22. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Molly
I wake up to the most incredible sensation of Beau's mouth trailing soft kisses along my neck while golden morning light streams through those gorgeous windows.
But something's different about his touch this morning.
Usually, our wake-up routine involves him growling something dirty in my ear while his hands get deliciously demanding, and I end up laughing breathlessly as he manhandles me into whatever position strikes his fancy.
This is slower. More deliberate.
Like he's memorizing every curve and hollow of my body with his callused fingertips.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmurs against my throat, his voice surprisingly clear. Like he's been awake much longer than me.
I stretch languidly in his arms, completely content to stay wrapped in these sheets forever.
"Mmm, good morning to you too."
His hands find my breasts, but instead of his usual playful possession, he's touching me like I'm made of spun glass.
"You're so fucking perfect," he breathes, his thumb brushing over my nipple until it peaks against his palm. "You know that, baby?"
"Beau," I whisper, threading my fingers through his dark hair. It's getting gorgeously long since I moved here. "What's gotten into you this morning?"
Instead of answering with words, he shows me, sliding down my body to worship between my thighs with his talented tongue.
But even then, there's something different about the way he devours me—less playful conquest, more claiming.
More... permanent.
When he finally rises above me, positioning himself between my legs, his steel-gray eyes are dark with need and something that looks almost like fear.
"You're mine, Molly," he says as he slides inside me with one perfect thrust that makes us both groan. "Mine to love."
I wrap my legs around his narrow waist, pulling him deeper because I love when he gets possessive like this.
"Mine to protect," he growls, rotating his hips so he's grinding against my clit in a way that makes me arch beneath him.
"Yes," I gasp, my nails digging into the broad expanse of his shoulders where those sexy tattoos tell stories I'm still learning to read.
His pace picks up, his cock stretching me so perfectly, but there's still that desperate edge to his movements, like he's trying to pour every emotion he can't voice into the slide of his cock inside me.
Fuck. Each thrust is now harder than the last.
His hand slides from my breast to my throat, his fingers wrapping around with just enough pressure to make my pulse race beneath his palm.
What the hell is this? It's good, it's different, it's… it's…
"Look at me," he commands, and I do, locking eyes as he holds me in place.
The gentle lover from moments ago transforms into something primal. His hips snap against mine with bruising force, the slap of skin against skin filling the cabin.
"Take it," he growls.
God help me, I do. My body welcomes every punishing thrust, clenching around him as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak.
I've never felt so claimed. So wanted. So completely his.
"You're mine. Mine to—" He pauses, jaw clenching like he's fighting with himself, then his eyes go almost wild with need. "You're mine to breed, Molly."
Holy shit.
The words hit me like lightning, sending shock waves straight to my core.
Breed? Breed?!
"Beau," I try to question it, but he just shakes his head and pounds into me.
We've never talked about this—about futures and babies and forever in concrete terms—but hearing it now, in his rough voice while he's buried deep inside me, makes something unfamiliar unfurls in my chest.
Yes. Yes. I want that too.
"Do it," I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can think them through. "Fill me up, Beau. I want your babies."
Something breaks loose in his expression—relief and possession and pure masculine satisfaction—and suddenly he's fucking me with purpose, each thrust aimed at planting himself as deep as possible.
"That's my girl. I'm gonna fill you up," he groans against my ear, his rhythm becoming erratic as he chases his release. "Pump you full of my cum until it takes."
"Yes," I chant breathlessly, spreading my legs wider and gripping his muscular ass to pull him deeper. "Give me everything."
I feel his cock thickening inside me and when he comes, it's with a roar that probably echoes across the entire mountain, his body shuddering above me as he empties himself deep inside my pussy while whispering "mine, always mine" like some kind of vow to the world.
We collapse together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heavy breathing, and for a moment, the world feels perfect and safe and exactly like it should be.
But then reality creeps back in, and I catch sight of that mysterious package through the bedroom doorway, sitting on the kitchen counter like an ominous reminder that our perfect bubble might not be as secure as I thought.
