Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It)

by Callie Harper

  “You should really market these!” I overheard her saying. “I know a ton of shops in L.A. that would love to sell your stuff.”

  “Is that right?” Benny sounded impressed and pleased. Fuck, she was winning people over left and right.

  “Oh, yeah. You could sell so much more.”

  Sell out was more like it. I grumbled to myself in the back. Benny didn’t know what he’d be trading. Moving on up always required leaving something behind. They’d make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Then later he’d find out in fine print: he’d get to keep ten percent of the profits, but only if he legally changed his name to The Fame! Network. He didn’t know how cutthroat these kinds of people could get.

  “How are you enjoying your stay in Watson?” Now Harriet was getting into the mix, playing the charming hostess. I paced in back like a tiger in a cage.

  “It’s a gorgeous town,” Violet cooed. “And the food here is so good!” I grumbled. Who’d been taking her out to eat? I’d put money on it fire warden Tom had elected himself for the job.

  “We want to get her out on a sleigh ride tonight,” the mayor chimed in. Apparently the whole goddamned town was in our shop. “It’s going to be a full moon. We’ve got some fresh snow. It’s not supposed to be too windy.”

  “Perfect night for it,” Harriet agreed.

  Sleigh rides, my ass. How touristy could you get? I knew a family-owned farm down the way that offered them up to New Yorkers and the like. I think they charged about a hundred bucks for a half hour and the out-of-towners thought they were getting a bargain.

  “Tom’s going to see about finding a sleigh,” Marty explained.

  “I’ll take her.” The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. I emerged from the back of the shop, my thumbs hooked through the belt loops of my jeans, my jaw firmly set.

  “Oh, hey, Heath! Didn’t know you were there!” Mayor Marty greeted me. “You’ll take Violet on a sleigh ride tonight? OK, then!”

  Violet looked at me in surprise, her mouth open.

  “Why don’t you pick her up at eight?” Marty suggested.

  Looked like we had a date.

  §

  I picked her up at eight, feeling like I should be wearing a light blue tux and holding a corsage. I’d try to pin it to her and poke her in the boob. She opened the door looking about as comfortable as I did, her mouth set in a grim line of determination. Let’s do this.

  “The farm’s not far away,” I told her as we climbed into my truck. “Should only take us about ten minutes to get there. We can go for a quick ride and then I’ll get you home.” Because that was how I sweet-talked the ladies, telling them the date wouldn’t take long.

  She nodded, saying nothing.

  Good, it was easier that way. It was difficult enough sitting that close to her in the cab of my truck, smelling her unique vanilla and honey scent, remembering how she’d climbed up on my lap on this exact seat. I didn’t need to add to it hearing her voice, the light burst of her laughter, the way she teased me like she knew me all too well. Better to sit in silence.

  We got to the family farm soon enough, and Steve rigged us up in a sleigh straight out of a Victorian era romance. He even gave us a couple of wool blankets with a wink.

  “You keep each other warm now, you hear?”

  I grumbled and grudgingly took them.

  “You know where to go, Heath? Up and over the pastures? We’ve got a path through the woods, then the orchard.”

  “Yeah, got it.” I knew the whole area well, just like everyone who lived out here. Now I was about to show all its treasures to Violet.

  Steve and I hitched up the horse. We climbed up into the sleigh and settled ourselves on the bench. I unfolded the blankets and put them over our laps. Just doing what I’d been told. Violet took out a knit wool hat and pulled it down over her head.

  “You buy that in L.A.?” I had to tease. A pom pom on top, braids hanging down from the ear flaps and reindeer knit all around it in a pattern, I knew she had to have bought it in town.

  “I got it from Sally,” she said, crossing her arms against her chest and looking forward. Not. Flirting.

  “First name basis, are we?”

  “I’m getting to know people here, yes.”

  “Like Tom?”

  “Yes, like Tom. And others. You might be surprised to know not everyone hates me.”

