He reached for the nightstand and grabbed a tin of arnica salve. The lid popped open with a soft snick, releasing the sharp, herbal scent of mint and arnica. He warmed a dollop between his large hands as she watched, captivated by how the firelight reflected on the faint scars across his knuckles. He smoothed it over every stripe the crop had left, murmuring praise with every pass.
“That’s my good girl. You took your punishment so well.” Once he finished, he took a hand mirror from the top of the nightstand and held it so she could see her bottom. “Just look at these gorgeous marks. Each one means you’re all mine.”
Every time his thumb swept the curve where her backside met her thigh, she made a soft, contented sound and melted deeper into him. She’d never been so relaxed and at peace in her life. The salve was cool at first, then sank in with a gentle burn that made her toes curl. “Stay right here, baby.”
Kip nestled into the hollow of his throat, breathing him in. The scent of sweat, leather, and the faint sweetness of the edible glitter still clung to his skin. His heartbeat thundered steadily under her ear. Her heart slowed to match it, a perfect, matched rhythm.
“You with me, little fox?” His voice rumbled against her cheek.
“Mmm-hmm. Right here, Daddy.” The words slipped softly from her lips, her breath grazing the pulse in his neck. “Never leaving. Not ever.” This was her safe place, now and forever.
He made a rough sound of pure contentment and slid one hand up her spine to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her tangled hair, untangling the knots with gentle tugs that made her scalp tingle. The other hand settled low on her back,palm wide open, thumb lazily tracing circles over the dimples above her bottom.
“I love every inch of you, little fox,” he whispered against her hair, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I love the way you light up when you’re naughty. The way you fly apart when I push you. The way you come straight back to my arms afterward. You’re my whole world, Kip. My wife. My babygirl. My heart, walking around outside my chest.”
Tears pricked hot behind her closed eyes. Had she ever dreamed someone would feel that way about her? No, but he did. And he’d made her whole. If she could do any of those things, it was because of him.
She pressed her face harder into his neck so he wouldn’t see, but of course, he felt the dampness against his skin.
“Hey now, what’s this?” He tipped her chin up, his thumb brushing the wetness away with a tenderness that almost broke her. His eyes were soft, the intense lines around them softened by the firelight. “Happy tears only, yeah?”
“Yes, Daddy.” She nodded, her throat too full for words, and managed a wobbly smile. “So happy it hurts.”
Trace’s dark eyes went liquid. “Then hurt with me, baby. Every day. I’ve got you.” He kissed her slow and deep. Not demanding, just love poured into her until she was boneless and humming.
When he finally pulled back, he tucked her head under his chin again and reached for Vixie on the pillow behind her. He settled the stuffie into the crook of her arm, then wrapped her fingers around its soft belly. “Hold him tight, sweet girl. Daddy’s got both of you.”
Kip hugged her fox to her chest and let her body go heavy, relaxing under the steady stroke of Trace’s hand up and down her spine. The room was quiet, except for the soft pop of the fire, the faint creak of the house settling in the cold, and the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
Outside, snow kept falling, silent and thick, muffling the world until there was only this room, this bed, this man. Inside, Trace held her, his arms wrapped around her. The knowledge of his love, and that this was now her life, seeped into every cracked corner inside her until there was no space left for anything but him. She was asleep before the fire burned down to embers, and for the first time in her entire life, Kip didn’t dream of running. She dreamed of staying.
CHAPTER 21
As usual, Trace woke before the sun pierced the frost-laced windows, the bedroom still swallowed in darkness. The sheets had twisted low around his hips during the night, and Kip lay curled tight against his chest, one of her legs thrown possessively over his thigh. Her breath warmed his collarbone.
Resting his palm on the small of her back, with his thumb, he traced the faint marks his crop had left when he’d spanked her. The memory sent heat rolling through his blood. He wanted a “morning after the night before,” but the red numbers on the dresser clock glared 6:47 a.m. He’d already overslept. Ranch work didn’t wait for a man to finish savoring his wife, and neither did the new threat breathing down their necks.
When he pressed his lips to the crown of her head, she stirred with a soft sound. He slipped out from under her without fully waking her. The cold hardwood floor bit into his bare feet. He dragged on yesterday’s jeans, a thermal base layer that still carried her scent, and thick wool socks that muffled his footsteps.
Downstairs, Ruby was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfastas she did every day. The smell of bacon sizzling and something sweet in the oven drew him in.
But coffee first. Always.
“Mornin’ Ruby,” he said, giving her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Anything I can do to help?”
She eyed him with what was almost a glare. “Do you remember what happened the last time you 'helped' me cook. It took me a month to get that skillet clean. You just have a seat and I’ll get to the coffee as quick as I can.”
“I may burn water, but thanks to Mr. Coffee, I can make the mornin’ joe.”
Ruby laughed and nodded. “That would be nice, dear.”
The coffee maker gurgled and hissed, filling the kitchen with dark, bitter promise. As he leaned against the counter, he folded his arms across his chest and stared out the window.
Four, maybe five inches of fresh powder coated the yard, the corrals, and the long gravel drive that faded into white. Enough snow to herd the bison near the hay sheds. Enough to buy him time if someone tried to come up that road uninvited.
Kenzie appeared in the doorway, engulfed in an oversized sweater that swallowed her hands. She skated across the wooden floor in thick wool socks, clearly too exhausted to lift her feet. “Morning,” she mumbled, heading straight for the coffee.
Trace lifted one brow. “You’re up early for someone who was giggling in the hallway at two a.m.”
