Chapter 13 #2
Her throat closed. For a long moment, she just looked at him—this stubborn, complicated man who’d lied to her and then risked his life to save her. Who looked at her like she was something precious and breakable and worth fighting for.
And despite the ache in her chest, she realized the truth she’d been avoiding. She loved him too. Loved his strength, his protectiveness, the way he made her feel both challenged and cherished.
When he started to step back, she caught his shirt in her fist. “Don’t go.”
He froze, every muscle going taut. “Lark—”
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the wild hammering of her heart. “Not right now.”
Something shifted in his expression—restraint warring with hunger. “You sure about what you’re asking for?”
“Yes.” She met his gaze without wavering. “I’m sure of you.”
Whatever wall was left between them shattered.
Ty cupped her face in both large hands, his palms rough and warm against her skin, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t tentative—it was deep and rough and claiming, filled with everything they hadn’t said and everything they would never need to say again.
The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she rose into him, her hands fisting in his shirt.
His hands moved to her hips, pulling her flush against the solid wall of his chest. She could feel the shudder that went through him, the tremor of a man who’d been holding back for too long and was done pretending.
Her fingers slid up his neck, tangling in his thick, still-damp hair. “Were you always this bad at following orders?” she whispered against his mouth.
“Only yours,” he rasped, then his teeth caught her bottom lip in a gentle bite that made her gasp. “But don’t mistake that for weakness, sweetheart. Once I have you, I’m not letting go.”
The promise in his words sent liquid heat cascading through her. “Maybe I don’t want to go anywhere,” she murmured.
The tension that had stretched between them for days finally broke like a snapping wire.
He lifted her easily—one arm banding around her waist, the other beneath her thighs—her legs wrapping around his waist as his mouth traced the line of her throat.
His beard rasped against her sensitive skin, and she shivered, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her pulse point, and she felt the words as much as heard them. “Always.”
The firelight flickered over their skin as he carried her to the bed, setting her down with surprising gentleness. His gaze locked with hers, dark and intense and full of promise—and possession.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he said, his voice rough gravel. “Because once we do this, you’re mine. Completely.”
Instead of fear, his words sparked something wild and wanting inside her. “Then claim me.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”
His hands found the hem of her shirt, and she lifted her arms, letting him strip it away. His sharp intake of breath made her feel powerful, desired. His calloused palms skimmed up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she arched into his touch with a soft moan.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, reverence and hunger mixing in his tone. “So damn beautiful.”
He shed his own shirt in one smooth motion, and her breath caught at the sight of him—broad chest, defined muscles, the scar tissue that told stories of battles fought and survived. She reached out, tracing the ridge of an old wound near his ribs, and he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips.
“Don’t look at those,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
She did, and what she saw in his eyes made her chest tight—vulnerability and strength, need and determination.
He lowered her back onto the bed, following her down, his weight settling over her in a way that made her feel sheltered rather than trapped. His mouth found hers again—slow, hungry, thorough—as his hands mapped every curve, every dip, learning her body with focused intensity.
When his lips traveled lower, tracing the line of her collarbone, the valley between her breasts, she gasped his name. He smiled against her skin, then took one peaked nipple into his mouth, his tongue working in devastating circles while his hand palmed the other breast.
“Ty,” she moaned, her hips lifting instinctively.
“I know what you need,” he murmured, his free hand sliding down her belly to the waistband of her pants. “Trust me to give it to you.”
She did. God help her, she did.
He stripped away the last barriers between them with efficient movements, his gaze drinking in every newly exposed inch of skin. Then his hand was between her thighs, fingers exploring her slick heat, and she cried out at the sensation.
“So ready for me,” he praised, his voice thick with approval. “Such a good girl.”
The words shouldn’t affect her so much, but they did—sending sparks of pleasure racing down her spine.
He worked her with skilled fingers, his thumb circling that sensitive bundle of nerves while two fingers pressed inside, stretching, preparing.
His mouth found hers again, swallowing her moans as he built the pressure higher and higher.
