Chapter 5
five
. . .
Lila
I wake up feeling gloriously sore, every muscle a sweet reminder of last night.
Thorne's arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
Between my thighs, I'm sticky with his release, evidence of his claim on me.
I should be horrified that we didn't use protection.
Should be calculating days and risks and all those responsible adult things.
Instead, I feel a secret thrill at the thought of carrying his child.
What is happening to me? One day with this mountain man and I'm thinking about babies?
But I can't deny the heat that pools low in my belly at the memory of his words. You’re gonna be pregnant by the end of the night.
Gonna keep you here forever. God help me, but I want him to.
I shift slightly, and Thorne's arm tightens, pulling me closer against his chest. He's awake, has probably been awake watching me sleep.
"Morning, little girl," he murmurs, his voice even deeper with the remnants of sleep.
I turn in his arms to face him, suddenly shy in the morning light. His eyes are soft as they roam my face, a gentleness there I didn't expect after the primal way he claimed me last night.
"How do you feel?" he asks, one large hand stroking down my spine.
"Good," I whisper. "A little sore, but…good."
His lips twitch in a satisfied half-smile. "Let me take care of you."
Before I can answer, he's scooping me up, carrying me naked through the cabin to a bathroom I haven't seen yet. A large clawfoot tub dominates the space, rustic but clean. He sets me on my feet and turns on the taps, testing the water temperature with his hand.
"You don't have to—" I start, but he cuts me off with a look.
"Let me take care of what's mine," he says, the words brooking no argument.
While the tub fills, he gently cleans between my legs with a warm washcloth, his touch clinical but reverent. I should be embarrassed, but there's something so tender in the gesture that I can only stand there, heart swelling in my chest.
When the tub is full, he helps me in, the hot water a blessing on my aching muscles. I expect him to leave, but instead, he rolls up his sleeves and kneels beside the tub.
"Lean back," he instructs, reaching for a bottle of shampoo.
His fingers in my hair are magic, strong yet gentle as they massage my scalp. I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation.
"Such pretty hair," he murmurs. "My precious little girl, letting Daddy take care of her."
The praise washes over me like the warm water, making me feel cherished in a way I never have before. John's compliments always came with conditions—you look nice, but you'd look better if…Thorne's praise is absolute, unconditional.
"I'm an artist," I tell him as he rinses my hair, wanting him to know me, really know me. "I paint landscapes, mostly. I came up here hoping to find inspiration."
His hands pause briefly before resuming their gentle ministrations. "Did you? Find inspiration?"
I open my eyes to look at him. "I found something better."
His smile is small but genuine, transforming his rugged face into something heartbreakingly handsome. "I'll build you a studio," he says, like it's already decided. Like I'm staying. "North-facing light. Good for painting."
The easy way he makes plans for us, for a future together, should terrify me. We've known each other for less than forty-eight hours. But it doesn't feel rushed or creepy—it feels right. Inevitable.
"Tell me about before," I say softly as he helps me from the tub, wrapping me in a towel. "About your family."
Pain flashes across his face, but he doesn't shut down like he did yesterday. "Amy was my sister. Jamie was my niece. Four years old." His voice is rough with disuse and grief. "I was logging that day. Came home to fire trucks. Faulty wiring, they said."
My heart cracks open for him. "I'm so sorry, Thorne."
He shakes his head. "Should have been there. Could have saved them."
I reach up to touch his face, my fingers tracing the silver streaks in his beard. "It wasn't your fault."
He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. The vulnerability in his eyes makes me want to wrap myself around him, protect him from his pain.
A static-filled noise breaks the moment—a radio crackling to life in another room. Thorne tenses, his expression darkening as he wraps the towel more securely around me and strides to the kitchen. I follow, curious.
"...search parties in sectors three and four," a tinny voice reports through the static. "Ranger Thompson reports a solo female hiker, early twenties, failed to check in. Last known location near Eagle Ridge. All volunteers report any sightings immediately."
Thorne's entire demeanor changes in an instant. The gentle man who bathed me disappears, replaced by something feral and dangerous. He switches off the radio with enough force to knock it askew.
"They're looking for me," I say, stating the obvious.
He's across the room in two strides, backing me against the wall, his massive body caging me in. "You're not leaving." It's not a question.
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes down on mine, possessive and demanding.
I should be afraid of this wild intensity.
Instead, I melt into him, opening to his insistent tongue.
My towel falls away, leaving me naked while he's still fully clothed, and the contrast makes me feel small, vulnerable, and impossibly aroused.
"Not going anywhere," he growls against my mouth. "Mine now."
"Yes," I gasp as his hand finds my breast, thumb circling my nipple. "Yours."
He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me back to the bedroom.
This time when he lays me on the bed, he undresses slowly, letting me see all of him in the daylight.
His body is a map of hard work and survival—muscles built by necessity, not vanity, scars telling stories of a life lived roughly.
His cock juts out, already hard and intimidating, but my body remembers the pleasure it gave me last night.
I spread my legs in invitation, wanting him inside me again.
He covers me with his body, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. Unlike last night's frantic coupling, he moves with deliberate slowness now, his eyes never leaving mine as he positions himself at my entrance.
"My little girl," he whispers, pushing inside me inch by inch. “Please don’t leave me, baby,” his voice breaks with something near desperation, and it cracks my heart wide open. “Know it’s crazy, but don’t think I can survive without you now.
I’ll give you a good life. You’ll see. You’ll want for nothing, little girl. ”
I gasp as he bottoms out inside me. The fullness is intense, borderline painful as my still-tender flesh stretches to accommodate him again. But the discomfort fades quickly, replaced by waves of pleasure as he begins to move, slow and deep, still making promises to me, begging me to stay.
"Thorne," I whimper, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Please."
"I've got you," he promises, his rhythm steady, inexorable. "Daddy's got his good girl."
The praise sends sparks shooting through me, my back arching off the bed. He's hitting something deep inside that makes my vision blur, makes my toes curl against his lower back.
"That's it," he encourages, one hand sliding between us to find my clit. "Come for me, little girl. Show Daddy how good it feels."
I shatter around him, my orgasm crashing over me in waves. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down, just keeps the same steady pace that sends me spiraling into another climax before the first one fades.
"So good for me," he praises, his own breathing becoming ragged. "So perfect. Gonna fill you up. Gonna breed you until you're mine forever."
His words push me over the edge a third time, my body convulsing around his cock as he finally lets himself go, pumping his release deep inside me with a guttural moan.
He collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest, one hand splayed possessively over my lower belly. Where his child might already be taking root.
"They'll keep looking," I say after our breathing returns to normal.
His arms tighten around me. "Let them. Won't find you unless I allow it."
I should be scared by that statement. Should be planning my escape from this possessive mountain man who's decided I belong to him. Instead, I nestle closer, feeling safer than I ever have.
"I don't want them to find me," I confess, surprising myself with how true it is. "I want to stay."
He kisses the top of my head, his body relaxing subtly at my words. "Good girl," he murmurs. "My good, perfect girl."
And for the first time in my life, I feel like I might be exactly that.