11. Evie
Okay, I’ll admit it: I’ve imagined this moment. I’ve lain in bed with busy fingers, picturing what it might be like to have a big, warm man looming over me, settling his hips between the cradle of my thighs. Wondering about the stretching sensation of being entered by the first time, and whether it would hurt; guessing at how the weight of a strong body on top of mine might feel.
My daydreams about this exact moment used to be hazy. The imaginary man was kinda blurry, with no set features, and yeah, okay, I always figured we’d be in a bed. Caves weren’t exactly on my radar until two days ago.
Last night, though, in between huffing and puffing and cursing Rowan’s name, it was his face I pictured while cramming my hands between my legs. His pine and fresh wind scent I imagined drawing into my lungs, almost tasting him on the tip of my tongue. His chest hair I could practically feel tickling my bare boobs.
“Evie,” he says now, his deep voice tinged with reverence. Like I’m the best thing he has ever seen and will ever see. “Evie, Evie. My Evie.”
Propping himself on one elbow, Rowan strokes my body with one large, callused hand, skimming my hips, my waist, my rib cage.
When he palms my boob, my back arches automatically, pressing into his touch. My whimper is needy as hell. He’s already teased me, damn it. I’m ready! I’m there!
And Rowan must see the desperate glint in my eye, because he hushes me and rolls onto me fully, hitching my knee higher around his hip. The hard line of his cock skates along my most slick, tender place, and every time Rowan sucks in a heaving breath, our fronts press together.
He’s searing hot. So solid and manly, his chest and arms dusted with dark hairs. As he ducks his head to kiss my throat, a wonky patch of his hair cut catches my eye.
“Shoot.” My hips roll, chasing the blunt head of his shaft, hoping to coax him inside. “I need to go over that bit behind your ear again.”
Teeth scrape against my throat, and Rowan grunts. “Hm?”
“Your hair. It’s wonky behind your ear.”
His laugh rumbles right the way through me, all the way down to the pelt. My nerve endings jangle together like wind chimes.
“Not now, sweetheart. Can’t you feel how badly I need you?” Rowan thrusts gently, sliding against my seam, and I stop breathing for a second. “We’re not stopping to trim my damn hair.”
“I didn’t mean now—”
His hips shift without warning, the blunt head of his cock lining up with my entrance. It’s big, big enough that doubts flit across my mind, but then he’s pressing forward and the words dry up on my tongue.
Of course he’ll fit.
Even if it stings at first. Even if the pressure squeezes all the oxygen from my lungs. Even if I pant and moan and smack at the brown pelt below us, wound so tight when there are still inches yet to go.
“There she is.” Hot kisses trail along my collarbone and up my throat before Rowan’s breath puffs against my hair. He sounds strained, like he’s hanging on by a thread too. “Feel that, Evie? Feel how well you’re taking me already? Christ, you’re so perfect. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take my cock.”
My head spins, and the cave is all blurry. When I squeeze my eyes shut in a long blink, the firelight glows golden behind my eyelids.
So good.
So freaking good.
Gah!
“Evie?” Rowan has stopped, pushing up to blink down at me with concern. He’s stopped, right when I need that stretch and pressure, that feeling of being filled, more than I need my next breath.
“Keep going,” I gasp. “Oh my god, keep going.”
Fierce satisfaction and determination settle over the wild man’s handsome features, and then he thrusts forward again, harder this time.
An inch or two deeper—then he withdraws to let me breathe.
In, then out.
In.
And out.
Pushing deeper and deeper each time, until the backs of my knees are sweaty and my toes curl behind Rowan’s back. Until we’re sealed as tight as we can humanly go, sweat mingling on our skin in the heat of the fire.
“Okay?” Rowan asks, his voice ragged.
“So okay,” I tell him, my teeth chattering from the onslaught of sensation. “Holy shit. Feels so good. Why haven’t I done this before?”
A low growl fills the cave, and Rowan’s hips draw back before slamming into mine. My boobs jiggle with every punishing thrust as the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge pins me to his pelt and lays his claim.
“Because you’re mine,” he says between thrusts, licking a stripe up my neck. “You’re mine, Evie. That’s why.”
No arguments here.
And whatever I pictured while lying all those nights alone in bed, the real thing is hot and blurry and frantic. There’s a rough edge to Rowan’s thrusts; a meanness that makes my belly clench in the best way, especially when he soothes it over with filthy praise and searing kisses. Like he wishes he could be gentler right now, but his most primal instincts are riding him too hard.
He wants me so badly. Needs me so badly. It’s clear in each desperate thrust, each grunt and groan, and the way he tilts his head up to the cave roof, eyes slipping closed, like he wants to commit this all to memory. Like he’s praying to me, making an offering with every punch of his hips.
