16. Chapter 16 Bree
Chapter 16: Bree
S cott hasn’t said much since I dropped the bomb on him at dinner, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. The drive back to his cabin is quiet—too quiet—but not in that comfortable way.
He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped in half. His jaw is tight, eyes locked on the dark road ahead, but I can see the flicker of something more beneath his gruff exterior. Something hungry.
Good. Let him stew in it.
When we pull up to his cabin, he kills the engine but doesn’t move. Neither do I. We just sit there in the dim light. I know he’s trying to hold himself back, fighting that inner battle between what he wants and what he thinks he’s supposed to do.
I’m done waiting.
“I’ve thought about this, Scott,” I say, breaking the silence.
His knuckles tighten on the wheel. He doesn’t look at me. “Bree—”
“No. Listen.”
I shift in my seat, turning to face him. My voice is calm, steady, because I need him to hear me.
“I’m not asking you for some relationship. I’m not asking you to break some code with Jake. I’m asking you to teach me. About sex. About my body. About what it’s supposed to feel like when it’s good.”
He exhales slowly, but I press on.
“Misty Mountain isn’t my forever. I keep thinking I will eventually go back to my old life at some stage. But this is what I need now, but while I’m here, I want this. With you. And no one has to know. Not Jake. Not Clara. Not Hank. No one.”
I finally see him glance at me, his eyes shadowed but burning with restraint. “Bree, you don’t know what you’re asking me for.”
“I do.”
“No, sweetheart. You don’t. If we do this, I’m not going to be gentle all the time. I’m not that kind of man.”
I swallow, heat unfurling low in my belly. “I don’t want gentle. I want real.”
He drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe away the images in his head. But I can see it there, the fight is slipping. His self-control is cracking, and I am not about to let him rebuild it.
“I want to know what it feels like,” I continue. “To be wanted. To be touched like you can’t get enough of me. To feel good in my own skin, with someone who actually sees me.”
I pause, then add softly, “I want to know what it feels like with you, Scott.”
His chest rises and falls heavily. His fists clench on his thighs like he’s keeping himself from reaching for me.
I lean in closer. “So, what do you say? Will you teach me?”
His jaw works, like he’s trying to find a way out, but there isn’t one. He wants this. I can see it. Feel it.
“Jesus, Bree,” he mutters. “You’re making it real fucking hard to be good.”
I smile, leaning even closer until our faces are only inches apart, as I lick my lips, smiling when I see his eyes follow my tongue. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.”
His hand shoots out, curling around the back of my neck, his grip firm. He pulls me toward him slowly, his breath mingling with mine.
“You really want this?” he asks. “It’s not some game?”
I nod, my pulse hammering. “Yes.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. His thumb brushes over my throat, his grip tightening just enough to make my breath catch.
“Then you’re mine while you’re here. No holding back. You want to learn? I’ll teach you everything.”
My breath shudders out of me. “Sweet baby Jesus, thank you.”
He stares at me for a long beat, then curses under his breath before his mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is rough, claiming as his tongue slides against mine, his hand threading into my hair, tilting my head back as he takes everything. There’s no hesitation now. No second-guessing. Just need. Raw and all-consuming.
I moan into his mouth, and his hand moves to my thigh, gripping it possessively. I arch into him, feeling his hardness pressing against me through his jeans.
I want him. Right here. Right now.
He pulls back, breathing heavily, his eyes wild. “Not tonight.”
I blink, confused. “What?”
He smirks, brushing his thumb over my swollen lips. “We do this, we do it right. I’m not fucking you in my damn truck like some quick lay. You deserve more than that.”
My heart melts a little at that, because for all his roughness, there’s this man beneath it who cares more than he lets on.
“Tomorrow,” he murmurs. “We start tomorrow.”
I nod, my whole body thrumming with anticipation. “Tomorrow. I need to get some protection for us sweetheart, We can wait until then.”
He leans in, kissing me once more, slower this time, but just as possessive. Like he’s marking me.
When we finally step out of the truck and head inside, I already know. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.