She traces the line of my collarbone, her touch light. It burns. "The mountain... you left last night. Logan called."
"I came back."
"You did." A small smile touches her lips. "You really came back."
"I couldn't breathe out there, Court." The confession tears out of me before I can check it. I stiffen, waiting for her to laugh. It’s too much truth for the morning light.
Her expression softens, turning liquid and open. "Tell me."
I exhale a long, shuddering breath. "When I left you here... when I went to the clubhouse... everything was gray. Just static. I did the job. I gave orders. But the air felt thin. Like I was suffocating slowly for years. Last night? When I walked up that porch and you opened the door for me?" I tighten my grip on her hip, digging my fingers into her soft flesh just enough to bruise. "It was the first full breath I’ve taken since the day you left Pine Valley."
Tears well in her eyes. "I thought you didn't care. Back then... I waited for you to stop me. I packed that car so slowly, Austin. I sat in the driveway for an hour."
Pain slams into my ribs like a sledgehammer. It’s an old wound, familiar and dull, but hearing her say it sharpens the edge.
"I watched you," I admit. "From the tree line. I was on my bike. I watched you pull out."
Her breath hitches. "Why? Why didn't you stop me?"
"Because I was bleeding," I say, the words rough. "Not on the outside. But the club... my dad... the war we were in back then. It was ugly, Courtney. Uglier than anything you saw. If I had asked you to stay, I would have dragged you into the mud with me. You were clean. You had a scholarship. You had a future that didn't involve patching up bullet holes or visiting me in prison."
I sit up, pulling her with me, keeping the sheet tucked around her waist. I’m not ready to share her body with the cold air yet. I lean my forehead against hers.
"I let you go because I loved you enough to want better for you," I whisper, the words vibrating between our lips. "But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong."
"Why?"
"Because a life without you isn't a life. It’s just waiting to die." I kiss her, soft and desperate, tasting the salt of a tear that escaped her eye. "I’m selfish now, Court. I’m done being noble. I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I don’t care if this house falls down around our ears. I’m keeping you. I’m putting my baby in you, and I’m binding you to this mountain so tight you’ll never be able to leave again."
Her breath catches at the explicit promise. Her pupils dilate. The explicit promise of my seed taking root inside her, of binding her to my bloodline, triggers a primal explosion of heat between us. I feel her pussy responding—softening, drenching her thighs as she prepares to be filled. It’s a biological imperative that overrides logic. She wants my legacy, wants my cock claiming her womb just as badly as I want to plant it.
"I don't want to leave," she whispers against my mouth. "I hated the city. It was loud and lonely. I missed the trees. I missed... the way the air smells here."
"You missed me," I prompt, needing to hear it. My ego is fragile where she’s concerned.
She laughs, a wet, breathless sound. "I missed you. God, Austin. Every guy I met... I compared them to you. They were all so safe. None of them looked at me like I was the only water in the desert."
"You are," I growl. "Drink."
I kiss her again, deeper this time, my tongue sweeping into her mouth to taste the morning. It quickly threatens to spiral out of control. My hand slides from her hip to the inside of her thigh, finding the damp heat she’s already producing. I want to push her back into the mattress. I want to spend the next three days inside her, marking her over and over until her scent is permanently altered.
Her stomach grumbles. A loud, demanding growl that breaks the trance.
She pulls back, flushing pink. "Sorry. I didn't eat dinner."
I frown, the protective instinct overriding the lust. "That’s on me. I should have fed you before I..." I look at her bruised lips. "I’ll feed you now."
I roll out of bed, ignoring the chill. I grab my jeans from the floor, stepping into them but leaving the button undone. I don’t bother with a shirt. This is my house now. I walk to the door, looking back to see her watching me, her gaze tracing the scars on my back.
"Stay there," I order. "Don't come down barefoot. There could be nails."
"I have slippers somewhere," she murmurs, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She looks small in the massive bed. My bed.
I walk down the hallway. The floorboards groan under my boots. The house is a disaster. Peeling paint, water stains, the smell of neglect. But as I descend the stairs, running my hand along the shaky banister, I don't see the ruin. I see the potential. I see where I’ll put the swing for our kid on the porch. I see where I’ll install the reinforced steel door. I see the fortress this will become.
The kitchen is grim. The refrigerator is an ancient beast that hums aggressively, and the cupboards are mostly empty. She’s been living like a transient, ready to run. That stops today.
I don't even bother looking in her cupboards; I know she has nothing but dust and bad memories. I head out to my truck and grab the crate of supplies I pulled from the clubhouse pantry.
