Chapter 28 Lawson
Chapter twenty-eight
Lawson
My jaw clenches as a lifetime of instinct pulls me two ways at once—toward the barn, toward my brother, toward my best friends and the ranch I’ve spent my entire life protecting.
And her.
And I know without a doubt that I made the right choice. Because it’s the same one I know they would have made.
Abigail’s breath comes out in ragged pants as the two of us stand chest to chest, but I’m careful not to make another move. Not until I’m sure it’s what she wants.
But god dammit, do I want it. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life.
“The boys’ve got it handled,” I tell her plainly. “Nobody’s hurt. They’re safe. You’re safe.”
Her shoulders ease a fraction, but her chest still heaves.
“I’m stayin’,” I add. “I’m not leavin’ you alone tonight. Question is, Honey… where do you want me?”
She freezes for a moment, and just when I think she’s going to create some space between us, she rises on her toes, fists the front of my shirt to lower me, until our lips are nothing more than a breath apart.
“Here. With me. I want you with me, Lawson.”
I lean forward, my lip grazing hers ever so slightly. “Is this okay?” I ask.
“Yes.”
That’s all I need.
The moment that one word leaves her lips, my mouth takes hers.
My hands settle at her waist. Not tight but not tentative.
I hold her in a way that’s certain. More certain of this moment than I’ve ever been about anything.
I feel her exhale when I touch her, feel the way her body relaxes into the contact instead of away from it.
And it’s exactly what I want.
Because this is all on her.
Her choice.
I won’t take something else from her.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I murmur between kisses.
“Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop,” she says breathlessly as her lips graze the scar along my jaw.
Something fierce coils in my chest.
I kiss her slowly. Not because I don’t want more, but because she deserves time. Patience. Lifting my hands to her jaw, I brush my thumb along her cheek, and she leans into it like she’s been waiting to be held exactly like this.
Every response she gives me matters. Every breath, every shift, every satisfied sigh. I lead, yes, but she decides how far we go.
I feel it in the way she clutches my shirt, the way her body presses impossibly tight against mine, the way her breath stutters when I murmur her name like a promise.
And for a moment, anger flashes through me. Not at her. Never her. But at the thought of anyone who ever made her feel like softness was unsafe. Like control had to be taken instead of given.
That’ll never happen again.
Resting my forehead against hers, I breathe her in, letting the moment stretch instead of rush. Letting the heat build without burning us both. “You’re safe,” I whisper against her lips. “I’ve got you.”
Her hands tighten their grip on me as those hazel eyes dance between mine. “I was broken once, Lawson. But I’m not anymore,” she says as she runs one hand through my hair. The scrape of her nails against my scalp sends shivers down my spine. “At least, I don’t want to be.”
“You’re not broken, Honey.”
“So, take me.” Slowly, she wraps one hand around my wrist and moves my hand from her waist, up her stomach, over her breast, around the side of her slender throat, before stopping once I’m cupping her face.
And I swear to god, it feels as if I could be holding the rest of my life beneath my hand. “Take me, Lawson.”
My eyes search hers for another half-second, searching for any sign of hesitation, and when I don’t find any, I don’t let myself waste another second.
A small giggle slips past her lips as I bend down, wrap my hands around her toned thighs, and hoist her onto the counter.
The moment she’s sitting, her legs wrap around my waist, and I thread my fingers through her hair.
“What do you like, Honey? I wanna make this so good for you.”
She shakes her head gently. “I just want you. However, I can get you. Don’t overthink it. I’ll tell you if something makes me uncomfortable.”
“Promise me?”
“I promise.”
With those two words, I slant my mouth back over hers, and with the swipe of my tongue, she eagerly lets me inside.
I take my time kissing her. Swallowing her every moan.
Running my hands over every inch of her I can reach.
And when her lips pull from mine to gasp for breath, I run my tongue along her jaw, and down her neck—only stopping when her scarf gets in my way.
“This has got to go,” I say roughly before undoing the knot as fast as I can and stuffing it in my back pocket. “All of this has got to fucking go.”
Without waiting for her response, I lift her in my arms and carry her to her bedroom, before shutting the door to prevent Lucy from interrupting.
Gently, I remove the hat from her head, set it on the dresser next to me, and I toss her onto the bed.