  “They don’t understand what you’re selling the way I do.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot. You alone see through me and understand my wicked ways.”

  I flicked the reigns and made a click, letting the horse know we were ready. Steve waved at us from his front door as we headed off. The horse seemed to know the way well. He barely needed any encouragement.

  The night settled in around us, quiet and clear. The full moon lit up the winter landscape, making the snow glitter and glow. During the daytime, birds chirped and cars passed. But tonight, we had it all to ourselves.

  We set out across the pasture, the only sound the clop of the horse in the windless night. To the right, the Mad River lay in a frozen twist, black and glassy where the snow had been blown away. One of the covered bridges for which Vermont was famous stretched out ahead, the old wood painted a bright red each year.

  “I love those covered bridges,” Violet murmured, almost as if she were speaking to herself.

  “Vermont has more than any other state.”

  “Really? And are they just decorative? Or is there a reason for them?”

  “A bridge lasts longer if it’s covered up. Winters are harsh here. A bridge gets eaten up in ten, fifteen years if it’s not covered.”

  “They’re like little farmhouses you can drive through,” she marveled.

  I could feel the warmth of her next to me on the sleigh, underneath the blankets. The horse was tame enough I could hold the reigns with one hand and free up an arm to wrap around her, bring her closer. But I didn’t. I used both hands to guide the horse onto a path through the woods, cleared wide enough for the sleigh.

  I wasn’t a religious man, but something about the woods at night always struck me. Surrounded by the crystal quiet, the ancient oaks and maples and pines stretching their way up to the sky, it reminded you how small you were. How insignificant your troubles were, in comparison with the great world beyond.

  “It’s so beautiful here.” Violet sounded amazed, her breath making a visible puff in the chilly air.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  I nodded. I knew I could tease her, could easily fall back into the banter we’d used to interact up until now. But somehow my heart wasn’t in it. She sounded so sincere.

  “It’s almost like a church,” she went on, surprising me. “Like a really old one with high, arching ceilings.” She looked up as she spoke, gazing at the bower of tree limbs overhead. Her cheeks looked rosy and who knew she could look so good in a knit hat with reindeers dancing all around it? But she did, good enough to kiss and pull that hat right off so I could thread my fingers through that silky hair of hers again.

  We emerged from the woods, the clomping of the horse, the shushing of the sleigh still the only sounds in our world. Up ahead, I could see an old barn. A family had lived on that land for generations, but it had lain vacant for at least five years now. Buildings in Vermont needed nearly constant maintenance, and the years had done their work. A large patch had worn through in the roof and the door had blown clean off its hinges. But I was fascinated by the decay, the havoc wrecked by nature. Weather carved a more fascinating path than I ever could, working new creations out of old every single storm.

  I wanted to show it to Violet. With a click and a pull on the reigns, I guided the horses over on toward it.

  “I want to show you something.”

  If she wondered what I was doing, if she were nervous or questioned where we were headed, she didn’t show it. She looked eager and up for an adventure. I’d see if I could sho
w her one.

  I stopped the sleigh outside of the big, old, abandoned barn and tied up the horse. Then I helped Violet out, happy to see she was wearing some real winter boots. Guess there was a little country in the woman after all.

  We crunched our way over toward the entrance.

  “Can we go in here?” she asked, her eyes lit up with excitement.

  “Some say it’s haunted,” I couldn’t help but tease her. “But I’ll keep you safe.”

  I’d taken her hand as she’d climbed down from the sleigh, and she kept right on holding it as we entered the building. With high ceilings and nothing inside, no machinery, no animals, no tables or troughs, our steps creaked and echoed in the silence.

  “It’s like a movie set from the wild west,” she marveled, her eyes wide. “I’ve never been in anything like it,”

  “No?” I asked. “Nothing in L.A.?”

  She shook her head. “I think there’s a law that anything over twenty years old gets torn down.”

