CHAPTER 6
Clark
Friday morning meant one more day. I woke up thinking about the kiss I hadn't given him yet. About the way Maverick had looked at me yesterday when I'd cupped his face and promised him everything.
My hands still tingled from the memory.
I'd promised him everything. Told him he'd beg. Made it explicit exactly what I wanted from him.
And today, I'd have to deliver.
You're going to beg me for it.
The words echoed in my head, bold and claiming. Had I really said that? To someone I'd known for forty-eight hours?
Yes. Yes, I had.
And I'd meant every word.
Bear whined beside me, pressing his head against my leg. I looked down at him and I swore the dog was judging me.
"I know," I muttered. "I know it's a terrible idea."
He huffed.
"He's too young."
Another huff.
"He's leaving as soon as the roads clear."
Bear's expression said what we both knew. I was lying to myself.
I turned away and ran both hands over my face. I needed to work. Needed to do something with my hands that didn't involve touching Maverick Wright. I grabbed my coat and headed outside, Bear trailing behind me.
The property needed attention. Trees to check, branches to clear from the storm, and paths to maintain. Physical labor. That's what I needed. Something to burn off this restless energy that had been building since yesterday.
Since the moment a half-frozen wanderer had stumbled onto my property and looked at me like I could save him.
***
I worked for hours.
Cleared snow. Checked trees for damage. Fixed a section of fence that had come loose. Cut firewood. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the fact that Maverick was in that cabin right now, probably thinking about what I'd said. What I'd promised.
When I have you—and I will have you, make no mistake about that.
Had I lost my mind? What was I doing making promises like that to someone I barely knew? Someone who would be gone the second the county plowed the roads?
Except.
Except I'd seen the way he responded to my voice. To my commands. The way he'd sat without question when I told him to. The way he'd said "yes, sir" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The way he looked at me like I was exactly what he'd been searching for.
And I wanted to be that for him more than I'd wanted anything in five years. Wanted to give him the structure and care and attention he clearly craved. Wanted to see how far that trust went, how deep that submission ran.
Wanted him in ways I hadn't wanted anyone in five years.
I drove the axe into the chopping block harder than necessary.
***
At exactly six o'clock, I knocked on the cabin door with dinner in hand—tonight it was chili, cornbread, and a simple salad. Comfort food. The kind of meal you made for someone you wanted to take care of.
Maverick opened the door immediately, like he'd been waiting. He'd put on socks and shoes this time, but he still had that soft sweater on, and his hair was starting to dry into messy waves.
"Come in?" he asked, stepping aside.
I should say no. Should hand him the food and leave. Keep that distance I was supposed to be maintaining.
"For a minute," I heard myself say.
His smile was blinding, and I stepped inside.
The cabin was warm, the fire burning steadily. He'd been working—his laptop was open on the small table, design software visible on the screen. He'd made the space his in just two days. His backpack on the chair. His toiletries in the bathroom. A sweatshirt draped over the back of the couch.
It looked lived in. It looked right.
"Working?" I asked, setting the food on the counter.
"Yeah, just finishing up a logo for a client." He closed the laptop. "Deadline's next week. Assuming I have internet by then."
"Cell service is spotty out here, but the cabin has wifi. Password's on the router."
"Thanks." He was watching me, and I could feel the weight of his attention. "You didn't have to bring dinner again."
"I made too much."
"Did you?"
No. I'd made exactly enough for two. Had been thinking about what he might like while I cooked. Had made cornbread from scratch because I remembered him saying he liked it.
The air between us shifted. Got heavy.
"Eat," I said, gesturing to the food. "It's getting cold."
"Are you staying?" The question was tentative. Hopeful.
I should say no. Should leave right now and maintain that boundary.
"For a bit," I said.
The happiness in his expression made something warm unfurl in my chest.
We ate together at the small table, sitting across from each other. The silence was comfortable, easy. Like we'd done this a hundred times before instead of just twice.
"Can I ask you something?" Maverick said after a while.
"Go ahead."
"When you said I'd beg..." He trailed off, color rising in his cheeks. "What did you mean?"
My spoon paused halfway to my mouth. He was asking. Actually asking me to explain what I'd promised him.
Brave boy.
"I meant," I said slowly, setting down my fork, "that when we do this—if we do this—you're going to know exactly what you're asking for. You're going to want it so badly you can't stay quiet about it. You're going to use your words and tell me exactly what you need."
He'd stopped eating. Was watching me with those wide eyes, barely breathing.
"Because I won't give you anything you don't ask for," I continued. "I need to hear it. Need to know you want it. Need to know you're choosing this with full knowledge of what it means."
"What does it mean?"
"It means you trust me to take care of you. To make decisions about your body, your pleasure, your needs. It means you give over control and let me lead." I held his gaze. "And it means you're mine while we're doing it. Completely mine."
The word hung between us. Mine.
"And after?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"After, we figure that out together."
He swallowed hard. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I understand. I'll think about it."
But we both knew he'd already decided. I could see it in his eyes. In the way his breathing had gone shallow. In the way he was looking at me like I'd just promised him everything he'd ever wanted.
"Good." I stood up, needing distance before I did something stupid. "Get some rest. Big day tomorrow."
"Big day?"
"I've got trees to mark and tag. You said you wanted to help out." I met his eyes. "Time to put you to work."
"Is that an order?" The bratty tone was new. Testing.
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you want it to be?"
His breath caught. "Maybe."
"Then yes. It's an order." I moved toward the door. "Nine o'clock. Dress warm. Don't be late."
"Yes, sir."
He said it deliberately this time. On purpose. Watching for my reaction.
I paused at the door, looked back at him. "One more day, Maverick. Don't push me."
His smile was pure mischief. "What if I want to?"
This boy was going to wreck me.
"Then you'll find out what happens when you test my patience," I said quietly. "And I don't think you're ready for that yet."
I left before he could respond. Before I could see if that threat had made his pupils blow wide again, made his pulse race, made him want me even more.
But I didn't make it back to my house. Something made me stop. Turn around. Look back at the cabin where warm light spilled from the windows.
Where Maverick was probably standing behind the door, heart racing, thinking about tomorrow.
About what would happen when the countdown ended.
I walked back to the cabin. Knocked again.
The door opened immediately, like he'd been waiting. Hoping.
"Clark?" His voice was breathless.
I didn't give him time to think. Stepped forward, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed him.
Soft at first. Testing. Then deeper when he melted into me, when his hands fisted in my jacket, when he made that sound—somewhere between a sigh and a whimper—that I'd been hearing in my dreams.
When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"Tomorrow," I said against his mouth. "Tomorrow everything changes."
"Can't it change tonight?" he whispered.
"No." But I kissed him again, brief and claiming. "Tomorrow, baby. I promised you the full time to think."
"I don't need—"
"You have until tomorrow night." I stepped back, hands falling away, leaving him flushed and wanting in the doorway. "Sleep well, Maverick."
One more day.
And then he'd be mine.