I try to forget it and as I'm brushing my teeth in Beau's gorgeous master bathroom, I spot my car through the window, and my chest does this weird little flutter of conflicted emotions.
She looks absolutely stunning sitting in the morning sunlight—that deep blue paint job gleaming like automotive jewelry, chrome details sparkling, everything pristine and perfect and ready for mountain adventures.
My independence, beautifully restored.
The thought should make me purely happy, but instead, there's this weird melancholy mixed in.
Because as gorgeous as my car is, having it back means losing something precious. Those daily drives with Beau where we'd talk about everything and nothing while gorgeous mountain scenery rolled past his windows… those drives had become my favorite part of every day.
It was our time.
Just the two of us in his massive truck, his hand always somehow finding my thigh while he navigated winding roads, the comfortable silence punctuated by his dry observations about the town gossip or my excited chatter about work.
"I can practically hear you overthinking from here," Beau's voice carries from the bedroom, warm with amusement.
"I'm not overthinking," I call back, spitting out toothpaste. "I'm just... processing."
"Processing what?"
I pad back into the bedroom to find him pulling on dark jeans, the denim hugging his thighs. He's already wearing a tightly fitted shirt that showcases every ridge and plane of his magnificent chest, but there's tension in his shoulders that wasn't there during our morning worship session.
"The car," I admit, settling on the edge of the bed to watch him get dressed.
Because actually, as it turns out, watching Beau Callahan put on clothes is almost as entertaining as watching him take them off.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. It's gorgeous and I love that you did that for me. But..."
"But?" He pauses in the middle of buckling his belt.
I shrug, feeling silly for being melancholy about something that should be purely positive. Especially considering I left a life of being controlled and this should be exactly what I want. Freedom.
"Now I can drive myself to work like a normal independent woman."
His expression softens immediately, sensing how stupid I feel.
"Molly, just because you have your car back doesn't mean anything has to change. I can still drive you if you want."
"But you shouldn't have to. I'm a grown woman who can handle a twenty-minute drive to work."
"I know. But maybe I want to," he says simply. "Maybe I like those twenty minutes with you every morning and evening just as much as you do."
God, this man.
"Okay," I say, going up on my toes to kiss him. "In that case, maybe we keep the drives but I have the car for freedom and errands and general mountain woman independence?"
"Independence. Deal," he agrees, but there's something relieved in his voice that makes me study his face more closely.
That's when I notice how his eyes keep drifting toward the kitchen, where that mysterious package sits like some kind of ominous paperweight.
The package that's been haunting my thoughts since yesterday. The one addressed to my old apartment in the city, with my full name on the outside.
"Beau," I say carefully, "are you worried about that package?"
His jaw ticks. "Just want to make sure you're safe."
"Safe from what? It's probably just mail forwarding gone wrong. Or something completely innocent. I did just get a job, maybe it's the tax authority?"
But even as I say it, I don't really believe it.
Because there's something about that package that feels... wrong. Like when Riley used to surprise me with knowledge he shouldn't have had, or show up places I hadn't told him I'd be going.
A familiar chill runs down my spine. The same one I used to get when I realized I was being monitored, watched, controlled.
Stop it. This isn't Riley. This is probably nothing.
But the rational part of my brain is losing ground to the paranoid part that remembers what it felt like to discover he'd been tracking my location through my phone, reading my emails, monitoring my social media activity.
Shit. My social media activity.
I remember Beau's lecture yesterday at Sienna's. How his voice got all low and serious about my Instagram posts.
I'd laughed it off, told him he was being paranoid.
But now, staring at that package with my old address, his warnings don't seem quite so ridiculous.
"Come on," Beau says, offering me his hand. "Let's get you fed and down to work. I've got some… things I want to take care of this morning too."
I take his hand, but as we head toward the kitchen, I can't help stealing another glance at that package.
Just a simple brown-wrapped parcel, but somehow it feels like a ticking bomb waiting to explode our perfect mountain life.
***
The drive to Mountain Rescue headquarters starts normally enough, but about halfway there, I notice Beau checking the rearview mirror more frequently than usual.
Like, a lot more frequently.