Chapter 9
Nine
D elaney
The realization hits me like a truck as I sit here on the porch swing. All the fantasy and pushing away reality melts away like chocolate in the sunshine.
Every time Jack’s emptied himself deep inside me there’s been no condom. Just all in.
And I've let him. Begged for it, even.
My fingers drift to my stomach. I could be pregnant right now. His seed could be taking root inside me as I sit here. The thought should terrify me—I'm eighteen, broke, running from my past. But instead, a strange warmth spreads through my chest.
Mother. A word I barely remember connecting to anyone. My own disappeared before I had memories to keep. But now...
The wooden porch swing creaks beneath my bare thighs, the morning sun warming my skin. Jack's flannel barely covers me, the scent of him wrapped around me like his arms. I never thought about having children before. Never had a reason to imagine it. But Jack talks about it like it's inevitable, like he's already seen our future written in stone.
I'm wearing nothing but his flannel, the sleeves rolled up six times and still covering my hands. The buttons strain across my chest. A breeze lifts the hem, cooling the wetness between my thighs. Just thinking about him makes me slick.
He's out back, splitting more logs. Each swing of the axe makes the muscles in his back bunch and release. Sweat rolls down his spine in rivulets I want to trace with my tongue. Forty-two and built like the mountain itself—solid, immovable, mine.
My fingers toy with the stuffed wolf he gave me, tracing its singed edges. It's never far from me now, a physical reminder that I belong somewhere. To someone.
He hasn't let me out of his sight for more than minutes since he pulled me from the river.
" Can't be away from you, baby girl, " he growled this morning, pressing me against the kitchen counter, his cock already hard against my ass. The way he needs me—constant, consuming—is still something I'm getting used to. I've never been anyone's obsession before.
"I might be carrying his baby," I whisper to myself, testing how the words feel in my mouth. Strange. Terrifying. Wonderful. Jack would be over the fucking moon. He's been talking about filling me up, breeding me, putting his baby in me since the first night. Words that should have sent me running instead make me press my thighs together.
I should be resting. He told me to stay on the porch, drink the tea he made, keep my legs up. Said I looked tired. Too pale. A command wrapped in concern.
Instead, I'm slipping back into the cabin, bare feet silent on the wooden floor, drawn to his laptop like a magnet. It feels wrong, opening it without permission. But I need... something. A connection to the world outside. A reminder that it still exists.
The password he keeps taped to the bottom is a string of numbers and letters that make no sense to me. Military thing, probably. The screen flickers to life, opening to an order form for wood stains. I minimize it, open the browser.
My finger hovers over the Instagram icon before I type my login with shaking hands.
It loads instantly. Red notifications everywhere. Messages I never answered. Tagged photos I never approved.
His name jumps out first. David. Thirty-seven unread messages, timestamps showing he's been sending them daily. The most recent from just hours ago.
I know where you are, Laney. You can't hide forever.
My stomach lurches. I click through to the messages.
You think you can just leave? Take what's mine and run?
Those recordings won't save you, sweetheart. No one will believe you over me.
I've spoken with the hospital board. They're very concerned about your mental state since your father's death.
I found your little mountain man. Jack Boone, right? Discharged Army Ranger with PTSD. I've already spoken to the sheriff about your mental state. I've started legal proceedings to have you placed under my care, Laney. As your doctor, I'm uniquely qualified to manage your "grief-induced psychosis." One call is all it takes.
My blood turns to ice. Photos appear in the thread. My car, abandoned at the bus station. Jack's cabin, taken from the road with a zoom lens. Me on the porch in Jack's shirt, clearly unaware of the camera.
He's been here. Been watching. While I've been safe in Jack's arms, David's been circling, getting closer.
The newest message contains a single attachment. I click, even though every instinct screams not to.
It's me. In the shower. At David's apartment, months ago. I didn't know he was filming. Didn't consent to this violation that he's now weaponizing.
My stomach twists. My vision blurs. I click out fast, like I can erase it, like it won't follow me here.
But then I hear the door.
A low creak. A pause. Heavy boots stopping dead on the wooden floor.
I turn slowly, heart hammering.
Jack stands in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light, axe forgotten at his feet. His eyes move from my face to the closed laptop, and I watch something shift in him—like a switch being flipped from man to predator.
"What was on that screen?" His voice is quiet. Dangerous.
I swallow. "David. My ex. He's—"
"Come here." The command cuts through my explanation.
I move to stand, but he shakes his head once, sharp.
"No. Crawl."
