Coaxing the Roughneck
“I have an idea, Butch.” Her fingertips glide lightly up the center of my chest and my thoughts scatter in ninety directions. She’s touching me. Touching me. “Why don’t we start small? If you come up one floor, I’ll let you…k-kiss me.”
Her mouth becomes the center of my universe. My heart knocks wildly in my head, my dick stiffening to the point of agony between us. “Kiss you,” I repeat, my voice like gravel. Yes. I can kiss her without hurting her, can’t I? But I know it won’t be enough, so I push, praying she won’t laugh in my face. “Two places. On your mouth and between your thighs.” A shudder wracks me. “Please.”
“I didn’t realize we were negotiating,” she squeaks. A beat passes while she studies me. “If I say yes, you’ll come up to the next floor?”
There is ice on my spine at the prospect of leaving the engine room.
I haven’t left in five years.
But the fire she’s lit in me is stronger.
“Yes. To kiss you twice, I’ll go up one floor.”
Chapter Three
Cindy
I’ve always wondered how I would react if a bear approached me in the woods. Would I scream and run away or freeze? This might be the closest I get to finding out. Climbing the steps to the second underground floor, there is a giant behind me, breathing roughly on my neck. Matching my steps, one for one. Does he not realize he could have me without the bargain? I could do nothing to fend off this man who is built like a Mack truck, muscles the size of watermelons. Trying to fight him would be an exercise in futility.
Yet here we are, him following me up the stairs as if leaving the engine room is causing him physical pain. The fact that he’s doing something so unpleasant just to kiss me? I can’t pretend that’s not having an effect on my body. Something deep and low inside my tummy has been humming like a tuning fork since I saw him for the first time, heard his deep gravelly voice.
I’m not experienced with men, but I’ve been aroused before. Mostly by dreams or when I’m soaping between my legs in the shower. I’ve touched myself and tried to give myself an orgasm to no avail. The first few times I thought I might be coming close, but I never reached supposed paradise, got frustrated and stopped trying altogether. Better to be a little turned on than gasping for a climax and be unable to achieve it, right?
Well, I’m more than a little turned on right now.
The flesh between my legs contracts when he exhales down the back of my tank top, each and every little hair on my neck standing straight up. He wants to kiss me. My lips and between my thighs. The very idea of his mouth there, on my cleft, bathes my skin in fire. Shouldn’t I be terrified of this man?
Yes.
He’s not just tall and broad and strong as an ox.
That thing between his legs is unnaturally large.
I live in New Orleans, so I’ve seen a thing or two. Forget the ruler, one would need a tape measure to determine the length of his shaft. And the circumference? It would take both of my hands to fit around him.
His huge, sensitive manhood.
The heavy balls beneath that emptied when they saw me. Violently. Turning Butch red and making every vein in his body stand out.
Yes. Yes, I should be terrified. This man is eventually going to realize he doesn’t need to bargain to take me. As many times as he wants. I hold none of the power here and yet, that’s exactly how he’s treating me. As if I personally hold the reins and control what happens between us. How long can that possibly last?
Perhaps unwisely, I turn and glance back at him over my shoulder and find him staring longingly at my butt. The protrusion between his legs has grown even more pronounced, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Sweat dots his hairline and grease streaks his jaw. I’m two steps ahead of him in our ascent to the floor above, but he’s still taller than me. Again, I ask myself why I’m not afraid.
Maybe it’s the scars on his back. The torture in the depths of his eyes.
There’s a reason he doesn’t want to leave the engine room.
This man has been through something terrible.
Perhaps because of that, or maybe because of my confusing attraction to him, I find myself breathing harder, wetting my lips in anticipation of the kiss. Did I inhale too many fumes or am I actually looking forward to coaxing this man off the oil rig? Because whatever attraction is kindling inside of me, whatever sympathy I have for him…there is no question that I need him to get off the rig.