Blair
“Can I be honest for five seconds?” I ask breathlessly.
“Always.”
“I’m scared.” I shutter my eyes, and he presses soft kisses over my dampened eyelashes. “Of what’s happening with my mom, of the way I had to toss my life plans aside to come back here, of you…”
“Of me?” He grabs either side of my face and tilts my head up, silently pleading for me to look at him. Then he holds my gaze with a worried expression etched into the space between his brows. A single tear—tiny while also big enough to drown us both—sits tucked against the corner of his eye.
“We were kids, and now we’re different. You’re…” I raise my hands like I’m weighing things out, seeking the right word.
A fuckboy, a playboy, a douchebag…
A grown man, a sweet guy, more handsome than ever before…
“Not the same boy I loved. I don’t know you.”
“Deep down, I’m the same boy. I still ride broncs, and love my family, and my favorite color is blue. And , I’m still totally fucking crazy about you.”
“I’m not the same person I used to be.”
“Well, I personally think you’re an even better version, based on what I know so far. And I’d love to know more.”
“What do you want to know?” My wrists link behind his neck, pulling his chest into mine.
“Literally everything. The good, the bad, the random thoughts consuming your brain. I want it all. I want anything you’re willing to tell me.”
I can’t help it. My lips capture his again.
“That’s a lot,” I mumble against his mouth.
“I have nothing but time.” One more kiss, laced with relief, before he continues. “Are you in the mood for ice cream? I heard Lickety Split opened up shop for the summer at the start of the month.”
“I should head home to be with Mom.”
“Okay, sure, yeah.” No hiding the defeat in his eyes, and I realize my words came out wrong.
“Not because I don’t want to spend time with you. I just…”
“Have responsibilities that you’re totally fine managing on your own—I know. Let’s get you home.”
I tug him into me for one last languid kiss, walking him backward to the truck. And when we climb inside, I take the middle seat, letting the heat of our touching thighs warm my bones. For the entire hour’s drive to Wells Canyon, he clutches my hand with a grip tightened by fear.
Fear of losing each other. Fear that this moment is for today only.
—
It started with confusion when I walked in the door; Mom couldn’t understand why I was home from school. Doctors had told us to go along with whatever she believed to be true, so we told her summer break had just started, and she relaxed. Then she got annoyed with my dad for insisting she sit down and let him barbecue. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was my sister, Whit, showing up and loudly exclaiming that she had Mom’s new medic-alert bracelet.
I intercepted my nephew, Jonas, by the front door and told him I needed help with my computer, forcing him to follow me to my bedroom. To my fake surprise, my laptop was working perfectly fine. Jonas side-eyed me, opening his mouth to call me out for lying, when something smashed in the kitchen. Then Mom screamed at Whit for being a bitch, and Dad raised his voice in a way that made the entire house fall still.
Despite the commotion ending a few moments ago, Jonas’s hand is still hovering over the doorknob. “Are they okay out there?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Stay here for a second, okay, bud?”
He nods, stepping back from the door to let me brush past. And when I shut it softly behind me, leaving the ten-year-old as far away as possible from the adult bullshit he doesn’t deserve to be part of, I take a deep breath.
“Are you guys okay?” I fake a cheery voice, finding Whit sitting on a kitchen stool with her knees to her chest, wiping silent tears. I step up next to her and rub my hand over her back. “I told Jonas to stay in my room for a minute.”
Dad looks up from where he’s knelt on the floor, picking up large chunks of glass. “Mom went to bed. She just…”
“Got confused and scared.” I kneel across from him and pick up pieces of what seems to have been a salad bowl. “We know, Dad. If you want to go talk to her, I got this.”
He stands with a groan and shuffles down the hall, stopping by my room to say hi to Jonas. In silence, I pick up the remainder of the glass, then wipe up the microscopic pieces with a damp paper towel. Before long, I’m settling in next to Whit with a glass of malbec from Mom’s extensive collection. My sister slowly sips hers, furiously wiping the dampness from around her eyes, when we hear Jonas come strolling down the hallway. He flings his lanky body onto the couch, and even though he’s wearing headphones, it’s loud enough that we can hear the soundtrack to whatever game he’s playing on his handheld device.
“This is fucked up,” Whit says.
“So fucked up.” I take a long drink of the dry wine, letting it linger on my tongue.
“Thank you for coming home, even though I know you hate it here. Dad couldn’t manage on his own.”
Sucking my teeth, I nod. “I actually don’t mind being back. It’s been…healing, in a way.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I had a change of heart.”
“Is that so?”
