.

  “What a shame. And here I thought I was going to get the chance to be a gentleman for once and warm you up.”

  “I get the feeling you’ve never been considered a gentleman.”

  He smiles viciously, showing a row of pearly white teeth. “Judging a book by the cover, hmm?”

  “N-no. I think you could be a gentleman if you wanted to be. After all, you did give me the shirt off your back, then gave me a ride home. Those are t-two good things right in a row.” I was going for a witty comeback, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t sound that way. I hate that I’m soaking wet and freezing, and that I keep stuttering. It has nothing to do with the giant man looming over me, making me feel things I’ve never felt before. Nope. I’m not even nervous. The only reason I’m acting this way is because of the cold. As I tell myself that in my head, I can almost believe the lie.

  He chuckles darkly. “More lies from the little fox. Tell me, have you ever been as turned on as you are right now, without a man even touching you? Have you ever been touched?” His voice is gruff and deep, reverberating through his chest in a way that if I arched my back the slightest bit, I would’ve felt it.

  “That’s none of your business!” I hiss. “Why do you want to know so badly? And why do you keep bringing up sex? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the one wanting it from me!”

  My chest is heaving, and I don’t even know if what I said is correct, but his scent and close proximity have my mind in a haze. I’m usually quiet and calm, not letting things rile me up, but there’s something about him that makes me want to scream back for once.

  Nixon smiles a predator's smile. “You’re correct.” His eyes are intense as they stare into mine.

  When my eyes dart to his lips, he clenches his jaw. He grips my chin with his thumb and forefinger, and I get the feeling he’s using all his self-control to be gentle with me.

  “Ask me to kiss you,” he whispers.

  God do I want to, but some of my stubbornness still lingers. “You ask me.” My voice was supposed to come out sassy and seductive, but instead, it came out soft and breathy. Like I’m hypnotized, under his spell.

  His face is tight but unreadable. I see his throat bob before he whispers, “For the love of God, please kiss me.”

  I splay my trembling hands on his chest, and glide them up to his neck. My fingers meet and twine at his nape. His skin is so soft there, but I’m not fooled, the rest of him is rough and rugged.

  He’s so tall, I have to crane my head back to look up at him, making me feel incredibly small.

  When our eyes meet and hold, I’m taken aback by the hunger and longing I see there. His arms are still on both sides of my face, not touching me, caging me in against the rock wall, and I finally stand on my toes, and bring his head down to mine. Our lips meet for a chaste kiss before I pull back then stare at him wide-eyed.

  “Fuck,” he groans, before bringing his lips back down to mine, slowly, gently. When his tongue enters my mouth, I hold onto him tighter. This kiss… this kiss is everything, even though it just star
ted, and he’s not even touching me with his hands yet. Our lips move in perfect tandem together, tongues dancing as if we’ve done this a thousand times before, and I let my hands roam, but I’m frustrated. Why is he not touching me?

  Finally, when I arch into him, my breasts flush against his chest, I get the courage to ask the question aloud. “Why aren’t you touching me?”

  He makes this noise in the back of his throat that makes it seem like he’s been deprived of everything good in life until this exact moment.

  He grinds his hips into mine, letting me feel his hardness against my core. I gasp, cheeks flushing.

  “That’s why.”

  We stare at each other, breathless, with heaving chests. His eyes scan my face as if he’s noticing every detail, and I don’t know how to handle a stare this intense. Never has a man stared at me like this. Or if they did, I didn’t notice. But with Nixon, I notice everything.

  “Do you want me to touch you?” His voice is strangled and low, and so addicting that I wish it was a blanket I could wrap myself up in.

  “I-I think so…” I whisper.

  “That’s not consent. You either do or don’t.”

  “Do you want to touch me?” I fire back instead. I’m afraid, but not of him. This is new territory for me, but one thing I do know is that I don’t want him to stop.

  “More than I want my next breath.”

  I smile shyly up at him. “Okay, then touch me.”

  His hands cup my face, big and calloused. He inhales deeply before slamming his lips to mine. His tongue devours my mouth and he frantically lifts me, pressing me against the wall. My thighs clench around him, and I need friction. My breasts feel full and achy as I press them against his chest. He groans.

  He lets my feet slide back down onto the ground, our mouths still connected, and his hand skims along the elastic lining of my leggings.

  “Is this okay?” he asks against my mouth.

  I freeze up and he tenses.

  “Ella,” he whispers my name. “You can tell me no. In fact, maybe you should tell me no…”

  “I-I just know I don’t want to stop feeling this good,” I say truthfully, but it’s hard for me to meet his gaze.

  He grips my chin, making me look him in the eye. “I make you feel good?” he asks.

  I swallow thickly and nod.

  He still has a hold on my chin when his hand slowly glides up my side and cups my breast. I gasp, and he slowly smooths his thumb over my nipple causing my head to fall back.

  “Does that make you feel good?”

  I nod again, unable to form words. My body is tense and loose at the same time, wetness gathers between my thighs, and I clench them together.

  “Can I take this off?” he asks, fingering the hem of my shirt.

  I shake my head frantically, and he retracts his hands as if he touched a hot stove.

  I don’t let people see me. That’s the rules. At least, that’s what my fear demands of me. Fear of what he’ll do if he was to see me without clothes. What would he think? God, I hated thinking like this. Would I ever wake up one day comfortable in my own skin?

  His face looks pained. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

  I bow my head, embarrassed. I ruined things. Again.

  The last man I’d let see my naked body…

  Not every guy is him, my brain tries to reassure me.

