Chapter 36 Gunner
Gunner
I spin the bracelet on my wrist over and over, hoping it’ll get my brain to start fucking working.
Although what I’m really doing is thinking about the girl who gave me this bracelet as a Christmas present, so many years ago.
And the marketing plan she left in my shop at some point, complete with bullet points and predictions for how well each one would work.
I’ve been through it so many times now that I practically have it memorized, and I still can’t believe how good it is.
Influencers. Social media campaigns. Photographs of me and Gabe.
Extensive background stories about how each piece came to be. Personal orders. Publicity campaigns.
The girl did such a thorough job that I started wondering in the middle of the night last night where she found the time.
I haven’t been around as much as I could have, but Gabe has been with her nearly every day, and surely he’s been keeping her busy.
When did she manage to sit down and write all of that out?
Make plans for a business she doesn’t even know to try to help it succeed?
My fingers catch on the charm she put on this bracelet when she was young–—an axe attached to a tree–—and I find myself grinning.
At the time, she thought I was a hero. A man who went into the forest and chopped down trees, like Paul Bunyan, to protect the town.
Her eyes had shone with excitement when I opened her gift, and she’d shrieked when I put it on like she’d never been more excited.
I promised her then that I’d never take it off, and I’ve held to that promise. Even after she and Helen left.
And now I’m grinning like an idiot at the forest below me, and quickly wipe the smile off my face.
Gods, what’s happening to me? I’m sitting up here on the ridge to watch the sunrise, the same as any other day, and instead of going through ideas for the business, which is the reason I came up here, I’m remembering Taryn giving me a Christmas present and grinning like an absolute fool at the view below me.
If anyone came up here and saw me, they’d think I lost my mind.
A twig cracks and I whirl around, afraid that someone has done just that, and see Taryn coming up the path like my thoughts fucking summoned her. Her hair is tangled and her cheeks flushed, and I’m guessing she hasn’t been awake very long. She’s not wearing any makeup at all.
She is, however, wearing one of my jackets.
And I don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful.
She gives me a wry little grin and holds up two thermoses and a foil-wrapped package. “They’re not fresh this morning. I didn’t have time to bake. Too busy sleeping.”
Her cheeks grow pinker at that, and I finally take a moment to actually look at her.
When she first arrived, she was gaunt and pale, shadows under her eyes and a pinched look to her face that told me she’d been running from something.
Now, though, she looks healthy. Flushed, like the blood in her veins is actually running, and glowing like she’s just had the best news possible.
She’s beautiful and vital and smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
When she looks at me, though, I see that her eyes still hold the shadows of fear.
I pat the log next to me, wondering what she’s so afraid of, and she sits and hands me the foil package and one of the thermoses.
“Your favorite,” she murmurs.
I laugh. “Then they’re better when they’ve been out for a day,” I tell her. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone made cookies for me.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Probably because neither you or Gabe knows how to bake.”
I chuckle, but she’s closer to the truth than she realizes. It’s not that we don’t know how to bake. I mean, we don’t, but it’s more than that.
It’s been years since we had anyone who wanted to bake in our kitchen.
Years since we would have accepted anyone, and years since we would have slowed down enough to eat what they made. I don’t know what shifted when she arrived, but she’s done something that feels a lot like making our house a home again.
Which brings me back to a question I’ve been meaning to ask her.
“Taryn, why did you come up here?” I ask, gazing out at the forest, where the sun is just starting to break out above the pines and give the world its golden glow. “Why didn’t you call your mom?”
She’s quiet for so long I think she’s going to ignore me, and then she starts shaking.
I immediately put an arm around her and pull her to me. “Are you cold? You never wear enough clothes, girl. Here, put on my jacket.”
I move to take it off, but she puts up a hand.
“No, I’m not cold. I’m wearing your better jacket.” She puts a hand to the one she’s wearing and casts me a quick smile. “It’s not that.”