She’s not subscribing to my bullshit.
“Also, I kissed Denver today.” I whisper the secret into my stemless glass—a largely hollow space that echoes my words back to me.
“ That explains it. That’s also the least surprising thing I’ve heard since I got here.” She swirls her glass around in her hand thoughtfully. “Be careful, though.”
“Cass warned me, too.”
“Because we don’t want to see you end up hurt again. You deserve the world, sis. If he’s willing to give you that, I support it. But make sure he’s all in before you fall headfirst.”
“I am. I’m taking things slow. It was just a kiss…that doesn’t mean anything.”
She looks at me dubiously, not believing the words coming out of my mouth any more than I am. There’s no such thing as just a kiss when it comes to me and him. Cass and Whit are the only people in the world who know I used to sneak him into my room at night. My sister’s the only person who saw me have a breakdown after losing him, and was subjected to hearing all the details. She knows how deep my feelings for him run to this day.
“Okay, girls and boy.” Dad enters the room, clapping his hands together and smiling broadly. “Who’s hungry? I made homemade hamburgers.”
We eat in a weird state of limbo, unsure whether we should be quiet and mindful of Mom—who’s apparently going to bed at seven p.m.—or be our typical boisterous selves in an effort to maintain some normalcy for Jonas. Opting to prevent another issue with Mom, we talk about nothing exciting, using slightly quieter voices than normal, and Whit leaves with Jonas the moment they finish their last bite of food.
Then Dad and I clean the kitchen in silence, the weight of the evening hanging over us, but neither feeling comfortable broaching hard topics with each other. He and I are the same that way; no sense panicking about the shitstorm when we can board up the windows and weather it alone. It’s not that we aren’t close, per se. My family’s simply never been the type to circle up for a group hug, or talk about hard things, or ask anyone for help.
Retreating to my bedroom, I’m overcome by the need to have the same comforting feeling Denver gave me on the mountaintop.
: Hey, are you busy?
Denver: Not too busy for you, why?
: It was a shitty night with Mom….
: Do you want to come over?
From the moment my finger taps the Send button, I begin to panic. And pacing around my room for the half hour it’ll take for Denver to drive to my house isn’t feasible. I’ll wear out the damn carpet. So I opt for an everything shower, letting water and tears run freely while I soap and scrub and shave nearly every inch of my body. By the time the water’s too cold to stand, I’m cried out and wishing I’d held off on inviting Denver over.
That’s solidified by a quick glance in the foggy mirror. I swipe my hand across the glass, clearing enough space to discover that my eyes are bloodshot, cheeks puffy, and chest blotchy.
Great, he’s going to take one look at me and run the other way.
Clasping the towel wrapped around my body, I trudge back to my bedroom, hoping I can grab my phone in time to tell Denver to stand down. Because all I really want to do is curl up in bed, watch a silly little rom-com, and fall asleep.
“About time. I was starting to think you were pranking me.” Denver’s leaning back on his elbows on top of my bed, and I momentarily freeze at the sight of him.
I shut the door and hold the towel tighter to my body, moving quickly to the closet.
“You’re here already? How?” I glance at the clock to find it’s been a full forty-five minutes since I sent the text. “Oh, shit. Sorry, I must’ve lost track of time. Can you, um, turn around so I can put clothes on?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, but fine.” Lifting his feet onto the bed, he spins to face the headboard. “Are you okay?”
Aside from cursing myself for not owning cuter pajamas?
“Yeah, I’m okay now.” I reach for the best available option—a shorts and tank set. Except you can see my nipples clear as day through the thin pink fabric, so I tug the closest available hoodie on over top.
“You don’t have to be okay,” he says. “Remember?”
I sink onto the soft mattress next to him, tucking my feet under my butt. Our knees briefly collide when he turns to face me, and the most simple of touches reignites the fire in my core that burned for the entire drive home earlier.
And I’m not lying when I say, “I am okay now. Truth.”
“Did you keep my hoodie for the last decade?”
I gulp, embarrassment creeping from my belly up to my chest and neck. Yes, I kept his hoodie— hoodies, technically, because I have a number of sweatshirts and T-shirts tucked away—but I wasn’t anticipating him noticing.
Denver flicks the wet ends of my hair over my shoulder to check the small logo printed on the front for confirmation, and the dimples in his cheeks pull me in. “Should I tear apart your closet and see how much of it technically belongs to me?”
He moves like he’s going to stand, and my fingers wrap around his thick bicep. “Stop. It’s a good hoodie. That’s the only reason I kept it.”