  I dare to sneak a peek at Nixon, expecting to see pity or disgust, but instead, his eyes are filled with such hate that I recoil.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  His brows raise and his eyes bore into mine. “Listen to me,” he says. “Don’t ever apologize to someone for saying no.” He brings his hand up to cup my face and gently caresses my cheek.

  I nod, feeling tears rush to my eyes.

  He backs away from me, and I take a deep breath. I didn’t want him to stop touching me… I just didn’t want him to see my body. It felt so juvenile. I’m sure he’s seen tons of naked women, I mean, he oozes sex appeal. He’s noticed everywhere he goes. Nicole looks at him with the same expression that’s likely on my face. But how to tell him that? I barely understand how I feel—how could I possibly explain it to him? I’ve never been good with words. I’d probably end up just putting my foot in my mouth. Anyway, he probably thought something was wrong with me. A pang of sadness rips through me and I force it down. Something I’ve learned to do with this crippling anxiety for years now.

  “Did you want me to stop?” he asks.

  My eyes snap up to his. “No,” I whisper.

  In two long strides, he’s towering over me once more. “I’ll make you feel good. And if you want me to stop, I stop, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He cups my face in his hands, staring down at my face and then he presses his lips gently to mine. He pulls away and then brings his middle finger over my lips.

  “Open,” he says.

  I do, and he pushes his finger inside my mouth.

  “Suck,” he says. “Get it nice and wet.” His voice is smooth and hypnotic. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches me.

  His other hand lightly trails down my stomach and rests at the place between my thighs.

  He starts stroking me through my leggings, tracing the length of me, using just enough friction to cause wetness to pool, but not enough for me to climax.

  My head falls back against the wall once more, mouth opening, but then he moves his hand, pulls down the elastic waistband, and his wet finger gently glides to the inside of my pants. He slides it between my folds, and I bite my lip to hold back my cry of pleasure.

  “Hold on to me,” he says gruffly. “I’ve got you.”

  I cling to him for dear life, and he grips my ass before sliding his big palm down to the back of my knee, pulling my leg up. He starts circling the tiny bundle of nerves at my core slowly, and with the new angle of my legs, I can’t help but buck my hips against his hand.

  “Sorry,” I moan in a strangled voice.

  Nixon leans down, brushing his lips against mine. “Don’t be sorry, it’s hot as fuck. Take what you need from me,” he says silkily.

  His words spur me on, and I arch into him, wanting him to touch my breasts again, but not knowing how to communicate it. He gets the hint, and with my leg still hooked on his forearm, he reaches up to touch my breast. His action causes my legs to spread wider, and then his thumb gently glides over my pebbled nipple through my still wet shirt.

  “Is this still okay?” he asks, his voice uneven and gravelly.

  “Yes.”

  He moves his long fingers further down my folds until they reach my entrance. He slowly inserts a finger inside me and hisses in a breath through his teeth while I moan, causing a slight echo in the cave. I bite my lip hard, trying to suppress it.

  “You’ve never been touched,” he says, as if it’s a confirmed fact.

  “How do you know?” I gasp out as he presses his palm down more firmly on my clit.

  “You’re so tight my finger barely fits inside you,” he grits out, his jaw tight.

  Then, he buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell so good.”

  He runs his tongue along my pulse point, and then the circling movements of his palm starts to speed up while his finger curls into a “come hither” motion.

  “Ahh!” I buck my hips against his palm.

  “You’re so soft,” he says. “I love the way you feel against me.”

  I feel the fire start low in my belly. It’s something new I’ve never felt before, but I know it’s the start of my orgasm. My head whips back and forth, and my hips start bucking frantically. I convulse around his hand, and the feeling really can be described as bliss. Like an explosion of sensation, yet my mind goes completely blank and is only aware of the euphoria.

  When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me so softly, reverently. He slowly lets my leg drop and runs his fingers through my hair soothingly.

  “You’re so
beautiful when you cum,” he says, voice deep.

  I feel a blush grace my cheeks, and he gives me a smoldering half-smile as he takes his hands out of my pants and then surprises me by bringing his finger—the same finger that was inside me—to his mouth.

  His eyes flutter when he tastes it, as if his finger had been dipped into sugary frosting.

  “Addicting,” he murmurs.

  I stare at him wide-eyed, and he gives me a full, satisfied smile and chuckles darkly. “If you’ll allow it, I’d like to use my mouth next time.”

  I can’t even form a response, only continue to stare at him as he walks to the entryway of the alcove.

  “Rain finally stopped,” Nixon says nonchalantly.

  When I pick my mouth up off the ground... and my pants, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “We’re expected to get at least 41 more inches of rain this year,” I say, then inwardly cringe. What a weird thing to say after your first orgasm, Ella.

  He raises a brow. “How do you know?”

  “I Google a lot of random facts,” I say with a shrug.

  “What’s another random fact I should know?”

  “If a polar bear and a grizzly bear mate, their offspring would be called a ‘pizzly bear’.”

  He purses his lips, and I don’t know if he’s trying not to laugh or if he thinks I’m an idiot. I go to say more, but then Nicole and Winston pull up in the Gator.

  “Sorry, guys! We were hoping you didn’t get too wet.” She eyes me sheepishly, noticing my drenched clothing. “Sorry, Ella.”

  “I’m not,” Winston says, eyeing me appreciatively, and I tense.

  Before anyone can respond, Nixon steps in front of me. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he says fiercely.

  Winston raises his palms. “Chill dude. Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”