I love him.
Love this.
Never want it to end.
But tension throbs and twists in my low belly, and my thigh muscles begin to tremble where they clutch Rowan’s waist. When I clamp down on him, squeezing my inner muscles around his shaft to see what that feels like, Rowan roars and pounds a fist against the cave floor, thrusting harder and faster until the pelt skids along the stone ground.
I gasp and grin and squeeze him again for good measure, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life by my fingernails. And when he throbs inside me, his shaft swelling even bigger, Rowan curses and shoves a hand between us, searching out my clit.
He rubs harsh circles, coaxing me on with filthy praise.
There’s no need. I’m already stiffening beneath him, back arched and lips parted. Already spasming around his cock, blood flashing molten in my veins, as pleasure pounds through me in tumultuous waves.
And when Rowan grunts and wedges deep, when he roars his own release and fills me up with hot come, I cry out in hoarse approval. Yes. I want it. Want it all.
For a moment, I’m gone. The cave disappears; the sounds fade away. There’s nothing but static in my eyes and ears, like I’ve been whisked up to the clouds on a mountain breeze, and it feels so good that it almost hurts.
So. Good.
Then I collapse back against the pelt, panting like I’ve run a marathon, and my surroundings fade back in. The crackling fire; the drumming waterfall. The taste of wet stone on the air, and the tickle of fur against my sweaty back. The pleasure and pain where our bodies meet.
And Rowan. Breathing hard above me, frowning down like he doesn’t even want to blink. Still twitching and throbbing inside me, coming in drawn out spurts.
Rowan.
The world settles back on its axis.
Rowan.
My fingertips trail through his dark, shorn hair, and I smile up at him. I’m home.
* * *
One year later
Voices drift on the mountain air, and a burst of laughter leads me through the trees around to the front of our cabin. For the last year, this place has been a haven for my new husband and I. A cozy, quiet haven with a log burner and a beautiful deck, where we could build our lives and settle down together, all while he readjusts to life back in the real world.
It hasn’t been easy every day. There’s no denying that. Sometimes, when we’re in the grocery store and a crowd of folks roll in, Rowan gets that pinched look on his face and grips onto the cart too hard. Sometimes, we need to leave. He’ll never be a lover of busy spaces, and our dates will probably always mean mountain hikes and secret dips in hot springs rather than loud bars and restaurants.
That’s fine.
After all those years in the city, I like the peace and quiet too.
And I love having Rowan all to myself. My wounded warrior has fought so hard to overcome his demons and build a life with me, and if that means dipping out of a crowded store now and then? No problem.
He worries about that sometimes, I know, but he doesn’t realize—Rowan is the ultimate prize. Everything else is mere detail.
Dried leaves crunch under my feet, the reds and yellows of fall so bright all around. The wooden steps up to our deck creak gently under my feet, and I’m already smiling as I reach my husband and our guest.
Tess.
Rowan’s little sister—the woman he tried so hard to stay close to, even as he suffered alone in his cave. They look so similar, both dark haired and tall with the same gray eyes.
Tess is bundled up in a fluffy blanket on one of our deck chairs, sipping a hot chocolate and chatting to her brother. She’s so thrilled to have him back in her life—she’s squeezed my hand and whispered that fact to me dozens of times over the last year, thanking me again and again—and Rowan is delighted too. He’s fiercely protective of his little sister.
When they both glance over and see me, Tess smiles and waves. But Rowan launches out of his chair, striding over to me in three long steps, gray eyes roving over every inch of my body.
“Everything okay?” he murmurs, lips against my temple and one hand coming to my stomach—to the rounded swell of my baby bump, our first child growing within.
My heart gives a happy thump, and I swear the baby squirms too. “Yes,” I laugh, kissing Rowan’s cheek before walking past to steal his seat. “I’ve been strolling by the river, not wrestling bears. Relax.”
Tess snorts as Rowan drags another chair close. “I told you she’d be fine. Evie’s a local now.”
It’s a high compliment from someone born and raised in Starlight Ridge, and I beam as my husband settles another blanket around my shoulders. I lived in the city for years before coming here, but I never felt at home before this cabin and these people.
“My turn next,” Tess declares, holding up crossed fingers to the sunshine spearing through the trees. The air smells like pine and wood smoke. “Are you listening, universe? I’m ready for my fairy tale love.” And her tone is jokey, but there’s a hint of longing in her pale gray eyes.
“It’ll happen,” I tell her, turning to grin at the ex-Wild Man of Starlight Ridge. “After all: there’s a weirdo out there for everyone.”
* * *