16. Huxley
16
HUXLEY
Three o’clock is the hour when the world of the ranch kicks off, a time of day when the sky is still a canvas of stars. Despite the miles and years that separate me from that life, it’s still the way I rise, an involuntary homage to days that once started with the crowing of roosters rather than the wail of sirens.
And here, in this house, I find kindred spirits. Savannah and her father are embers of the same fire. Their internal clocks seem to be rooted in the certainty of the rancher’s schedule. Though the three of us seem to share the same energy level this morning, we have a different motivation than her old man.
“God, Savannah Mitchell… what are you trying to do?”
My lungs are on fire as I pant from her unexpected morning greeting—her mouth on my cock, heaven on my earth. My pelvis shudders as her tongue licks my erupting member, savoring my essence like a revitalizing tonic.
Crawl by crawl, she slinks her way up to meet me. She licks her lips, glistening with her own saliva and, no doubt the, remnants of my cum .
“Huxley Cometti,” Savannah whispers. “I need you to understand something.”
I brush a thumb across the delicate point of her chin. “Go on.”
She draws a breath, returning my gesture. “The harsh realities of ranch life left little room for fantasies. But ever since I saw your face at the Johnsons’ farm, I started imagining scenarios where you’re not just a phantom of valor, but someone real, someone I could actually touch.”
I catch the undercurrents swirling within her last few words. Feeling a vibe that invites complete honesty, I lean in, my voice beguiling. “From one naked rancher to another, Savannah, you’re allowed to say ‘someone I could actually fuck.’”
Her laughter bursts forth as she stretches gracefully. “Damn you, Hux!” she groans. “You know, when I first met you, I was preparing myself for eventual heartbreak.”
This time, I know she’s serious. “Sav, I won’t?—”
“Shh, just listen.” The firmness in her tone subsides. “I was falling for you, all the while thinking you were too good to be true.” She pauses as if the confession pulls at the seams of her strength. “And now, here you are, and the thought of losing what we might have scares me more than the idea of heartbreak. If there’s an end to us… Hux, please do it gently.”
My hands frame her face, my lips finding hers in a kiss. She has already started dismantling me, beautifully, irrevocably. I want to live inside her but without breaking her. I know my words might sound too intense, so I choose simplicity.
“Savannah, you would break my heart into pieces before I’d ever risk breaking yours. And know this—I’d lay down my life without a second thought if it meant yours would remain whole.”
I draw her into my embrace, my arms a fortress around her. And I feel her, not just the steady thrum of her heart or the rise and fall of her chest, but the radiance of her spirit that has seeped into the very marrow of my bones.
The thuds of Al’s footsteps downstairs draw a smile from both of us. I picture the old man bustling around with renewed vigor, each step marked by the subtle thud of his new prosthetic attaching firmly to his limb. Then, the sounds gradually fade, followed by the swoosh of a sliding door. I’m almost certain it’s the kitchen door.
“He’s off to the farmstead, about an hour’s drive outside the city,” Savannah informs me, her voice filled with excitement for her dad.
A surge of camaraderie swells within me. My role in securing that piece of technology for Al has not only altered his course but has somehow drawn me closer to Savannah.
In the backdrop, I hear the clear, sharp whistle of a farmer calling out to his dogs. It’s both nostalgic and comforting.
“He’s taking the dogs out then?” I ask.
“Yeah. He hardly ever does ranch work without them,” she confirms. His truck rumbles to life, signaling Al’s departure.
With her head resting against my chest, our breathing steadies, fading into purrs.
We must’ve fallen asleep for a while. When I open my eyes, I find the morning sun kissing her face, highlighting the tilt of her chin and the curve of her lips.
“Good morning.” I groan, keeping my voice low.
She stirs beside me, nudging herself forward, and I feel the soft press of her against me. It’s a languid rub, reminiscent of a kitten nudging its owner after being awoken from a deep nap. “Morning,” she croaks.
“So, Savannah Mitchell,” I venture, watching her as she blinks the sleep from her eyes. She captivates me even in the most ordinary moments, becomes irresistible when she hints at her desire, and now, with her sleepy face, she looks innocently delicious.
She tilts her head slightly to meet my gaze. “Yes, Hugs?”
“Can I take you out tonight?” There’s a galaxy of questions spiraling in my mind, each star a query I yearn to cast into her orbit. The timing may not align for everything, but my aim is to have her savor the evening in my company.
Her lips curl into a smile. “That’ll be lovely. Should I dress up?”
My response is instinctual. “Wear what feels right for you.”
