Sinfully sweet- Gray Sin for 99 cents!
Beyond the delicious forbidden love factor, this is an older man younger woman story told in a way that is totally original!
Gray Sin: A Small Town Sheriff Age Gap Romance
She takes a step forward, invading my space. I’m glad the heavy coat is covering her blouse and linen skirt. Gracyn reaches up and roughs her fingers in my hair. Water droplets sprinkle to the ground. I shake like a dog to get her to stop touching me. Since pulling Gracyn from her car, her smile hasn’t quit and the way she seems to love life—even when she’s endangering her own—is an ever-present reminder of how beautiful that can be.
Gracyn turns, taking in my small cabin. It’s got two rooms. All a single guy needs. We’re in the living area, which includes a corner kitchen that is behind us right now.
I place her case near the door as she roams around. It’s not like she can go far. Her head darts into the bedroom, leaving me with the impression that she’s more interested in finding out where the bathroom is hidden. Then her fingers softly play along the back of the leather couch.
“Homey. What’s out there?” she asks about the bay windows and wipes a trickle as it threatens to descend from her forehead to her nose.
“Porch. Creek bed. It’s a tributary to Taysha Creek.”
“Like the one at Kingsbrier?”
Gracyn shrugs, sufficed by my answer. It’s then that I realize she’s removed her high-heeled shoes and is making wet toe prints on the hardwood.
I run my hand over my wet scalp. I guess I’ve gotten used to traffic details in the weather so it doesn’t quite phase me to drip dry, but I doubt it’s normal for her. The woman is dressed to the nines and, although I’d know Gracyn anywhere, she doesn’t resemble the twig of a teen I last saw.
“I don’t know what I have that’ll fit you, but I’ll—” I stutter and stumble. Why the hell am I so tongue-tied?
Gracyn follows me into the bedroom. I rummage in the drawer looking for something clean, warm, and not so old there are holes in the fabric, that she can change into. I find an old pair of navy sweatpants and a green t-shirt.
“Doesn’t exactly match,” I say.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Gracyn starts to shrug off the jacket, but then sees what I’ve been trying not to. She stops before handing it back to me, drawing the fluorescent color against her front. This is the first hint of vulnerability she’s shown since I’d approached her car. She looks around again, this time slightly unsettled. “Are you staying?”
“Oh, no.” I move toward the threshold.
“Actually, I was wondering if you were drying off or did you need to leave altogether? Go back out in the storm.”
“No, I’m in for the night.”
“Okay.” Her words are quiet.
I nod to the bathroom so she can have some privacy. “You should call your fathers.” I remind her. “They’ll want to know where you are.”
Her lips flatten to a line.
The door closes with a snick and I grab the first thing I see laying on the floor to wear. I also shut the bedroom door and do my best impression of a quick-change artist in the living room so that I’m covered by the time Gracyn’s out of the bathroom. I’ve got my jeans over my hips when the sounds of her shuffling make it to my ears. I jump twice, buttoning up as fast as I can. I’d been pissed at myself for forgetting my boxers. They’re likely in plain view in my bedroom, hanging out of the hamper. But if I’d taken the time to put them on, I wouldn’t be zipping up when she’s already walking back out here.
“I hung my clothes in your shower.” Gracyn knots the hem of the shirt, cinching it around her middle. The pants must be too big as well seeing how she’s got the waistband folded down. Her belly button peeks out, showing the kind of skin that calls a man to graze his fingertips against it.
I make another reminder to call her parents so they don’t expect her home. At this point, I should just do it. I seem to need it reinforced that Gracyn’s off-limits.
©2019 Jody Kaye
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