Chapter 12 Tank
Tank
She chose herself.
That thought keeps echoing in my mind as I look at her, her face flushed and gloriously alive.
She chose herself. She stood there barefoot and told that slick bastard exactly where to shove his career threats, his condescension, and his blue fucking paint.
And then she chose me.
My intensity, my volume, every stubborn, overwhelming inch of me. For the first time in my life, someone looked at all that and said, more, please.
I lack the words to express how that makes me feel. My chest cracks open every time she looks at me as if I’m something worth keeping.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
“Can’t help it.” I brush hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “You were magnificent back there.”
“I was terrified.”
“Didn’t show.” I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. “You told him off, fired him, and looked damn good doing it.”
Her laugh is bright and unguarded. I’m already addicted. “I wasn’t wearing pants. Pretty sure that undermined my professional credibility.”
“And I’m a hundred percent sure it established dominance.” I grin against her skin. “Power move. Very alpha.”
“Oh, I’m the alpha now?”
“Baby, you’ve always been the alpha.”
Her breath catches. I notice the hitch in her chest, the way her fingers still against my skin.
“Tank...”
“Sawyer.” I pull back enough to see her eyes. “When we’re like this, I want to hear my name.”
“Sawyer.” She says it softly, like a prayer. “I’m staying. For real.”
“I know.”
“No, I need you to understand that I’ve never stayed anywhere. I’ve never allowed myself to want something permanent because it always came with conditions. Be quieter. Be smaller. Be less.” Her voice cracks. “But you never asked me to be less. You just... made room for more.”
I reach for her, cupping her face in my hands. “Jessie. I’ve got nothing but room. This cabin, this mountain, this life has been waiting for you to fill it.”
“What if I fill it with chaos?”
“Then I’ll organize around it.”
She laughs, overwhelmed. “What if I rearrange your mugs again?”
“I’ll learn the new system.” I brush my thumbs across her cheekbones, catching her tears. “Jessie. I don’t want you to fit into my life. I want to build a life that fits us. Both of us. All the mess, chaos, and color.”
She surges forward and kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s hunger and relief, the release of every fear she’s been carrying. Her hands fist in my hair, pulling me closer. I go willingly.
Then she’s on me, her hands in my hair, her mouth on my jaw, her whole body pressing against mine as if she’s trying to climb inside my skin.
“Bedroom,” she gasps.
“Can’t wait that long.” I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist.
I set her on the kitchen counter where she rearranged my mugs and enjoyed breakfast, and step between her thighs.
“Here?” Her eyes widen in surprise and delight.
“Here.” I drag my mouth down her throat. “Then the bedroom. Then the shower. Then wherever else you want me.”
“That’s a lot of locations.”
I pull back to meet her gaze. “I love you. In case that wasn’t clear.”
“I love you too, Sawyer.”
I trail my mouth down her throat, feeling her pulse hammer against my lips. “I’ve loved you from the start. I love you even more now.” Reaching the hollow of her collarbone, I suck hard enough to leave a mark. “I love you most like this. Under me. Open. Mine.”
“Show me.” Her voice is breathless. “All of you. Don’t hold back.”
My cock surges, despite having been inside her less than an hour ago.
“So beautiful.” I cup her breasts, my thumbs brushing her nipples, watching them peak under my touch. “Every single inch of you.”
“Sawyer...” Her head falls back as I take one nipple into my mouth. “Please...”
“Please, what?” I switch to the other breast, sucking hard enough to make her gasp. “Tell me what you need.”
“You. Inside me. Now.”
“That’s my girl.”
I reach between us, sliding my hand between her thighs. She’s so wet that my fingers glide through her folds easily. The whimper she makes when I find her clit goes straight to my cock.
I circle her clit slowly, watching her face. “Already soaked for me.”
I slide two fingers inside her, and she clenches around me as if she never wants to let go. I pump my fingers in and out, curling them to hit that spot that makes her thighs shake. She’s making those desperate, broken cries that I’m already addicted to, and I know she’s close.
But I don’t want her to come on my fingers. Not this time.
I pull them out, ignoring her whimper of protest. Lifting her off the counter, I carry her to the bedroom and lay her on our bed like an offering.
“Look at you.” I kneel between her thighs, running my hands up her legs, spreading them wider. “Laid out for me like a feast. All I want to do is spread you wide and make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
“Show me.”
I lean down and drag my tongue through her center.
She arches her back with a cry, her hands flying to my hair. I pin her hips down with one forearm and feast on her pussy, licking, sucking, and making her squirm. When I seal my mouth over her clit and suck hard, she shatters, my name spilling from her lips.
I don’t give her a moment to recover.
I crawl up her body and align myself, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. She’s still trembling from her orgasm, aftershocks rippling through her, and she’s so wet I could slide in with one thrust.
But I don’t.
“Look at me.” I wait until her eyes focus. “I want to see your face when I make you come.”
I ease in so slowly that it's torture for both of us. Inch by inch, I feel her stretch around me, watching her face as she takes all of me.