“God, you are the worst liar I’ve ever met. I remember lending you this sweatshirt, and you said it was a complete waste of pocket space because you couldn’t fit your hands in the pocket with your mittens on. You complained about it all winter, yet kept wearing the damn hoodie anyway.” He toys with the pocket’s edge, and the way I feel his hardened hands through the tattered cotton makes me wish I hadn’t worn it— or anything —to bed at all. I’m tempted to stretch my arms above my head, test him to see if he’d touch my bare skin.
“You got me. It truly is a terrible hoodie. The hood is abnormally small, too.” I reach up, blissfully aware of his eyes cutting to the sliver of exposed skin on my lower stomach, and pull the hood over my damp hair.
“Maybe you have a big head.” He tugs the hoodie strings, staring into my eyes with a crooked smile as the hood bunches around my face. “Confirmed. Big head. You look like you’re starring in The Shining .”
I playfully slap him on the leg. “You can have it back then, if you’re so sure it’s a problem with my head.”
Hands on the bottom of the hoodie, I pull it over my head in one swift motion.
“I doubt it’ll still fit—” His sentence is cut short when his eyes fall to my chest, Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow.
Oh right, I was wearing the sweater for a reason.
“, are tho—did—uh,” he stammers, tripping over himself while practically drooling like a dog. It would be a lie to say I’m not flattered. A throaty fuck is the only word he eventually manages to get out before I step in to save him from himself.
“Yes, they’re pierced. And it’s generally bad form to stare.”
“I feel like they’re staring at me. It’s a dominance thing—I can’t look away now.”
“Told you that you don’t know everything about me anymore,” I quip.
“And I told you I want to know everything. Never been more true than right fucking now.” For a brief second, his eyes cut to mine, and I can see how hungry he is. How close this man is to becoming fully feral. How badly he wants me is painted all over his face, and it makes my thighs clench together.
“Oh, yeah?” Tuning out the warning bells and the percussion of my terrified heartbeat, I place a finger under the thin strap on my left shoulder and slip it down.
There’s a dull throb behind my pelvic bone, and I barely breathe while his eyes follow my every move. When I pluck the other strap in my fingers, his hand covers mine, helping slide the strap down my arm.
His tongue skates across his bottom lip, leaving it glistening and kissable. Shaking slightly, he rests a palm on my arm. No more than an inch from where my right breast is ready to be set free. And if my chest was anything more than an A-cup, I’m sure the pajama tank wouldn’t be enough to keep them contained without straps.
Denver’s thumb stretches to test the waters with a graze of side-boob. Getting no pushback from me, he exhales a strained, rough “fuck it.”
Within a heartbeat, my shirt’s bunched around my waist, his mouth is ravaging mine, and he’s massaging my breasts— the budded nipples pressed into his firm palms. With a needy moan I tumble backward on the bed. And he hovers over me, pulling the oxygen from my lungs through a mind-altering kiss.
I gasp for air when his lips leave mine to drag down my neck. Then his tongue glides over my skin, along my collarbone and down my chest, spreading gasoline over the fire in my core. I didn’t invite him over here intending to have sex. At least, not consciously. But all I want is for him to fill the aching emptiness I’m suddenly overwhelmed by.
He draws back for only half a second—enough to get a good look at my new-to-him jewelry and let me pull my shirt completely off—before diving back in and forcing a hoarse moan from the back of my throat. His tongue encircles each nipple like a halo, flicking over the dainty barbells and sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Feeling my body buck under him, he huffs, and the hot forced air only drives me more wild.
I grip his muscular shoulders, letting my nails sink into his flesh. I am not seriously going to come already. I shake the thought away as he flicks across my pebbled nipple again.
Oh, fucking hell.
My toes curl as Denver moves to the opposite breast and licks at one while gently teasing the other between his fingers.
“Den—” I whisper-shout, pulling at his hair to get his attention.
“Mmmm.” He hums as he licks a trail down my stomach, stopping at the waistband of my shorts, waiting until I lift my hips slightly and allow him to pull them down. My knees fall away from each other slightly, and he takes me in with a low growl. “ Fucking look at you. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Spread yourself, baby, show me what I’ve been missing.”
I let my hand trail down between my breasts, over my stomach, and down to my pussy. A dark gleam in his eye, he motions with his head for me to continue. So I press my fingers to my labia, splitting them for him to see.
I’m completely naked and spread wide for him, but I don’t feel exposed at all. Even after all this time, his gaze is full of wanton lust when he looks at me. He wants me as badly as I still want him.
