“I’ve given you six years.” She pulled the letter from her pocket and held it between them, even though he still wouldn’t face her. “You wrote this. You meant it. But you can’t say it to my face?”
His back expanded with a deep breath, muscles bunching beneath his thin shirt. He braced both hands on the anvil, head bowed. “I meant it. But it doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.” She crossed the distance between them and pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Maggie, please.” His voice cracked on her name. “Don’t.”
“I love you too, Anson.”
When he finally turned to face her, his eyes were red-rimmed, haunted, and full of longing. She’d never seen him like this—raw, exposed in a way that his physical scars could never match. The hammer dangled from his fingers, forgotten. Before he could argue, before he could find more reasons to push her away, she rose to her toes and pressed her lips to his.
For one frozen heartbeat, he didn’t respond. Then something snapped. He ripped off his work gloves and wrapped his thick arms around her, crushing her against the solid wall of his chest. His mouth opened over hers, desperate, hungry, stealing her breath.
No hesitation now.
No careful control.
Just raw need pouring out of him, the dam having finally broken.
Finally.
She fisted his shirt, tugging him closer even as he walked her backward until her spine hit the wooden workbench. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting of coffee and smoke. When she moaned into the kiss, his grip tightened, one hand sliding to cup her ass through her thin sleep shorts.
He broke the kiss only long enough to lift her onto the bench, stepping between her spread thighs. His flannel gaped open where she’d hastily buttoned it, and his gaze dropped to the exposed curve of her breast.
“Touch me,” she whispered, guiding his hand to her chest. “Please.”
His breath hitched as he cupped her breast, thumb brushing across her nipple. The calluses on his palm rasped against her sensitive skin, drawing another moan from her throat. He lowered his head, replacing his thumb with his mouth.
“Oh…” Her hips bucked against him, seeking pressure, friction, anything to ease the ache building between her legs. He groaned against her skin, then dropped to his knees in front of her. His large hands slid up her bare thighs, pushing under the hem of her shorts.
“Can I?” His voice was wrecked, barely audible over the blood rushing in her ears.
“Yes. God, yes.”
His fingers hooked into her shorts, dragging them down. She was bare underneath. He looked up at her, hazel eyes dark with desire, seeking final confirmation. She nodded, threaded her fingers into his hair, and tugged him forward. His beard rasped against her inner thighs as he buried his face between her legs.
The first swipe of his tongue sent lightning up her spine, and had her arching off the bench, a strangled cry escaping her lips. Her thighs quivered as he parted her with his tongue, and his strong hands gripped her harder, fingers digging into herthighs as he devoured her with the same single-minded focus he brought to his forge work. When he captured her swollen clit between his lips, the wet heat of his mouth combined with the relentless pressure of his tongue made her vision blur at the edges.
“Anson,” she gasped. “Oh God...”
His answering growl vibrated through her, the sound almost smug as he circled her clit with his tongue, then sucked it between his lips. Her thighs trembled, heels digging into his broad back. She was unraveling, caught between disbelief that this was real and the overwhelming need for more. Callused fingertips trailed fire up the tender skin of her inner thigh. He paused at her entrance, his breath sawing out of him, hot against her, before he pushed a thick finger deep inside. The sudden fullness made her cry out, her hips bucking, desperate and wild.
“Please.” Her voice broke as she rocked against him. “I need more.”
He obliged with a second finger, and she whimpered at the delicious stretch. He curled them inside her, finding that perfect spot that made her see stars. His mouth never left her clit, sucking and licking while his fingers worked slowly in and out. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding shamelessly against his face as everything in her tightened, wound impossibly further, and then snapped all at once.
The dual sensations—his hot mouth and those perfect, scarred fingers stroking her from the inside—sent her hurtling over the edge. She came with his name on her lips, her inner walls clenching around his fingers as pleasure sizzled through her. He didn’t relent, drawing out the orgasm until she was trembling and incoherent, oversensitive and utterly wrecked.
When she finally managed to focus, she found him looking up at her from between her thighs with something like wonder in his eyes. His beard glistened with her arousal, his lips swollenand red. Naked hunger shone in his eyes. The sight of him kneeling between her legs, looking utterly destroyed by wanting her, sent another aftershock rippling through her.
“Come here,” she whispered, pulling him up by his shoulders.
He rose slowly, his breathing ragged. She reached for his belt, wanting to get at that impressive bulge straining the front of his jeans, but he caught her wrists.
“Don’t touch me. I—” His voice broke as his hips jerked forward involuntarily. “Fuck.”
He gripped the workbench on either side of her, knuckles white, and squeezed his eyes shut as a violent shudder ran through his entire body. A groan tore from his throat.