“So big,” she gasps. “God, Sawyer, you’re—”
“Made for you.” I bottom out, buried to the hilt, and stop breathing for a moment. She’s so tight, so hot, clenching around my cock like she was made for this. Made for me. “We’re made for each other. Feel that?”
Her nails rake down my back. “Yes.”
I start slowly, savoring every stroke, watching her face change as the pleasure builds again. But slow isn’t what either of us needs tonight, not after almost losing this.
She wraps her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper. “Harder.”
I pick up the pace, driving into her harder and deeper, her desperate, broken sounds signaling that she’s close.
“Mine.” I growl the word against her throat. “This pussy. This heart. This life. All mine.”
“Yours.” She pants, her nails raking down my back. “And you’re mine. Every stubborn, too-many inches of—”
I swallow the rest of her words with a kiss.
“Damn right.” I shift the angle, hitting that spot that makes her quiver. “Come for me, Jessie. Let me feel you.”
She breaks. Her whole body goes rigid, her inner walls clamping down on my cock so hard I see stars. She screams my name—Sawyer, my real name, the one that’s only hers—and I follow her over the edge with a groan that comes from somewhere primal.
I spill into her in waves, filling her with everything I have, everything I am.
And when the world finally stops spinning, I don’t pull out. I’m still buried inside her, arms braced on either side of her hips, our foreheads pressed together.
We lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied, her head on my chest and my hand tracing idle patterns down her spine. Our breathing slowly evens out. The cabin is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the wind in the pines outside.
“Best clerical error in county history,” I murmur into her hair.
Her snort is undignified yet completely adorable. “Eventually, we're going to have to share this story. How we met.”
“I outbid Mr. Rolex for you at a charity auction, then a volunteer accidentally married us. What's complicated about that?”
“When you put it that way, it sounds almost romantic.”
“It is romantic. I saw you, I wanted you, I bought you, and the state of Montana agreed we should be together forever.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Fate with really good paperwork.”
She laughs, her whole body shaking against mine. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, you married me.”
“Accidentally.”
“Next time, it’ll be on purpose.” I tighten my arms around her.
She props her chin on my chest, looking up at me with her soft brown eyes. “So how is this going to work? Us. Life. The practical stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t just stop working. Art is who I am.”
“I know.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I’d never ask you to stop.”
“But what if I get commissions? What if someone wants a mural in New York or Barcelona or Tokyo?”
“Then you go,” I say it simply because it is simple. “You go, you paint, and you come home.”
“And you’ll be okay with that? Me leaving?”
“Jessie.” I pull her up so we're eye to eye. “There’s a difference between leaving and going. Leaving is running away. Going is living your life and coming back to someone who’s waiting.” I kiss her softly. “I’ll always be waiting. This mountain isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I.”
Her eyes light up. “What about you? The lumberyard, the ranch—”
“Still here. Still need someone to haul wood and fix fences.” I shrug. “I’ll work, you’ll work, and we’ll come home to each other at the end of it.”
“And if we have kids?”
The question lands in my chest like a live wire.
“Kids?” I manage.
“Someday.” She's blushing now, which is adorable given what we just did. “Not tomorrow, but eventually. Maybe. If you want—”
“I want.” The words come out rough and raw. “God, Jessie. I want everything with you. Kids, dogs, chaos. All of it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I roll us over, pinning her beneath me, watching her eyes darken again. “In fact, I think we should practice.”
Her laugh turns into a gasp as I rock against her. “Practice?”
“Making babies is an important skill.” I nip at her collarbone. “It requires dedication. Repetition.”
“Very scientific approach.”
“I’m thorough.” I trail lower, and she arches into me. “Methodical.”
“Sawyer—”
“That's my name.” I grin against her stomach. “Keep saying it.”
Much later, after round two and the shower that turned into round three, Jessie finally falls asleep.
I watch her for a long moment, admiring how her face softens in sleep and how she instinctively curls toward me, seeking warmth even in unconsciousness. The sight of her in our bed, in our cabin, in our life feels profound.
Ours.
Carefully, I slip out of bed and tiptoe across the cabin. The torn papers still litter the kitchen floor from when she destroyed them earlier, remnants of her choice, our choice.
I crouch down and pick up the pieces one by one: Petition for Annulment, Grounds for Dissolution, signature lines that will never be signed.
The wood stove is still warm. I feed the scraps into the fire, watching them curl, blacken, and vanish.
Best mistake either of us ever made.
When the last scrap—Jessica Marie Henry—catches fire and turns to ash, I close the stove door and stand there, watching the flames settle.
Behind me, Jessie murmurs something in her sleep. I turn to look at the woman who walked into my life and made me believe I wasn't too much after all.
I climb back into bed, pulling her against my chest. She sighs and nestles closer, her hand finding its familiar place over my heart.
“Love you,” she mumbles, half-asleep.
“Love you too, Smudge.” I press a kiss to her hair. “Go back to sleep.”
She does.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I do too.
No nightmares. No restless thoughts. Just her warmth beside me and the quiet certainty that I’m exactly where I'm meant to be.