  “Out with the old—”

  “In with the new,” she finished, reaching out to explore the wide, worn planks of the walls.

  “This barn is almost a hundred years old.” I touched the walls with reverence. “I’ve made a few pieces with wood like this. I barely have to do anything to it. It’s got such amazing texture and depth before I even touch it.”

  “Do you know what you’re going to make before you make it?” she asked, looking up at me.

  “Not usually.” I didn’t talk much about my work. I felt too pretentious doing it. But she looked so interested. And so damn appealing in that silly knit hat. “I sometimes have a general idea, but I usually just dive in and follow along, see where the work takes me.”

  She nodded, seeming to understand. “Is it like that for you?” I asked. She looked at me blankly. “You know, when you’re working on a show?”

  She gave a dry laugh. “Oh please. There’s nothing creative about that creative process. Everything’s mapped out and orchestrated and branded right down to the last second of supposedly unscripted dialogue.”

  She hesitated and I saw a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. I guessed she must have realized she just trashed the type of reality TV she was here in Watson to sell. I could take a poke at her, exploit the opening she’d given me. But I didn’t want to.

  “Truce,” I offered her, raising my free hand up. The other one I kept wrapped around hers. “I know I’ve hazed you plenty. But I won’t do it any more tonight.”

  She smiled and agreed. “Truce.”

  “So, you’ve told me what you don’t like about what you do,” I continued. “What is it you would like to be doing?”

  “With shows?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Whatever it is. What do you wish you were doing that you’re not?”

  “Well,” she hesitated, seeming to think it over before she spoke. Then she took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m an assistant producer, that’s my title, but I feel like I haven’t made any product. I’ve got nothing to show for what I do all day.”

  “You entertain people,” I offered. I didn’t find those kinds of shows entertaining, but it was objectively true. She worked for a popular network that made popular shows.

  She shook her head. “I work on shows that bring out the worst in people. We set them up and make them compete with each other. We reward the most outrageous behavior. The ones who act the brattiest, create the most drama? They’re the ones we make stars.”

  “But what I want to do,” she continued, “is make something like your rocking chair.”

  “My rocking chair?” I couldn’t see the connection.

  “I mean, not exactly. But you’ve made something so real. It’s useful and comfortable and looks beautiful. It makes people’s lives better. I want to work on a show that doesn’t make me feel like I need to rinse off muck every day when I get home. Something that makes people feel happy. Makes them feel good. Like your chair.”

  “You think my chair does all that?” I took a step closer to her, my heart hammering away in my chest. She looked up at me and nodded. That had to be the nicest thing anyone had ever said about my work.

  Her lips felt so soft, so good against mine as I dipped down to capture them, sliding my hands around her. Off, her knit cap tumbled to the floor as I wound my fingers up into her hair. Like golden silk, I wanted to bury myself in it, in her.

  “I think you can do anything you want to, Violet,” I murmured.

  She pulled me closer, kissing me urgently, sighing deep in her throat as I worked a hand inside her parka, up underneath the back of her shirt along her skin. So smooth and warm, I wanted all of her beneath me, wrapped around me.

  Gently, I eased her out of her coat, bringing us down as I did it, down where I spread out the parka on the floorboards and laid her down on top of it. She wound her arms along my shoulders, clasping me around my neck, hungry for my kisses. Her tongue danced with mine, searching, playing, stoking the fire. My hands roamed her body, pressing her back up to me, caressing her curves, her waist.

  I didn’t know how long we stayed there kissing. It could have been two minutes, could have been twenty. Then she wrapped her long leg around my thigh and moaned as I thrust against her. My hand found her sex and I ran a finger along the seam of her jeans. I watched her face as I did it, savoring how it made her eyelids flutter shut, her mouth open in pleasure.

  I needed more. Working quickly, I reached up and unbuttoned, unzipped her jeans and tugged them down, then the pretty lacy panties, too. She looked gorgeous and sexy and sometime I’d stay and admire the view, but right now I needed the wrapping off.