A whimsical glint sparks in her gaze. “Let me rephrase. Will the night find you in a suit?”
Laughter rumbles through my chest, already imagining the next time she undoes my tie. And me. “Indeed. I’ll come straight after work.”
Her phone rings, slicing through the calm like a ripple across a still pond. The expression that crosses Savannah’s face is professional yet etched with the shadow of something more personal.
“Is it him again?” The words tumble out, heavier than I intended. There’s an unwelcome guest in my thoughts. Fabian Gill, a man who, with his polished charm and slick smile, poses a threat I feel in my bones. He lingers like a question mark at the end of an unfinished sentence. One I’m both hesitant and desperate to explore.
“No.” Her reply is quick, dispelling my mounting concern. “It’s a client of mine. Sorry, I must take this.” Her apology is framed with grace, yet I find myself already missing her presence as she stretches herself toward the bedside table to answer.
I trail after her, a faint smile playing on my lips as I lightly press kisses along the curve of her shoulder. She tries to keep her composure as she navigates the conversation on the phone.
“Well, I may not be a certified trainer, but I assure you, teaching the mare to be gentle around children is a task well within my wheelhouse,” she says with confidence and excitement.
I pull away the sheet that’s covering her, revealing her bare body. I lean in and passionately latch onto one of her nipples, my lips and tongue exploring rigorously. Savannah, her shock evident at the sudden intensity, struggles to preserve her deteriorating professionalism. She tightly grips her phone, forcing herself to sound normal despite the overwhelming pleasure she’s experiencing.
The phone slips from her hand as soon as she ends the call. “You’re cruel!” she complains.
I settle her on my lap and hold her securely, though no apology is offered. In the light, my attention is drawn to a mark on the side of her chest. She knows I recognize it.
“The beginning of the end of the Mitchell Ranch.” She sighs, her eyes trailing down to the bold scar that marred a spot under her left breast, a pale circle against her sun-darkened skin.
“You were shot?” I can’t keep the shock from my voice, imagining the bullet tearing through the air, the potential damage it could have wrought far deeper than just flesh. It could have given her more than a broken heart.
She nods, her gaze locked in the distance as if the hills of her old land are visible through the open window. “I tried everything I could, but we lost,” she sighs.
I can picture her then, standing defiant against her adversaries on the windswept plains, her body tense with the resolve of a seasoned rancher. In my mind’s eye, she’s a force of nature. How I wish I had been by her side, lending strength and sharing the burden. Savannah is a woman carved from the very bedrock of Montana, yet even the strongest stones can crack.
“When did you move to Helena?” I inquire and cup her breast to fully expose the scar, brushing against the round patch.
“Last year.”
“Are they still on your trail?”
Her response is a falter, cloaked in indifference. “I don’t think so.”
“Sav, I’m serious. Are you still in danger?”
Her gaze locks onto mine as she replies, “No. They’re not a concern anymore.” She removes my hand from her breast and gives me a slight smile. “I’m sorry. I have to go,” she says.
I’m left grasping at the tendrils of our conversation, questions swirling in my head. But I pocket my persistence for another day. “I guess I need to get up, too,” I admit with a resigned exhale. “The paperwork at Red Mark won’t wade through itself.”
As her lips touch mine one last time, she detaches herself from my embrace and makes her way to the bathroom.
“You’re welcome to use the shower downstairs,” she advises.
“You’re not gonna run out of hot water?”
“No. Dad had made sure of that when he sorted out the plumbing in this house. Go on,” she encourages, handing me a thick, fluffy towel.
I take her offer and head downstairs.
I let steam fill the air as I turn on the shower, eagerly anticipating the cascade of water. The droplets hit my skin, starting lukewarm but gradually increasing in temperature until it transforms into a strong, hot stream. With closed eyes, I relish in the sensation, the water massaging my tense muscles while my cock hasn’t moved away from Savannah’s touch.
As the shower water stops, I hear something unfolding outside. Savannah has clearly finished before me, and someone is agitating her. After such a blissful morning, I’m not prepared for a commotion.
Clad in the plush towel around my waist, I step out of the bathroom, the moisture still clinging to my skin in dewy beads. The atmosphere shifts, and the air outside the bathroom is charged with tension that ends my momentary peace.
My ears tune into the sharp edge of Savannah’s voice. “I’m calling the police!” she declares with authority.
The response is a desperate plea, a male voice trembling with urgency. “No, don’t! Please!” The voice, thin with panic, unmistakable in its pitch, belongs to Fabian fucking Gill.
