Chapter 8 #2
“Because I haul trees with you in a storm?”
“Because you make me feel like this is more than whatever we keep telling ourselves it is.”
He sits back and watches my profile. “You want me to leave? Say it and I will.”
The heater ticks. Snow bumps the glass. I tell myself to say the words. I tell myself to open the door and walk to the hut and drink cocoa with Hank and let the night get easier. I don’t.
“Don’t leave,” I whisper.
His hand flexes on his thigh. “Say it again.”
“Don’t leave.”
“Then stop telling yourself I’m the problem.”
“You’re the problem,” I blurt, my voice shaking. “You make everything feel better and worse. You break my rules and I let you. You walk into a room, and my spine forgets how to keep me upright.” I choke out a breath. “I hate that.”
“I love that.”
“Of course you do.”
He smiles, faint. “Because it means the thing is real. Because you and I are not pretend. Because the reason I step in front of you is I would rather spend the rest of my life digging us out of snowdrifts than spend one minute pretending I don’t know what this is.”
“I can’t be the reason you get hurt.”
“You aren’t the reason. People who choose to hurt others are the reason. Don’t pin their choices on yourself. You’re not responsible for them.”
“You’re using my lines.”
“I listen when you talk.”
I close my eyes. The heat fills the cab. My fingers tingle as they thaw. I press my palm to the steering wheel.
“You always do this,” I murmur. “You make me choose you in the middle of a storm.”
“Because storms tell the truth.”
I turn to him. The light from the hut glows across his jaw.
“Then here’s mine. I need you here—with me.
To pick trees and fight and make choices.
To stand beside me at dawn when a vineyard block looks tampered with.
To steady me when I have to hold the line and remind me when it’s time to let go.
” My throat burns. “Even when I know I shouldn’t, I still need you. ”
He reaches across the console and slides his hand behind my neck. He doesn’t pull. He just rests there like he is asking a question he already knows the answer to.
“Then take me,” he whispers.
The argument flips into something I can’t resist. I lean into him.
His mouth is warm and sure and familiar.
The kiss is not careful. We both know careful doesn’t work on us.
He kisses me like we have a tab to settle and we pay in full.
The heater hums and the storm presses against the truck and it feels like we’re the only two people left and that might be the point.
My hand fumbles at the edge of his jacket.
He drags me closer and between the two of us, buttons and zippers lose their battle.
“Lock the doors,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I hit the button. The click sounds final in a way that loosens something I keep iron tight.
“Say you want this,” he breathes.
“I want this,” I answer, the words rough.
He kisses me again and I taste winter and adrenaline and the way he always holds back just enough to make me ask for more.
I do. I pull him in, and the console is an enemy until he releases a quick laugh and hauls me across it.
I end up in his lap. He braces his boots and adjusts the seat back with a hard push.
The cab shrinks. He keeps one hand on my hip and the other tangled in my hair, and he kisses me until the part of my brain that makes lists goes silent.
“Tell me what you need.”
“You. Now.”
“Good.” He kisses me again. “Me too.”
Outside, winter rages. Inside, everything is warm and still. “Should’ve bought the extended cab,” he murmurs, and I laugh—half breath, half gasp. The sound catches between us, turning to something hungry.
I reach for him, fingers catching on his jacket, his shirt, his skin. He’s heat and heartbeat, and when he drags me closer, the world tilts. The windows fog so fast it’s like the truck is blushing for us.
I bite down on my bottom lip, a nervous habit that feels oddly fitting now, a silent invitation. He leans closer, and our breaths mingle. When his lips capture mine, there’s an urgency that belies the tenderness of his kiss. A whimper escapes me as his teeth tug at my lip.
His hand, warm and confident, finds the strap of my camisole. With a deft movement, it slides off my shoulder, and his fingers graze the sensitive skin just above my pebbled nipple. The pinch that follows sends a jolt through me, sharp and sweet, and I gasp, arching into his touch.
“Tarryn, you’re so responsive,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice a low rumble that vibrates straight to my core. “Every touch, every word…”
The windows of the cab are completely frosted. We can’t see the storm brewing outside and no one can see in. He pulls my jeans down, and I can see the bulge in his pants.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes as my sleep shorts join the growing pile of discarded clothing. His eyes shine with a mixture of desire and something akin to reverence as they trail over me. “Absolutely stunning.”