Another giggle slips free as she lands with a soft bounce.
“I love that fucking sound,” I tell her.
Because it’s true. Any chance I get to hear it, whether it’s because of me or because of Lincoln or Beau or Jasper, it feels like it knocks the wind from my chest. Because this woman, someone who’s been to hell and back again, has found joy.
Here. With us. And I don’t ever want to take that for granted.
Standing at the foot of the bed, I drag my hand down her torso, listening to her heavy breath as I go.
Once I reach the buttons of her jeans, I slowly pull them down her legs, followed by her socks, all while she eagerly removes her black body suit.
When I look back up at her, she’s in nothing but a black thong and bra, and a couple of necklaces adorning her neck.
She looks like a picture I couldn’t have painted in my wildest dreams. A work of fucking art.
And as much as I want to take care of her, protect her, keep her safe—a darker part of me kind of wants to ruin her. Make a mess of her.
“Look at you,” I say, dragging my gaze over her body. “I could look at you for the rest of my life and never be done.”
“Lawson,” she whines, wiggling gently on the bed beneath me.
I want to climb on top of her, but I just need one more second to look at her.
I’ve seen a lot of beauty in my life. In people, in the way this land rises and falls around us, in the way the sun rises and falls beyond the mountains, and in the way the stars light up the night.
But nothing, and I mean fucking nothing, compares to the way Abigail looks right now.
“Say my name again.”
“Lawson…”
A deep groan falls from my mouth. As quickly as I can, I unbutton my shirt and let it fall to the floor at my feet before wrapping my hands around Abigail’s ankles and pulling her to the edge of the bed.
And when I drop to my knees in front of her, her ragged breath fills the room.
I take my time kissing and licking my way up one thigh, then the other, and groan when I place a gentle kiss over the wet spot on her panties.
My fingers play with the waistband of the black fabric, and she thrusts her hips ever so slightly at the touch. “Can I take these off?”
“You-you don’t have to do that.”
Have to? Fucking have to?
“I want to.” I plant another gentle kiss. “I want to pull these down and see how wet you are. See if it’s all for me. I want to taste you on my tongue, Honey. I need it. So, please. Please, Abigail. Can I take these off?”
She nods. “You can take them off.”
Realizing I should have done this before I knelt down in front of her, I fist the front of the flimsy fabric and give it a quick pull, ripping the fabric from her body and throwing it behind me.
“Lawson!”
I huff a laugh, not even bothering to hide my grin. “Don’t worry, Honey. I’ll buy you more.”
“You—ohhh.” Her argument turns to a moan as I run my finger through her wet slit, and when I press gently against her clit she sits up on her elbows, allowing those pretty hazel eyes to look into mine as her mouth falls open on a moan.
“How long has it been?”
It sounds casual, almost careless, but there’s another question woven into the words. One she’s never said out loud. One none of us have been brave enough to ask.
Lincoln told us what she shared with him on their ride all those weeks ago.
I could tell he fought with himself on whether or not to tell us—like he felt as if he was crossing some sort of line she entrusted him with—and maybe that’s true.
But he did it anyway. Not out of us being curious or nosy, but out of care.
He felt that it was important that we knew, and that she wouldn’t have to eventually tell the same story four times over. We don’t know much. But we know enough.
None of us have said anything to her about it. She’s never said what exactly they did. Or how far it went. But I know it wasn’t nothing.
I see it in the way she flinches at movements that come too fast. In the way her breath still stutters at sudden noises—at the coffee mug Jas dropped on the floor, at raised voices, at sounds that hit without warning. You don’t learn fear like that without reason.
But what I need to know right now though, is the question I’m too terrified to ask. Too terrified to hear the answer
And I know that makes me a coward. If she survived it, I should be able to hear it. I should be strong enough to hold that truth for her. But being here, this close, with her body beneath my hands… I don’t think I could bear it.
So instead, I wait.
I give her space to hear the words I didn’t say. To answer the question I couldn’t force myself to voice.
She runs her fingers through my hair before whispering, “Years.”
A harsh breath leaves my lips at the joy that one simple word brings me. “Then I’m not wasting another second,” I murmur. “I want you to feel how wanted you are.”