My heart rate speeds up, a rush of adrenaline rendering my thoughts razor-sharp. I step forward and discover them. Fabian stands there, tightly holding Savannah’s hand, his grip filled with desperation. It’s an attempt of a man clinging to a fading hope, even someone on the brink of losing their sanity.
In the process, he’s preventing her from reaching for the phone.
The threat to Savannah is a live wire, triggering every protective instinct I possess. Without wasting another second, I drag the man away from her and deliver a punch to his face.
Down he goes, landing on the porch’s wooden floor.
“Get your hands off her!” The command rolls off my tongue with the ferocity of a storm.
“Hux, wait,” Savannah interjects, a petition that tethers my rising fury. Does she see something in this man that I don’t? Is she swayed by his desperation?
Fabian cowers on the floor, his pleas reaching for the divine, treating me as if I hold the scales of his fate. His eyes flit nervously to Savannah, seeking refuge behind her poised presence.
Is he trying to leave all the talking to her? Does he think Savannah will shield him from dealing directly with me?
I step forward, blocking his line of sight to her. “Hey, look at me when you’re talking,” I command.
Savannah intervenes, her voice steady yet imbued with urgency. “Hux, we really need your help.”
I’ve always told myself I’d do anything for Savannah, but Fabian’s craven demeanor tests my resolve. Yet, catching the earnest plea in Savannah’s eyes, I feel my resistance waver, perhaps foolishly.
“I—I came here specifically to ask Savannah to talk to you, Mr. Cometti,” Fabian stammers, finally meeting my gaze. “I really need your help.”
I step back, drawing in a breath to quell the tempest in my chest. I pivot, facing him squarely. “Explain,” I order with a cold calm that belies the wildfire within.
“Listen, it’s a mess. I’m locked in a custody dispute, and if word of this kidnapping leaks, my wife will claim it proves my daughter isn’t safe with me.”
Kidnapping?
The word hits like a punch, staggering in its implications. “That little girl? Your daughter Kayla is missing?”
“Keep your voice down, please,” he implores again, a broken record of desperation.
Savannah ushers us inside.
“Yes, she’s been taken.” Fabian spills the words in a frantic rush. “I’m begging you. Help me find her, quietly. I can’t bear to lose Kayla, whether it’s to someone else or her own mother. Juliet, she’s bad news.” He turns to Savannah. “Tell him!”
“It’s true,” she says.
“Have you checked if Kayla is with her mother?” I glare at Fabian. If her mother is bad news, there is every chance the woman might’ve kidnapped her own kid.
“Juliet has been in California for the past week,” he responds. “She’s in rehab, and I’ve confirmed she’s securely confined within the facility.”
The gravity of a child’s peril overshadows everything. My earlier hesitation evaporates.
I leave the room and scramble to get dressed. The morning that had been a gentle stream is now a maelstrom pulling me into its current.
Back in the living room, the silence between Savannah and Fabian is a thick fog hanging heavily around us. I break it, taking command of the situation. “I’ll help you find Kayla.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he stammers. “I love Kayla. I’ll do anything to get her back.” The father cries.
“But I have terms,” I interject. “My team at Red Mark will be informed.”
“That’s acceptable, just… no police, please.”
I press on, the weight of authority clear in my tone. “If I decide police involvement is crucial, your secrecy ends. Understood?”
“Do whatever it takes,” he concedes, his facade crumbling to reveal a father’s raw fear.
The anxiety that haunts his features is mirrored in Savannah’s eyes, but she keeps silent.
I ask, “Where and when was the last time you saw her?” The question is firm, demanding detail.
Fabian’s voice is a ghost of its former self. “Our house, in Bozeman. Kayla woke up early this morning, all smiles and sleep-soft eyes.”
I catch a glimpse of Savannah closing her eyes, holding a breath.
The man continues, “I flipped pancakes, her favorite, as she cuddled back under the covers, waiting for me to bring it over. But then, an urgent call yanked me away. By the time I returned to her, the room was empty. She wasn’t just out of sight. I felt it in my bones. She was gone.”
“Who was on the phone?” I probe deeper, hunting for a lead, a potential misstep.
“My financial adviser. He was pressing to offload more shares,” Fabian answers, a note of irritation threading through his worry.
“Is that usual?” I need to know the patterns, the breaks in routine.
He nods as he receives a pack of frozen peas from Savannah. He answers, pressing it against his nose. “Yes, it’s his way. He calls me at all hours, as per my instructions. It keeps me ahead in the game.”
I store each piece of the puzzle away, mindful that every second counts. There’s a child out there waiting to be found.
“Take me there. Now,” I demand, already mentally mapping the course of action.