“Come for me,” he commanded against her lips. “Let me feel it.”
His thumb pressed just right, and she shattered—crying out as waves of pleasure rolled through her, her body clenching around his fingers. He worked her through it, murmuring praise, his free hand stroking her hair.
“That’s my girl,” he said roughly. “But we’re not done yet.”
He stripped off the rest of his clothes, and she had a moment to appreciate his sheer size and strength before he was back, positioning himself between her thighs. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he notched himself at her entrance.
“Look at me,” he ordered, and her eyes snapped to his. “I want to see you when I make you mine.”
He pushed forward in one slow, devastating thrust, filling her completely. They both groaned—she at the exquisite stretch and fullness, he at the tight, wet heat surrounding him.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his arms trembling with the effort of holding still. “You feel perfect. Like you were made for me.”
“Move,” she pleaded, her nails digging into his back. “Please, Ty.”
He pulled back and thrust again, setting a rhythm that was both tender and demanding—deep, deliberate strokes that hit something perfect inside her with each movement.
His hand found hers, pinning it to the mattress beside her head, fingers threading through hers in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate.
The sounds of their bodies joining filled the small cabin—skin against skin, her breathy moans, his rough groans of pleasure.
The bed frame creaked with the force of his movements, and she loved it—loved the reminder of his strength, his control, the way he held nothing back now that she’d given herself to him.
“You’re mine,” he growled against her ear, his pace increasing. “Say it.”
“Yours,” she gasped, the pressure building again, impossibly higher this time. “I’m yours, Ty.”
“Damn right you are.” His free hand slid between them, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Come with me this time. I want to feel you fall apart when I fill you.”
His words, combined with the perfect pressure of his thumb and the angle of his thrusts, pushed her over the edge. She came with a cry of his name, her body clenching and pulsing around him in waves of overwhelming pleasure.
He followed moments later with a rough groan, his whole body going taut as release claimed him, his arms tightening around her like he’d never let go. She felt the warmth of him filling her, marking her as his deep inside.
For long moments, they stayed locked together, both trembling and breathless, hearts racing in tandem.
Finally, he shifted his weight slightly so he wouldn’t crush her, but he didn’t pull away—instead gathering her close, tucking her head beneath his chin, one large hand splaying possessively across her lower back while the other stroked her hair.
“You okay?” he murmured against her temple, and she heard the genuine concern beneath the gruffness, the need to know he’d taken care of her.
“More than okay,” she whispered against the solid warmth of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. “That was...”
“Yeah,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head—gentle now, protective. “It was.”
He pulled the heavy quilt over them both, cocooning them in warmth. Outside, the rain continued its steady rhythm, and the fire crackled softly, casting amber light across the rough walls.
Lark pressed closer to him, her body still humming with the echo of pleasure, her heart full in a way she’d never experienced. His arm tightened around her, and she felt him press another kiss to her hair.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured into the comfortable silence. “You’re mine now. I protect what’s mine.”
She smiled against his chest. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
His hand traced slow, soothing circles on her back, and she felt the last of the tension leave his body. “Damn stubborn woman,” he said, but his voice was full of affection.
“You knew that when you fell for me,” she pointed out.
“Yeah.” His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. “I did.”
For the first time since she’d arrived in these mountains, Lark felt completely at peace. Not because everything was resolved or perfect, but because she’d found something—someone—worth fighting for. Someone who would fight for her just as fiercely.
Morning would bring new challenges. Her father, explanations, decisions about what came next. But for now, wrapped in Ty’s strong arms with his heartbeat steady beneath her ear and the fire warming the room, she just wanted to stay in this moment.
This wasn’t just about passion or forgiveness anymore.
It was about choosing each other, despite everything that had tried to tear them apart. About building something real and lasting from the ashes of lies and misunderstanding.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” Ty murmured, his hand continuing its gentle rhythm on her back. “I’ve got you.”
And as her eyes drifted closed, safe in his embrace, Lark knew with absolute certainty that he always would.