Heat floods my face, my chest. "Jack—"
"Now, Delaney." His jaw is granite, eyes winter cold. "You kept secrets that put you in danger. That put what we have in danger. You should have told me everything about him the minute you washed up on my land.” His voice drops lower, deadlier. "So now you crawl. Show me where you belong when you've fucked up and put yourself at risk."
Something in me yields instantly. I slide from the chair to my knees, the wooden floor hard beneath them. My palms meet the cool surface as I begin moving toward him, Jack's flannel gaping at the chest, pooling around my thighs.
His breathing changes as he watches me approach, becoming deeper, controlled. He doesn't move to meet me, just stands like the mountain he is, waiting.
When I reach his boots, he tangles one hand in my hair, not gentle, lifting my face to his.
"What did he say?"
"He knows where I am. Where we are." My voice trembles. "Has pictures of the cabin. Of me. He's threatening to have me committed, to get legal control over me as my doctor."
Jack's nostrils flare, a muscle jumping in his jaw. With his free hand, he unbuckles his belt, the leather hissing as he pulls it through the loops.
"Listen to me, baby girl." He unzips his fly, freeing his cock—already hard, thick, the head flushed dark with blood. "This is your safe place now. Not that fucking phone. Not Instagram. This."
His hand guides my head forward until his cock brushes my lips. Not forcing, but insistent.
"When you're scared, this is where you come. When you need comfort, this is what you take. I'm going to train your mind to understand that." His grip tightens in my hair. "Trace my name with your tongue while you suck me. J-A-C-K. Write it on my cock so you never forget who owns this pretty mouth."
I part my lips, letting him press inside, the familiar weight of him on my tongue centering me in a way I don't fully understand. I trace the letters against his heated skin—J, then A, then C, then K—feeling him throb against my tongue with each stroke.
"That's it." His voice softens slightly, though his grip in my hair remains firm. "Take your comfort, baby girl. Let Daddy handle the bullshit."
I close my eyes, focusing on the taste of him, the stretch of my lips, the way my body naturally relaxes as I take him deeper. It shouldn't make sense—that this act, on my knees, would make me feel safe. But it does.
His thumb brushes my cheek, surprisingly gentle. "You're mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. But I can't do that if you hide things from me."
I make a small sound around his thickness, an apology he seems to understand.
"Shh. Just take what you need now." His hand loosens in my hair, becoming a caress. "Let this remind you where you belong. Who you belong to."
I lose myself in the rhythm, in the simplicity of pleasing him. My mind empties of David's threats, of fear, of anything but Jack's taste, his scent, the soft sounds of approval he makes when I take him deeper.
He doesn't rush me. Doesn't thrust. Just lets me work at my own pace, taking the comfort he's offering in the only way he knows how to give it.
I don't know how much time passes—minutes, maybe more—before he gently pulls away. He's still hard, hasn't finished, but that wasn't the point. He tucks himself away, then crouches to my level, taking my face between his hands.
"Next time you're afraid, you come to me. Not to that." He nods toward the laptop. "Now go delete that account. Cut that final string."
I nod, oddly calm now. "What if he comes here?"
A smile spreads across Jack's face—nothing kind about it, all teeth and predator. "Oh baby, I welcome it."
Before I can stand, tires crunch on gravel outside. A car door slams. Jack's head turns toward the sound, nostrils flaring like a predator catching a scent.
"Fucking Beau," he says, tucking himself away and zipping up in one fluid motion. "Stay behind me."
Instinctively, I move to stand, but his hand on my shoulder keeps me in place. "Let me see you," he says, eyes raking over me. "You good, baby girl?"
"I'm good." I nod, surprised to find it's true. The fear from minutes ago has receded, replaced by a strange calm.
Jack's expression softens, his thumb brushing my swollen bottom lip. "Beau's harmless. Big mouth, bigger ego, heart of actual gold." A rare grin breaks across his face. "Also seems to be the catch of Wildfire, no one seems to be able to get their hooks in him, but they try. He’s the pretty brother."
I laugh, the sound unexpected even to me. "Sounds like someone I need to meet."
Jack's playfulness vanishes instantly, his hand sliding to my throat, thumb pressing just firmly enough that I feel my pulse against it. "Need to meet, huh?" His voice drops an octave, eyes darkening. "Maybe I need to remind you your tongue was just tracing my name on my cock. J-A-C-K, remember? Not B-E-A-U. Or do you need another lesson?"
The possessive heat in his gaze makes my knees weak, but I catch the tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth—he's playing with me, in his own dominant way.
