“I was just minding my business,” I continue, still teasing, as I put the lid back on the mayo jar and slide his plate down the counter. “And you were all, ‘I have to fuck you again.’”
“Sierra,” he warns, and I love it. My heart kicks as he stalks toward me like a predator closing in on its prey. “Your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”
“Am I lying?” I ask innocently, though I can’t stop the laugh of excitement that bubbles out of me.
He stops in front of me, his large hand sliding up my thigh, fingertips skimming just under the hem of the flannel. “You like pushing me, don’t you?” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You like being the storm inside this place.”
“I thought you were hungry.”
Hunter’s grip tightens. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me and turns, laying me out on the kitchen table and dragging me toward the edge.
“I am,” he growls.
He yanks the flannel open, revealing my bare chest. I let out a squeal, but he’s already lowering his head, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking hard until I whimper.
“Hunter—” I breathe.
“I’ve got you,” he rasps, sliding his hands down to cup my ass. “You’re not getting up from this table until I’ve had my fill.”
I shiver at his tone. “Then you’d better start now.”
He growls something low and primal before dropping to his knees and whispering against my pussy, “You’re mine. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours—Hunter—I’m yours?—”
With just a few licks, I shatter around his mouth, his tongue lapping up every drop he pulls from me. He stands and lifts me into his arms, carrying me bridal style back to the bedroom—sandwiches forgotten—and tucks us both into bed. His dick is still hard, pressed against my thigh, but he doesn’t push for more. That act on the table was the declaration he wanted to make. He needed to hear me say I’m his. He wanted to show both his strength and his restraint—proving that together, we make the best pair.
11
HUNTER
The storm has passed, leaving a pale gold sun over the mountains and a thick blanket of silence. I’m up and out early, chopping wood—each swing more about control than necessity. The rhythmic thud of the axe against frozen logs echoed across the clearing. I need it to ground myself, to calm myself, as all the words spoken aloud last night come racing back. The storm is over, so I know what happens next.
Behind me, I hear the door open, and Sierra steps out onto the porch, her boots crunching in the snow.
I know she heard me get out of bed earlier this morning, but she stayed still, pretending to sleep. Morning has a way of highlighting everything the night holds—all the secret promises whispered that now have to be faced in the light. The fact that she gave me space only made the tightness in my chest worse. TheI love you’sthat were said, theI’m yoursandtell me you’re mine, were still bouncing around in my mind—and off the cabin walls. It’s heavy, it’s a lot and it’s happening so fast.
I feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to speak first. Her arms are folded in front of her, protecting her against the cold, andshe’s wearing those ridiculous pink snow boots. God, she looks like a sunrise in a world I’d long forgotten about.
I hate how much I notice it.
“Go back inside. It’s cold.”
She clears her throat. “You planning to chop wood until spring?”
“Plenty to do before the next storm.”
She stands rigid, staring at me. “You meanplenty to avoid.”
I slam the axe into the stump with a sharp crack. “Not now, Sierra.”
I hear her step closer, her voice softer now. “I get it. Last night was more than we expected. But you don’t get to pretend it doesn’t mean something.”
I don’t turn around. “I’m not pretending. I’m correcting.”