“You’re already so wet, baby girl. You like when I tease your nipples?” He folds his tongue around one and my eyes roll back in my head for a second. “I can’t believe you got them pierced. God, I thought I loved your tits before—but now?”
Insatiable.
Denver grips my hips, leaning to kiss my body, worshipping me from head to toe with the attentive drag of his tongue. Until I’m close to begging, needy for his hands or mouth to be relieving the pressure built at the apex of my thighs. His finger smooths over my clit, and he sucks on my breast, flicking his tongue over my nipple at the same time he slips a finger through my wetness.
There’s a rumble in his chest when he slips one, then two fingers deep inside me. And I hold a palm over my mouth, struggling not to cry out as he fills me with a new need. I won’t be satisfied until I have all of him. I know it.
He pulls his hand away and brings it to his mouth, then sucks his fingers clean of me with a hum of desire deep in his chest. It’s as if he’s just tasted the most exquisite dessert on Earth.
With a sated smile, he quietly says, “You keep insisting I don’t know you anymore—I’ve never forgotten the way you taste. That sweet pussy of yours hasn’t changed, baby. But you know what I really want to know about the new ?”
“What?”
“I need to know if you still sound the same when you’re coming for me,” he mumbles against the crook of my neck, nipping at my delicate skin.
His fingers slip deep inside, pulling me closer to orgasm, while his mouth focuses back on my nipples. The fire engulfs me, and my back arches to be even closer to his touch. Within seconds of slow, methodical licks and his beckoning fingers, I’m moaning— loudly .
“Shhh, baby. You need to be good and quiet.” He lays his free hand across my mouth, smiling with pride when I bite down on his flesh at the same moment an orgasm rips through me. And still, he doesn’t stop sucking and flicking and fucking while I come back down from the high.
Denver rips his shirt overhead, all abs and tanned skin. Then I’m tugging at his waistband, desperate for him. His cock springs to life from under his sweatpants, and I take a moment to appreciate the man he’s become.
Holy fucking shit—praise our lord and savior, or whatever.
He’s always been made up of lean muscle, but as a man, there’s a smattering of brown hair on his chest. And a thin, lickable trail from his belly button down to the promised land. A cock I’ve never gotten over. Maybe it’s because it was the first I ever had, maybe it’s because it was larger than most I’ve seen since, maybe it’s because I’ve always loved the man packing it. And the tattoo that I…
“Wait. Is that a tattoo?” I shift closer to him, squinting to make out the black ink on his thigh—a splotch no bigger than a toonie about halfway between his knee and hip.
Seemingly taken aback, like he’d forgotten it was there, he looks down at his own skin. “Oh…yeah.”
And when I figure out what the tiny design is, my heart does a weird bobbing action, unsure whether to sink or float. “Den…is that a bear?”
“Sheesh, I know Red’s tattoo guy was a bit shady, but I didn’t think he did that bad of a job. Of course it’s a bear.”
I really don’t want to assume. But how can I not? Swallowing hard, I run my finger over it and look up at him.
“W-why?”
He brushes fallen locks of hair behind my ears. “Because Mom told me I could get a tattoo over her dead body. So…I did. Red hooked me up. I fucking hate needles, so it’s never happening again.”
Naturally, he’s fine with the cattle brand embedded into his chest, but a tiny tattoo is too much. He’s always been such a wimp when it comes to needles of any kind.
“I mean, why the bear?”
“That’s a pretty silly question, Bear .” His soft smile matches my own, and his hand finds its way to mine. “You were the only thing I could think of at the time. It was the only tattoo that made sense to me. Right here, where your hand used to rest when we drove around in my truck all summer long.”
I fight the burning in my lungs by kissing him, consuming him, and holding tight to his thigh. Overcome with both the need to have him and the need to never let him go again.
My sister and Cass were right about my tendency to fall hard, fast. I’m already in too deep. If he isn’t all in, my heart will forever be a shattered mess on my bedroom floor. But if I’m a dead girl walking, I may as well savor every damn moment.
Finally breaking free of the kiss, I let myself get a good look at the intricate browns and golds in his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Anything you want, baby.”
“I have condoms in the top drawer.” I point in the direction of my dresser and watch as Denver strolls across the room to retrieve one. Every muscle in his unfairly perfect body ripples and flexes with each step.
“I don’t want to know why you have condoms.” Denver’s voice carries a tinge of jealousy and possessiveness.
I take the packet from his hand, and slowly tear open the wrapper. “We’ve both had sex with other people in the last decade, and I stole free condoms from the hospital I worked at.”
