Chapter 37 – Six Months Later . . .
Chapter Thirty-Seven
GRACE
SIX MONTHS LATER . . .
M ama walks beside me, flowers in her hair. We walk toward the double doors of the huge barn at R the sound amplifies as it travels. Mack takes my hand and leads me back through the wooded trees. I negotiate my way over the forest ground to the clearing. Trigger and Sarge are tethered to a long, low tree branch, free of tack, already half asleep. The tent is up. A campfire blazing away.
“Isn’t it too hot for a fire?” I ask.
“The nights are much cooler up here.”
He settles on a fallen log and pulls me onto his lap. The last of the light fades out as I sink down, straddling him, fingers splayed over his jawline. The wind changes, sending the flames crackling and warmth against my back.
“As much as I love looking at your handsome face, sitting on your lap isn’t going to cut it.”
I push off and grab his shirt, tugging him to follow me to the tent. The cream flap gives way, and he crowds in behind me as I stop short. The inside is all blankets, two small lanterns, and a plate of food. It’s heaven.
I turn back around, tilting my face up. “I don’t think I ever want to leave,” I whisper.
“If that’s an order, cap, we can live up here for the rest of our days... I have everything I need right here.”
“You gonna hunt while I gather, Mackinlay?” I give him my best bratty smile.
“I would do anything for you, Grace.”
“Anything?” My heart flings, giving my ribs a beating.
“Say the word, captain.”
I drag his mouth down into a kiss. He claims me. Tongue over mine, tangling together. I break away as fire courses through my veins, sucking in a breath. “Then, I want you. The unrestrained, raw Mackinlay. The version of you who takes what he wants.”
I do. Nothing turns me on more than seeing him feral for me. His rough hands working my body. Pushing my limits. Because I trust him.
He studies my face for a moment before running a thumb over my bottom lip. His eyes darken, sending a surge of heat to my center. Need ignites.
My body vibrates with the sheer desperation I have for him. His hand lightly closes around my throat with a brief squeeze, sending lightning skittering down my spine.
“Take it all off,” he finally demands.
His voice, all raw and visceral, takes my breath away. I strip down, sliding the coat from his shoulders before my fingers fly through each button on his old work shirt and it hits the blankets we stand on. When we are bare as the day we were born in front of each other, he tips his head, signaling to the hat he still wears.
“The hat stays,” I whisper.
A strained growl slips out, and his top lip curls a little.
He pushes me to my knees and runs his hand through my hair before his fist tangles in my locks, tightening. His hard length is in my face. Temptation never felt so incredible. I slide a hand around it, taking him all the way into my mouth.
“So fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock like a good girl, Gracie.”
My eyes flutter shut as I work him up and down. Need pools in my belly, wetness coating the inside of my thighs. God, this version of my husband will never get old. I swirl my tongue over his velvety tip. Saltiness meets my tongue. It hits my core like a freight train—I do this to him. This unbreakable man, who’s all heart and soul.
He groans, and his other hand brushes under my jaw, tilting my head up a little. Thrusting in further, he hits the back of my throat. My eyes water, stealing the last of my breath. I ache for him. My breasts bounce with the movement, my hard peaks desperate for touch. I slide my hand over one, rolling my nipple between my fingers. The whimper rattling up my chest vibrates around him.
“Fuck, Gracie. Touch yourself.”
I trace my hand down my body until my fingertips brush over my clit. A muffled cry leaves me, and Mack’s face wrecks. The warm, tingling spiral of bliss starts to form as I work my fingers around in small circles, massaging my throbbing clit. My body starts to shake. Mack’s thrusts slow. He pulls back, leaving the tip of him between my lips.
“Spin around, on your hands and knees.” His words are short, harsh.
Desire skitters down every nerve. I’m so strung out with need, I move automatically. My hands sink into the soft blanket. He kneels behind me, dotting kisses from the base of my spine to the space between my shoulder blades. My breasts swing as I roll my hips, desperate to find him. The blanket rubs across my nipples. It’s too much. I whimper. I’m a writhing, needy, wet mess.
“Fuck me, please, Mac-kin-lay...” Every short, choppy breath burns.
A hand slaps my ass, hard. The sting spreads. “Don’t fuckin’ beg. It’s beneath you.”
“I don’t care, please. Fuck me. So fucking hard.”
Another slap to the other cheek. Wetness gathers again, re-coating the inside of my thighs. God, when he talks to me like that...
His hands grip my hips. He slams into me before the next heartbeat. My moan turns to a whimper with the stretch. The bliss of being so filled. So well. He pauses for a second, letting me adjust.
“You want it rough, gorgeous girl?” he rasps.
I nod.
“Say it, Grace.”
“I want you rough.”
He pulls out so excruciatingly slowly, my mouth waters. My center aches. My clit throbs like it’s about to implode. His hand finds my hair, twisting it until it’s wound over his wrist and tight in his grip. I look back. His face is feral. His chest heaves. Mine caves in at the sight of him.
“Hands,” he barks.
I rest my cheek on the blanket, chest pressing into the softness, which sends my reddened ass canting up toward him as I move my hands behind my back. His free hand grips my wrists together at the small of my back. His knee nudges my right leg wider. Then my left.
I’m burning up for this man. And he’s taking his fucking time. He nudges my legs wider still. So wide I can barely hold the position. I’m spread open for him.
As if he read my mind, his lip curls into a smile. “You’re mine, Gracie. To fuck. To love. To protect.”
“Do it already,” I growl back.
He thunders into me.
I cry out. Uncontrollable bliss spirals with every thrust, flailing each time he takes it away. He pounds into me hard. Fast. My aching center is alive with electricity. His moves turn choppy, and his hands release me as he pulls out.
“No!” My gasp turns to a growl. “Mackinlay, no.”
I turn back, but his hands work me over. Flipping me to my back, he grips my hips in a bruising hold and pulls my wet center up to his glistening cock. Without a word, he rams it home. I grip the blankets, shoulders digging into the blanketed ground.
He’s wild.
And exactly what I asked him to be.
My breasts bounce, ratcheting up the insane sensations he is giving me. Release barrels toward me. I slam my eyes shut.
One hand disappears from my hip. Two fingers pinch down on my clit. “Eyes on me when you come around my cock.” The words are pure command.
I snap my eyes open and meet his darkened gaze.
His hair is ruffled, his body so tense every line of every muscle shows. His jaw is set. His chest, covered in a sheen of sweat, still heaving.
“Milk my cock, gorgeous girl. Come for me.” His fingers swirl over my clit.
I explode around him, my back arching. Hips bucking. His eyes burn into me.
His head drops backward as the veins in his neck bound. With the first hot stream of his release, he throws his head back down, dark blues trained onto my face. He roars as his cock pulses, sending liquid heat into my core, so deep in me it’s hard to tell where he stops and I begin. Or maybe we’ve melded together. There is not one without the other. Two halves, having finally found each other.
It’s hard to believe my life has changed so much in the last year and a bit. What my time with Mackinlay so far lacked in length has been more than made up by intensity. We lived through it all.
I realize he was right.
Quality is absolutely better than quantity.
But I never want this to end.
Give me forever, Mackinlay Rawlins, because that’s exactly what I am taking.