“Jaysus,Cavin,” she whispers.
“What?” I touch the cap, wondering if I look like an eejit.
“I need you to chop wood. In that hat and no shirt. Like right now. Immediately.”
Heat floods straight to my cock. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she says, fanning herself. “It's a medical emergency. I'll perish if you don't.”
“Can't have that.” I span her waist with my hands, lifting her like she weighs nothing. “What kind of husband would I be, letting my wife perish?”
I carry her to the desk and sweep the papers away with one arm. Files scatter across the floor. Projections, accounts, things that seemed vital five seconds ago now mean fuck all.
“Keep the hat on,” she manages, right before I take her mouth.
I kiss her like I'm starving for it, like she's air and I've been drowning. Her lips part against mine, and I take full advantage, sliding my tongue against hers, swallowing the little moan that she makes.
Erin and I fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, and I crave theconnection.
“Cavin.” She breathes against my mouth. “Christ.”
I love the way she says my name, like she can't quite believe this is happening. When she's in my arms like this, I can see the stillness on her face. And I know the constant noise in her head begins to quiet. Makes me feel ten feet tall, that.
I laugh and pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are gently parted and cheeks flushed pink, eyes dark with want.
“Hat,” she whispers, “stays on.”
I grin at her, reaching up to adjust it on my head. “Doctor's orders, remember? Medical emergency.”
“But you were supposed to go chop wood,” she says with a wink.
“Then we need to take a trip. I don't think I have an axe or wood to chop.”
She giggles, and the sound does something to my chest, making it tight and warm and full. This woman will be the death of me, and I’ll die fucking grateful for it. Nobody makes me feel the way she does. I'm absolutely bolloxed when it comes to her—didn't know I needed it, didn't know I craved it like my next breath.
Her hands are already working at the buttons of my shirt. “Well, we can imagine, can't we?”
“Are youobjectifyin’ me?” I ask with a teasing swat to her arse.
“I—” She flushes, biting her lip. She loves when I spank her. “I am. And you love it.”
I lean in, trailing kisses down her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that makes her shiver. “Behave yourself, Mrs. McCarthy,” I whisper in her ear, and she stifles a moan. She loves hearing me call her that. Tells me everything I need to know.
“Say it again.”
“Mrs. McCarthy…” I slide my hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt up. I reach the top of those damn leggings she wears every day and slide them down, over the curve of her hips, over the swell of her arse, down her thighs. “My wife. Mine.”
She kisses me, harder this time, desperate. Her fingers fumble with the last button on my shirt, and then she pushes it off my shoulders, her palms flat against my chest.
“My god, you're…” She breaks off and flushes.
“What’s that?” I cup the back of her head, kissing the apple of her cheek, her nose, her lips.
“Jaysus, Cavin,” she whispers, almost reverent. “You're fucking gorgeous. Like something out of a dream, you are.” Her fingers trace the tattoos on my ribs, the scars from fights and wars. “I love looking at you.”
Her fingertips trace the scar right above the sternum, where I got shanked in prison. Should’ve killed me, but I’ll never fuckin’ go down without a fight.
“I know you don't believe me,” she says, meeting my eyes. “But every part of you, even the parts that you think are broken, is beautiful.”
