Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Walker
She yanks the shirt all the way off while I shove my sweats and boxer briefs down past my ass. My eyes lock onto her puffy, pink pussy, and I groan, wanting nothing more than to fuck her hard and punish her for all the years I had to be without. But I know without a doubt that if I allowed myself to go there, I wouldn’t be able to let go. And I have to be able to let go.
After squirting some lube onto my shaft, I grip my cock and squeeze the base, trying to stop myself from exploding all over her just at the sight of her beautiful tits. Is it possible that they’re bigger? The dusky color of her nipples is the same, and I remember that single mole on the underside of her left breast, but I don’t remember her being any more than a handful and what she’s showing me now is so much more.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” I fist my cock and stroke up and down, burning every inch of her into my memory. It’s a poor substitution for the perfect wet cunt spread wide for me, but the erotic visual has pre-cum leaking from my tip. “Does it turn you on to watch me jerk off?”
She writhes, unabashedly tracing the movement of my hand with her eyes. “Yes.”
“Then touch yourself. Make yourself come.”
One hand moves between her legs while the other cups her breast. “I don’t want my fingers. I want your cock. Please, Walker.”
“Are you ready to be mine?” It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to not give her what she wants. Part of me wonders if this is just a ploy to get her to agree—if I’d stoop as low as withholding sex. The answer is yes; I’d do whatever it takes, but I don’t think that’s what this is. This is self-preservation.
“You know I can’t.”
“Then fuck yourself with your fingers. Show me how much you want me.”
Her two middle fingers disappear inside her as she grinds her clit into her palm. I watch with rapt attention as slowly, her pace quickens, and the slick, wet sound of her fingering herself fills the room. Matching my pace to hers, I pretend it’s me inside her, even though I’m only feet away and could easily make it a reality.
“Walker,” she gasps out. “Oh, god. I’m coming.”
“Fuck yeah. Fill your greedy hole while I come all over your pretty tits.” I don’t have time to analyze why I’m a dirty talker all of a sudden. I’ve been known to make a comment here and there, but the words I just spewed have never been uttered by me before.
She cries out, her pinched eyes locked on mine as she comes, and it’s all the permission I need to do the same. With a punishing grip, I stroke once, twice, and by the third, I moan my release, ropes of cum splashing onto her stomach and breasts. Immediately I realize my mistake because, as barbaric as it sounds, my cum on her feels like I’ve marked her as mine.
“Stay here,” I order and climb off the bed. Fucking hell, what have I done? I wet a washcloth in the ensuite before returning to Skylar, who’s still stretched out on my bed, looking sated and sleepy. Meanwhile, I’m coiled tighter than I was before, wishing I hadn’t let myself go this far.
I avoid her gaze as I wipe the evidence of my mistake from her silky-smooth skin, wishing I could see if it’s as soft as it looks, but that’d just be another regret. Once she’s cleaned, I toss the cloth into the hamper and quickly dress.
“What’s wrong?” Skylar asks, the sheets rustling, but I still don’t look up.
“Nothing. I’m gonna go get the steaks on the grill. Medium rare okay?”
“Walker, look at me,” she demands.
Slowly, I glance over to where she’s standing next to the bed—T-shirt back on, thank god. “What?”
“Why are you acting this way?”
“What way?” I brace my hands on my hips. “Like we’re two strangers who got each other off before we go our separate ways? That’s what that was to you, right?”
“No. Of course not. I care about you, and if things were different. . . .”
With a frustrated shake of my head, my feet lead me out the bedroom door. “Dinner’s in twenty.”
I wake up to sunshine on my face as I roll onto my stomach, the scent of Skylar’s sweetness still clinging to my sheets and sending me back to our uncomfortable dinner last night. Little was said, but words weren’t needed to convey the emotions felt. She was indignant that I dared to want her to leave her abusive asshole of a fiancé, and I was pissed as hell that, once again, she wasn’t choosing me. Plus, I had the added bonus of wanting to kick my own ass for making myself vulnerable to her. . . again.
Fuck me, I need to change the sheets. I yank the pillow from under my head and toss it, pressing my cheek onto my forearms as I survey the scene outside. The icicles hanging from the eave slowly drip onto the sparkling blanket of snow below. The tinkling sound reminds me of a gentle rain shower, something that would normally relax me, but now, all it does is remind me how fleeting my time with Skylar is. I haven’t figured out if that’s a good or a bad thing yet. It’s quite the mind fuck to want her here with me, more than anything in the world, while also wanting nothing more than to have her gone.
Eventually, I peel myself out of bed and get my morning going. Skylar is nowhere to be found when I make it downstairs, so I change into work clothes and head outside to tend to my animals. The second they hear my front door shut, they start pitching fits, blaming me for their every discomfort, and I smile. Within minutes, I forget all about my house guest and focus on things that really matter. It’s the reminder I needed that my life is perfect the way it is. I don’t need the complication of a woman, especially not the one sleeping in my guest room right now.