A grumble starts in his chest, but is promptly stopped by me rolling the condom over the tip of his cock. Replaced by a resounding fuck. When it’s rolled to the base of his shaft, I give him two slow pumps.
“But Den, you’re the only one I’ve ever truly wanted. It’s you, only ever you.” I kiss him, stroking him slowly.
“Come here, baby.” A hand cradling my skull, he slowly lowers me onto my back, then does a sweep of his palm under my head, making my hair splay out in every direction on the pillow. “I need you to know something, though.”
I blink up at him, pressing my heels into his hamstrings. I need his thick cock inside me, instead of the position we’re in, with the head inadvertently teasing me. Slipping up through the wetness, lightly grazing my clit, and sliding back down until it’s positioned at my entrance. Over and over like a metronome clock counting down to my collapse.
“If we do this, everything else is over.” He kisses my jaw. “If you’re talking to some prissy bitch boy back in the city, it’s done. I’m not sharing. I’m not risking losing you to somebody else. I’m going to keep you for life this time.”
“There’s nobody else.” I tangle my hands in his hair, forcing his brown eyes to meet mine. “There never was.”
“There never will be, either.” His cock slides into me in one smooth motion, and for a few seconds neither of us moves, allowing me to adjust to him with focused breaths. Despite the slight sting before my muscles relax around his cock, having our bodies intertwined, and his lips pressed to mine, feels like coming home.
All the years feeling like I was missing something, I was homesick. But not for Wells Canyon. I was homesick for him.
For this.
My happy place.
I spent forever trying to forget Denver Wells. And having him claim me again makes me realize it was all for nothing, because I’ve always belonged to him. Arguing that fact was pointless.
With unhurried passion, we kiss and muffle each other’s moans, like he suspected we would. There’s comfort and love in his languid movement when he pulls back out before slowly filling me again. I explore every inch of his skin with my hands, skirting down his torso and cradling his firm ass, while he licks and sucks on my breasts, giving them the attention they so often don’t get because of their smaller size. And pumps into me, slow and steady, like a calm heartbeat.
When our eyes meet between kisses, I regret every single decision I made in the past. I hate that I haven’t had him like this every day. I hate that I broke us— broke him —and I can’t help but feel like my life would’ve been better if I had stayed here.
“Baby,” he says, stilling while fully seated inside me. “Why are you crying, Bear? Do you need me to stop?”
Oh God, am I seriously crying?
I swipe under my eyes, frustrated when my fingers turn up wet. “No, I’m just…I’m fine, honest.”
Seeing right through my weak attempt at hiding my feelings, he gives me a look—refusing to move a muscle, even as my heels press to the backs of his thighs.
“Okay, fine. I’m overwhelmed…. Can you hold me? But don’t stop. Just hold me.”
If he thinks the request is bizarre, he doesn’t say anything. One hand weaves into my hair, while the other wipes my eyes. And he doesn’t let go, even as tears dampen my hair and the pillow. With our foreheads pressed together, he kisses me slowly, his tongue pushing past my lips to fill my mouth the same way his cock is filling my core.
Slipping a hand between us, Denver locates my clit and tenderly massages in time with his thrusts, until my nails are creating small crescent moons in his back, and he’s kissing me out of necessity to dampen my needy cries.
“Shhh. I know, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of my ear. His fingers pick up the pace on my clit, and each deep thrust has me ready to come undone. With every sound I make—and every tear rolling past my temple—he simply whispers, “I know, baby. I know.”
And I run my hands through his hair, desperate for all of him. Sinking the back of my head into the pillow and biting my lip, rolling my hips to feel him as deep as possible.
“ That’s it. That’s my girl. As beautiful under me as I remember,” he says softly. “Come for me, baby. Let go.”
I whimper, eyes squeezed shut, doing my best to keep quiet as the tension builds between my legs. My skin’s crawling with the need for release, and I shove a corner of the comforter in my mouth, racked with so much pleasure I need to scream. And in one crashing wave of gratification and emotion, I relax from head to toe.
Even with my legs shaking, tears pooled on my pillow, he doesn’t stop kissing me, holding me, loving me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans with his final shuddering pumps punctuating each word. When contentment washes over his face, I pull him to me for another kiss.
Every daydream I allowed myself to envision in my darkest moments comes flooding back, flashing like an old-school film behind my eyelids—dancing in the living room of our first home, walking down the aisle, racing on horseback across the ranch to make love under a tree in the mountains, holding our baby for the first time. A movie I played in my mind whenever I wanted to cause myself irreparable pain. Only now, I see it through a different lens, because maybe there’s still time for our love story to happen.