“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one else gets to feel how perfect you are. Only me. Gonna fuck you deep and hard until you’re creaming all over my cock and begging for more.”
Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my belly. I moan louder, nails digging into his back as he thrusts harder, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit with firm, confident strokes.
“Come for me,” he growls, voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock and milk me dry. Come all over me while you tell me how much you love me. Let go.”
The orgasm crashes over me suddenly, sharp and blinding.
My walls clench tightly around his thick length as I cry out, “I love you.”
He follows right after, groaning deeply as he spills inside me, hips stuttering with the force of it, murmuring, “I love you, Sloane,” against my neck over and over.
We stay locked together afterward, panting, his strong arms wrapped around me like he’ll never let go. I press my face into the crook of his neck, feeling safe, wanted, loved, and completely his.
“I’m staying,” I whisper against his skin. “You’re my home now.”
His hold tightens.
“Damn right I am, Angel.”
Epilogue
Sloane
Five Years Later
By the time I make it up the mountain, the sun is already dropping behind the peak.
The drive doesn’t feel long anymore.
It used to. Every turn felt like a risk, every mile something I had to get through before I could breathe again. Now it’s just part of my day, the climb steady and familiar.
I park beside Carter’s truck and cut the engine, sitting there for a second with my hands resting on the wheel. The quiet settles around me the same way it always does up here, deep, and solid, untouched by anything happening down in town.
When I finally step out of the truck, the first thing I hear is the crack of wood splitting.
I follow the sound around the side of the cabin, the packed dirt and scattered gravel familiar terrain under my boots, and find him exactly where I expect.
Carter stands at the chopping block, bringing the axe down in one controlled motion after another, the rhythm steady and unhurried. Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt, the fabric pulled tight across his shoulders as he works, each movement grounded and precise.
A small figure darts past him, nearly tripping over a log.
“Careful,” Carter says without looking, shifting the axe to his shoulder as our son barrels through the yard with all the haste of youth.
“I’m helping,” he insists, already circling back.
“You’re in the way,” Walker mutters from where he’s stacking wood nearby.
Once we were properly introduced, he started stopping by more and more. By the time Casey was born, he was officially designated an uncle.
I step closer, and Carter’s gaze lands on me, moving over me once, quick, and thorough, before settling.
“Everything good?” he asks.
“Yes.”
That’s all it takes.
He nods once and drives the axe down again, finishing the log before setting it aside. By the time I reach him, he’s already stepping back, wiping his hands on his jeans.