"Just teasing, Daddy," I whisper, watching his pupils dilate at the word.
His grip relaxes, turning into a caress. "Better be." He winks, mood shifting again as he pulls me toward the door. "Come on. Time to show you off, let the family see what's tamed the mountain man."
I stand on shaky legs as Jack opens the door. Sunlight spills in, temporarily blinding after the cabin's dimness. Jack's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me outside.
Beau's truck sits in the clearing—too clean, too shiny, tires making the gravel hiss. He climbs out, all swagger and smirks, looking so similar to Jack it makes my head spin. But, yeah, he’s more refined, I guess. Not really pretty, but not as rugged as Jack.
Same eyes, same jawline, but softer somehow. Less weathered. Less... mine.
He climbs the porch steps, pauses when he sees me, one foot on the top step, knee bent, leaning into the railing. His eyes flick from my bare legs to Jack's possessive stance between him and me.
"Guess you're the reason he hasn't answered his phone all week," he drawls, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"Did something happen?" I ask, suddenly worried.
Beau's smirk softens, just slightly. "Nah. Just checking on my brother. And looks like he's been... occupied."
His gaze drops to my bare legs again, and I feel Jack's body tense. Before I can blink, Jack's hands are on my waist, pulling me into a kiss that’s as much performance as it is passion. Deep, thorough and claiming.
When he breaks the kiss, he doesn't release me, just shifts me slightly so I'm nestled against his side, his hand possessively high on my bare thigh.
"Yup. Occupied." Beau grins, hands raised in mock surrender.
"You need something, or you just here to waste my morning?" Jack's voice rumbles through me, the vibration settling between my legs.
Beau leans against the porch railing. "Can't a man check on his brother? You disappeared without a word."
"Been busy," Jack says simply, fingers tracing circles on my thigh.
Beau's gaze shifts to me, assessing but not unkind. "So you're Hart's girl?"
I nod, leaning into Jack's warmth. "Delaney."
"Well, well," Beau says, his eyes darting between us before settling on me. "Hart's daughter, huh? Heard a lot about your dad."
"You knew my father?" I ask, leaning slightly into Jack's warmth.
Beau nods, a shadow of something unreadable crossing his face. "Good man. Best Jack ever served with." His gaze shifts to his brother, a silent communication passing between them before his trademark smirk returns. "Never thought I'd see the day this one let anyone up his mountain. Let alone move in."
Jack's hand tightens possessively on my thigh. "You drove all the way up here just to state the obvious?"
"Nah," Beau chuckles, leaning against the porch railing. "Came to remind you about Sunday. Mom's memorial, remember? Five years this weekend. Dinner at Colt’s place after the cemetery."
I feel Jack tense beside me, his fingers stilling on my skin. "I remember."
"Bring her," Beau says, nodding toward me. "Been a long time since we had anyone new at the table. Might keep us from the same old fights."
Jack's chest rumbles with something between a growl and a laugh. "You done?"
"For now." Beau nods at me again. "Nice to meet you, Delaney. Welcome to the family."
As he walks back to his truck, Jack's arm wraps around me, his chin resting on top of my head. I feel the steady thump of his heart against my back, solid and sure.
"He's right, you know," Jack murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "You broke me. Put me back together different."
I turn in his arms, looking up at the man who's claimed me so completely. Forty-two and scarred and everything I never knew I needed. "Good different?"
His eyes darken as he lifts me against him. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, my core pressed against the hardness already returning beneath his jeans.
"The only kind there is when it comes to you, baby girl."
As he carries me inside, back toward the bed that smells like us, I realize I've found something I never knew existed.
Not just safety from David. Not just mind-bending sex.
Home. In the arms of a man twice my age who looks at me like I'm the answer to every question he never knew to ask.
"Jack," I whisper against his throat as he lays me on the bed. "There's something I need to tell you. About my ex. About the laptop."
His body stills above mine, muscles coiled with tension. "Tell me, baby girl."
"He... he said no one would believe you over him. That he's talked to the hospital board about my 'mental state' since Dad died."
A growl rises from deep in Jack's chest, vibrating against my skin where he's pressed against me. "Baby, nobody is taking you away from me. Not ever."
"He's dangerous," I whisper, fear clawing its way back up my throat. "Not like you. He's... calculated. He plans."
Jack's laugh is dark, without humor. "Baby girl, I spent fifteen years planning ways to kill men more dangerous than your doctor ex." His hand slides possessively across my stomach, pausing just below my navel. "Let him try to take what's mine."