  Man she was pretty. I could see her pussy glistening in the moonlight filtering through a big hole in the roof. So slick and wet for me. I brought a finger to her sex, reverent, worshipping her.

  “You’re so gorgeous,” I breathed, loving the way she parted her legs for me, the way she craved my touch. I leaned down, closer, kissing her inner thigh, giving her sensitive skin a light lick. There was something I wanted to do, needed to do, had been thinking about doing over and over since I’d first seen her in that bar.

  “Violet.” My whispered word against her inner thigh made her shiver in the moonlight. “I want to taste you.”

  “Yes, oh, Heath,” she moaned, turning her head to the side.

  Gently, slowly, I lowered my head. Just one, slow lick to start. She tasted like heaven, so hot and sweet. I’d never done heroin, but I bet it felt something like that, addictive, potent, making you forget about everything else. Spreading her with my fingers, I licked and sucked, coaxed on by her responses, her urgent mews and whines, the way she grabbed my hair and panted.

  There, right there, I licked her swollen clit and she gasped, then I licked it again, sucking it and she tensed right up. I could make her come, instantly, I realized. Dizzy as that made me, I slowed down, savored her more, letting her enjoy a slower ride right up to the top.

  “Heath, oh! Please!” she started calling out, tossing her head, fisting her hand in my hair. “I can’t… I can’t take it! Please!”

  I gave her a long, slow lick. My woman needed to come. I played with her clit a little more, pushing her thighs apart with my hands, wanting her wide open for me. “Are you going to come for me, Violet?” I asked her, low and wicked.

  She panted and cried out. “Yes, yes!”

  “That’s good, baby. I want you to come.” I dove back in, taking her sensitive bud into my mouth and sucking hard, biting light, taking her right up to the edge and then over as she shuddered and bucked and screamed. Licking and loving her, I drank her in, mercilessly sucking and savoring every last drop of her sweet, slick pleasure.

  “Oh, that was so good,” she groaned, sounding dazed and amazed. I wanted to hear that from her again and again.

  She still had on her shirt, but through it I could see her hard nipples, stiff and aroused against the fabric. Or stiff and cold? I looked over at the wide open door,
the windows with no glass, the roof torn clean off in one section. She was probably freezing.

  “You must be cold.” I wrapped her parka over her.

  “I’m all right,” she insisted. But she was from L.A. She had to be freezing.

  “Here.” I handed her her hat and helped her up, kept her steady as she pulled up her jeans. And there, I heard it, her teeth started chattering.

  “You’re freezing!” I exclaimed, helping her zip up her coat.

  “Heath.” She smiled, looking up at me. “Yes, I am now. But you have to know, I was not freezing cold just a minute ago.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that, taking pride in my work. But I should make sure she stayed warm. It wasn’t windy out, but it had to be low twenties.

  Back in the sleigh I bundled her up, piling blankets around the two of us. This time, I took the reigns in one hand and wrapped my arm around her to pull her close.

  We rode together in silence. At first, it felt good. Then it didn’t.

  What the fuck were we doing? What was I doing? What did she think of all this? What did I think of it?

  We returned the sleigh and hopped into my truck. And after all that silence, we finally both spoke at the same time.

  “Let me have your number,” I said.

  Exactly as she said, “This can’t happen.”

  We sat in silence again for another minute. Until I said, “No, it can’t.”

  And she said, “Give me your phone.”

  I glanced at it, sitting between us in the cup holder. She picked it up and entered in her phone number.

  She set it down again. “You have my number. But you shouldn’t call me.”

  “It would be a bad idea to call you,” I agreed, pulling up in front of her condo.

  “No, don’t call me. Don’t even walk me to my front door,” she said as she climbed on top of me, barely waiting for me to put the truck in park before she stuck her tongue down my throat.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she panted as she kissed my throat, my jaw, my ear.