I’m laid bare before him, the vulnerability of the moment clashing with the powerful urge to be seen, to be admired by this man whose every look sends shivers down my spine. He leans back, creating space between us, and I watch, entranced, as he unbuttons his pants.
“Show me,” he commands softly, his voice rough. “Show me how wet you are for me.”
My body responds before my mind fully catches up, my legs parting almost of their own accord, my hand moving in a dance it knows all too well. It’s a private ritual made public, and yet there’s no room for embarrassment, only an aching need that drowns out every other sensation.
“Like this?” I whisper, my fingers slipping easily through the slickness. I moan at the contact.
Declan’s groan mirrors mine, a raw sound filled with wanting. He watches me, and it feels like he’s touching me with his gaze alone. His pants are undone, his arousal evident, and he wraps his hand around himself, his movements syncing with the rhythm of my own exploration.
“Fuck, Tarryn, you’re so sexy,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Now, show me… Show me what you like.”
My mouth finds my fingers, tasting the tangy evidence of my desire, and I hear his sharp intake of breath, see the way he tightens his grip.
“Like this,” I say again, guiding my fingers back to the source of my heat, showing him the strokes and circles that have led me to countless nights of solace.
But tonight, I don’t want solitude. I want him, all of him, filling me and erasing the lingering doubt that flickers at the edge of my consciousness.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his approval sending waves of pride through me. “Keep going, just like that.”
Outside, snow hammers the windshield. Inside, the heater wheezes in protest, but the air is already burning. I don’t care. My pulse climbs, and his follows. Each movement finds its place, each touch a question we already know the answer to.
My breath catches as my fingers dance, strumming my clit while the other hand delves deeper, finding a rhythm that parallels the pounding pulse throughout my body. Declan’s gaze is an inferno, igniting every nerve ending as he watches, transfixed.
“Tarryn,” his voice is a husky whisper, filled with raw need as he lowers himself, kneeling between my spread legs. His lips capture the fingers of my right hand, sucking them into the warmth of his mouth, and my back arches off the seat in response. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
And then he’s there, leaning over me, one of my legs draped over his shoulder as he dives in, lips and tongue paying homage to the most intimate part of me.
The sensation is electric, spiraling out from my core to every extremity.
My hands tangle in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, as he devours me with a fervor that tips me headlong into an intense climax.
Every muscle clenches, and I’m consumed by a blaze of pleasure so fierce it nearly blinds me.
As I float back down, panting and spent, Declan straightens. There’s a rustle of foil, and I watch through half-lidded eyes as he tears the wrapper open. The sight of him rolling the condom over his impressive length sends another thrill of anticipation coursing through me.
My desire flares again, eclipsing any doubts. He knows, he understands, and I trust him. With Declan, I’m ready to open myself to him, certain that this time, he’ll be there to catch me if I fall.
I open my legs wide as heat pools between my thighs. Declan’s body hovers over mine, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that ignites something primal. His cock slips between my folds, tender and insistent, and I arch again, inviting him deeper into my core.
“Harder,” I breathe, a plea wrapped in a whisper.
“Are you sure?” he asks, even as he begins to move within me, a slow rhythm that teases and tempts.
“Yes,” I gasp.
The smacking sound of our bodies colliding fills the cab, a carnal symphony propelling me toward the edge. With every thrust, I’m closer, racing toward release, but just as I’m about to tumble over, he stops.
“Wait,” I plead, the word torn from my lips.
Declan leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “I’m not done with you yet.” His voice is low, commanding. “Turn over. Get on your knees,” he instructs.
Though my heart pounds, trying to regain its rhythm after the frantic pace he’s set, I obey. My movements are sluggish, my brain catching up with the reality of what’s unfolding. But there’s no space for second-guessing, not now, not with the way my body sings under his touch.
As I position myself, Declan pulls me to the edge of the seat. His hand lands on my backside, a sharp, stinging spank that wrenches a moan from deep within me.
“You’re perfect,” he says, and I feel it, the truth of his words resonating.