Page 77 of Tormented
Right. She and Fingers were inseparable until she went AWOL earlier this year. “Think there’s a crate in the garage. Come on.” I jerk my head toward the open doors of the hangar-size shed and lead the way.
She follows a safe distance behind, out of arm’s reach, otherwise I’d probably have pulled her close just to fuck with her some more.
Keep telling yourself that . . . .
What you getting at?
We all know why you want her up against you, and it isn’t because you’re using her for her feminine qualities . . . . My devil waves his arms about, conducting an invisible orchestra. Fucker can be a right asshole at times.
“This okay to use?” Abbey points to a steel toolbox that I know is full of chains.
“If you can move it.” I step back and prepare to watch the entertainment unfold.
She gives it a shove and the damn thing doesn’t move an inch. Hands on hips, she frowns, as though calculating her next move. The box has two handles on either end, and she squats down and takes hold of one in both hands. Her hamstrings stretch and go taut as she pushes her feet into the concrete and gives it her all to pull it across the floor. The box skids a little. Impressive. Backing up a step, she rubs her palms off on the butt of her shorts, and damn if that doesn’t liven things up in my jeans.
“Are you going to help, or just stand there?”
“Thought women liked to be independent these days?” I tease.
She sighs, tossing her head back. Makes me want to lick her throat.
“We like the opportunity to be able to do things ourselves. It doesn’t mean we don’t need a little help every now and then.”
I chuckle, wandering over and motioning her to get out of the way with a jerk of my chin. She smirks as I bend my knees and grab both handles. Girl doesn’t think I can do it. Needless to say, it’s satisfying as hell when her eyes damn near bug out of her head as, with a heave, I lift the box clean off the floor and start walking it to the truck.
My arms burn like hell; the thing has to weigh somewhere close to two hundred pounds. Every tendon in my neck is on fire with the strain to keep it at waist height, and I’m pretty sure I’ve popped a few of the new scars open in my arm, but like fuck I’ll give her the satisfaction of dropping this and admitting it’s too much, even for me. Fuckin’ long way to the truck. Didn’t remember it being parked so far from the doors.
The toolbox hits the dirt beside the front of the Ford with a ceremonious puff of dust.
Abbey literally fucking skips over from the garage and daintily steps on top. “Thanks, pretty boy.”
Damn sure I slipped a disc or something. Better add heavier deadlifts back in to the workouts. Fuck. It’s worth it, though. Goddamn, is it worth it. Her shorts ride up the back of her legs, the bottom skimming a pretty appealing line around the crease of her butt. She strains on her toes to reach into the engine bay and pull out the dipstick for the oil.
“Shit, I don’t have a rag. Could you?”
Fucking bitch gives me those puppy dog eyes.
And you wag your tail like the whipped little animal you are . . . .
Could be doing worse. I give the side of my head a healthy slap with the heel of my hand to shut the fucker up and return to the garage to get a scrap of old T-shirt for her to wipe the stick on. She accepts it with a smile when I return, and hesitates, hip leaning on the side panel of the truck.
“What?” I step back, arms folded.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
She mimics the way I hit my head with her free hand.
“Shuts him up.” I shrug. No need to lie about it—everybody knows he’s in there.
“Huh,” she says with raised eyebrows, turning back to the engine.
My back burns with the sun beating down on my black leather, but I stand there like a damn sentry watching her as she wriggles her way around the engine of the truck, checking all the fluids, and even dashing into the clubhouse for a pitcher of water to top up the radiator. Girl’s thorough, got to give her that.
Planned how you’ll do it yet? The devil leans forward at his post, chin on his hand as he studies her also.
Do what?