An hour later, everyone is happy, and I’m back in the house, this time with a few eggs. It’s not as many as they produce in the summer when they have access to sunlight, but the artificial lights I have in there trick their systems enough so I can get an omelet once or twice a week.
The rich aroma of coffee and bacon has me stripping off my snow gear and in the kitchen in record time. All the mental progress I made while shoveling shit flies out the goddamn window when I see Skylar standing in front of the stove, dressed only in a pair of my boxers and the Henley she had on under her flannel when she got here. I forget to blink watching the hypnotic movement of her hips as she moves in time to the beat of the song playing from her phone.
Fuck, I want this. I want her. And no amount of time with my chickens will change that.
Turning to access the sink, she shrieks, her hand flying to her chest. “Shit. You scared me.”
“Sorry. I should’ve told you when I came in, but I didn’t want to interrupt your dance party.” I grin and set the four eggs on the counter.
She ignores me with a roll of her eyes. “Those came from your chickens?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s so cool!” She studies them as if they’re a rare gem, not just breakfast. “I know you’re used to it, but there had to be a time when it was strange to not have to go to the store to get eggs.”
I think back to when Rowan helped me build the coop and fill it with chickens. The first time they laid, I was shocked and strangely proud. “You’re right. It is pretty cool.”
“Can I cook them? Do you have to do anything to them first?”
An unexpected bark of laughter escapes me. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never used eggs fresh from a chicken’s butt.”
“You can give them a rinse if you want, but if you’re doing it right, you won’t be eating the shell.”
With a beaming smile, she rinses the eggs, dries them off with a kitchen towel, and then moves back to the pan she fried the bacon in. While she cooks, I walk over to her phone and, without permission, hold it up to her face to unlock it.
“What are you doing?” she asks, nervousness lacing her tone.
“Hooking your phone up to the Bluetooth so you can play your music through the speakers.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
Within seconds, the surround sound fills the space with her 90s grunge music. I close her settings and go to set her phone down again, but my eyes catch on a new text. I scan the words so quickly, I can’t say for sure what it’s about, but I get the gist. Klutch isn’t happy she’s not on her way home today, which he makes known through name-calling and a lot of cursing.
Violent anger bubbles up, and I get the urge to punch something. It makes me want to say “fuck it” and proactively take this asshole out. Then, she’d be free to make decisions she actually wants for her life. But that would only solve half the equation because I have no idea if she’s feeling the same thing I am: this bone-deep feeling that what we started isn’t even close to being fucking done.
“Over easy?” she asks, spatula perched and ready to flip the egg.
“I’m actually not that hungry.” I regret the words when she visibly deflates, her good mood souring.
“Oh, okay. I guess I should’ve asked. I just assumed since neither of us ate much of our dinner.” She removes the pan from the gas burner and turns to put the spatula in the sink, but I throw an arm out to catch her around the waist to stop her. She flinches, as if I was going to hit her. What the fuck?
When my hand lands gently on her hip, showing her my intention, we both freeze. Before she can come up with some bullshit explanation, I remove the spatula from her hand and tip her chin up. Her green eyes shift back and forth between mine anxiously. I’d like to hear her try and make up excuses for this one, but her lips remain clamped shut because there’s only one reason for a person to react that way.
“Skylar, I’d never hurt you. You have to know that.”
“I do.”
“Good.” I cradle her face in my hands. “But you can’t say that about your fiancé, can you?”
Tears pool, only falling when she blinks. “No.”
I’m not shocked in the least, but hearing her admit it makes it real. Though I have no experience on which to base it, I instinctually know how I react now to this situation will determine the outcome. So, instead of letting the boiling hot rage I feel bubble to the surface, I push it down and be the man she needs me to be.
“Come here.” I pull her to me, but with our height difference, I have to bend over, putting more space between our bodies than I’d like. “Hold on.”
I lift her, setting her on the counter. When her legs part, making room for me to step between, she grabs for me, snaking her arms around my torso and fisting the fabric at the back of my shirt tightly. I hold her close, giving her my silent support as she releases all the emotion she has clearly held in for far too long.
This woman has broken my heart more times than I can count, but it won’t ever happen again because no matter what she says, no matter how hard she fights, I’m not letting her go. She doesn’t think I can handle whatever Klutch can throw at me, but that’s only because she hasn’t fully seen the man I’ve become over the last fifteen years.
The mountains have hardened me, the solitude has strengthened me, and I’ve learned a man has to protect what’s his if he wants to keep it. And Skylar has always been mine. We both know it. Now, she just needs to accept it.