I’ll believe her when she says she’s not cold, but I don’t take my arm from around her shoulder.
I like the feel of her up against me.
“Then what is it?” I ask, staring into her copper eyes.
She meets my look head on, her own eyes doubtful and nervous, and for a long moment I’m convinced she’s not going to answer me. Then she nods once, her brow creased in doubt.
“I didn’t call my mother because I don’t trust her,” she says simply. “She and Johnny Massimo want something from me, and I’m not willing to give it to them. And they... And they...”
She pauses and bites her lips, turning her gaze to the mountains and forest in front of us.
They’re fully lit now, and dance with the golds and oranges of the sunrise, like someone has gilded the trees and rocks.
I know because I’ve watched this same sunrise a million times over.
I could recite which trees light up first, and how the rocks shimmer with pink, then orange, then gold as the sun rises from its bed.
Today, however, I have no taste for it.
I want to know what she’s not telling me.
I take her chin and turn it back toward me, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“They what?”
She presses her lips together like she’s fighting to keep the words in, like the last thing she wants to do is tell me, and I recognize that look. She used to wear that look when someone was bothering her at school, or if she thought Gabe was being unfair about something.
She never wanted to tell me. But that had never stopped her from coming to me for help when she needed it. It just meant I had to work harder for answers, so I could save her from whatever she’d gotten herself into.
I alter my expression, putting on my sternest dad face, and say, “Little Bird? What happened?’
Her expression melts at the tone of my voice, and two tears track their way down her cheek to lips that are wobbling with emotion.
Adrenaline floods my body, and for a moment all I can think about is that I want to kill whoever has scared her that badly.
I don’t care who they are or how much money they have.
They’ve frightened her and I want to rip them limb from limb.
“Tell me,” I say, fighting to keep my voice quiet and gentle. “I can’t fix it unless you tell me.”
That last line is a cheat, and I know it as I say it. She hasn’t asked me to fix anything.
But maybe that’s because she doesn’t know if she can.
The tears start flowing faster, and before I can ask again, she’s buried her face in my chest and is crying for real, her shoulders shaking with emotion and her words blurred together.
“It’s my mom’s new husband,” she finally gets out. “He’s a bad man, Gunner, and he hurts me. He has a temper, and when he gets mad he—”
I put my arms around her quickly and shush her. I know she probably needs to get this out, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t think I can stand to hear it.
More like I know what will happen if I do.
The thought of another man raising his hand against this girl has me ready to commit murder, the thought so easy, so casual, that I almost don’t notice it. The moment I do, though, I realize how right it feels.
I will kill anyone who hurts this girl, because she belongs to us. She’s ours, and if someone is attacking her, they’re attacking me. I will sell my own life to protect her. It’s a ridiculous, overdramatic thought.
I don’t take it back.
“He can’t get you up here,” I tell her quietly. “He can’t.”
She draws back and shakes her head. “He can, though. My mother knows I’m up here. She’s been texting me nonstop, threatening to come get me. But I can’t go home. If I go home, I’ll never get back out again.”
I don’t know what that means or why she’s so certain of it, and I’m furious that Helen is texting her and threatening her, but my anger isn’t going to help her right now. She needs my love and protection, not my anger.
I put a finger to her lips and wait for her to meet my gaze again.
“They can’t get you up here, Taryn. I’ll protect you. They’ll have to go through me to get to you.”
The look that comes across her face is so relieved, so thankful, that it melts my anger away.
She looks at me like I’m a god, like I’m the hero she’s been waiting her entire life for, and something inside me shifts.
I feel like a part of me that’s been dead for years suddenly wakes up again, stretching until it fills every inch of me.
And it feels bright. Hopeful. Sweet and precious and shining, like the most beautiful gift in the world.
Only it’s not a thing that’s lived inside me.
It’s Taryn. And it’s something new, something that moved here with her when she came back. It’s the grownup beauty of her that I noticed on that first night. The way she stands taller and knows who she is. The way she came here and immediately filled an empty space I didn’t think could be filled.
The tension that’s been building between us increases until the world around us disappears, and I realize that I still have a finger on her lips.
Her slightly open, very wet lips. I press a bit harder, and she opens her mouth further.
Another inch and my finger is inside her mouth, her hot, wet tongue pulling it further until she’s sucking on it up to the middle knuckle.
And my God, this is wrong. This is so wrong. This girl is my stepdaughter, and it’s my job to take care of her. Make sure she’s safe.
But making sure she’s safe suddenly feels a lot like wanting to pin her to the ground and claim her as my own. Cover her with my body and make sure no one else can get to her. Tell the world that she belongs to me. I want to have her. Hold her.
Keep her.
I don’t know how it happens. One moment she’s sitting next to me on the fallen tree, my finger in her mouth, and the next she’s in my lap, her legs wrapped around me and her arms looping around my neck.
“What are you doing?” she gasps.
I realize my hands are on her ass, pulling her down against my stiff cock, and that I scooped her into my lap. I did this. And now I’m rocking up against her, my cock straining against her pussy.
“Should I stop?” I ask, terrified of her answer.
Her lips twitch. “No.”
I nearly roar with relief. Instead, I wrap my hand around the back of her head and bring her face toward me.
This time when I kiss her, I know what I’m doing.
I kiss to possess, to feed, to devour her.
I let my tongue clash with hers and when her teeth bite down on my lip, I don’t draw back.
Instead, I tilt her head so I can take her more deeply and feed on her like a man who hasn’t eaten in too long.
And gods, she’s sweet. She tastes like coffee with chocolate, cookies, and the bright, fresh morning light around us.
She’s everything I’ve wanted for so long, and within seconds that coldness inside me is gone.
She’s bringing me back to life.
I lift her up enough to undo my jeans and jerk them down around my knees, then gasp when she reaches down to take my cock in her hands.
Her small fingers wrap around me and start to stroke, moving far too quickly for me to stay calm, and within moments I know I have to have her.
Fuck, I need to be buried inside her. I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t feel her around me.
I force her onto her feet and strip her jeans away, hissing with impatience when they get caught on her tennis shoes. She slides out of them, though, then meets my eyes one last time.
One last time before we take that final, forbidden step.
“Are you sure?”
She blows out slowly. “Yes.”
It’s all I need. I grab her by the hips and pull her back into my lap, holding her open above my cock for several seconds as a voice in my head tries to regain control.
We shouldn’t be doing this. Anyone could come up here and discover us, and what then?
My reputation would be ruined. She might run from me. I might ruin everything.
Or I might finally find a home again.
I close my eyes, pray to a God I don’t know if I’ve ever believed in, and pull her down.
And holy God, she’s tight and wet and hot and so, so perfect as she slides down on me.
I don’t open my eyes again until she’s full seated, her pussy stretched around my cock and squeezing me until I can hardly think, and when I do, I find her staring back at me, her pupils blown out with desire.
Fuck me.
“Gunner,” she whispers.
I nearly come at the word.
“Yes, Little Bird?” I whisper, my heart about to explode with love.
Her eyes flutter closed at the nickname, and without another word she starts to rock on me, riding me slowly and driving me insane with her movements. I take her by the hips and lift her up, sliding her off my cock and then back down, and she gasps when I hit the sensitive spot inside her.
I don’t want her crying out. I mean I do, but not out here where her cries would echo off the cliffs around us.
I don’t want anyone to know what we’ve done.
I want to keep this for myself. Just for me and her. Just for a while.
So I duck down and claim her mouth again, swallowing her cries as I move her up and down on my cock, fucking her so slowly it makes me want to cry with the absolute beauty of it.
Although by the time she orgasms, drawing down on my cock and saying my name again and again, I’ve changed my mind.
I’m not crying.
I’m flying.
And Taryn’s the one who gave me wings.