Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
WREN
The storm sounds louder in the daylight.
It roars around the house like the mountain itself is trying to shake us loose. Wind howls through the trees and snow slams against the windows in thick bursts that blur everything beyond the glass. It should feel scary.
Instead, wrapped in Calder’s blanket with Bear’s heavy head resting on my thigh, it feels… cozy.
After breakfast, Calder disappears down the hall.
“I’ve got some work to do,” he says, pausing at the entrance to what I assume is his office. “Yell if you need anything.”
“I will,” I promise.
The door clicks shut behind him, and the house settles into a quiet rhythm. The fire crackles softly. The storm hums in the background. Bear sighs like he’s perfectly content to spend the rest of his life exactly where he is.
I reach for the book sitting on the coffee table. It’s a mystery novel with a worn spine and dog-eared pages. I run my fingers over the cover for a second, a little thrill of excitement sparking in my chest.
I love reading.
I just… never have time. Or I didn’t. Between work and trying to stay out of Alex’s way and saving every spare second and dollar, books always felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.
I curl deeper into the couch and open to the first page.
The story pulls me in fast. A missing woman. A detective with too many secrets. The world outside the book fades until it’s just me and the words and the steady warmth of the fire. Bear shifts occasionally, pressing closer, like he’s making sure I don’t drift too far away.
A couple of hours pass without me noticing.
My stomach growls loud enough to pull me out of the story. I blink at the page, disoriented, and glance at the clock on the wall.
“Okay,” I murmur, setting the book aside. “That explains it.”
I’m just starting to swing my legs off the couch when the office door opens. Calder steps into the hallway, stretching his shoulders like he’s been hunched over something for too long.
He looks at me and then at the clock.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“A little,” I admit.
“I’ll heat the stew up for lunch.”
Relief and gratitude tangle in my chest. I follow him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he moves around with easy efficiency. The stew warms on the stove, filling the air with that rich, comforting smell again.
We eat at the table, the storm a constant soundtrack. Conversation comes easier this time. Lighter. He asks about the book. I tell him the detective is probably the killer and he shakes his head like I’ve committed a crime.
After we rinse our bowls, he looks at me with a thoughtful expression.
“You want to play a game?”
My eyebrows lift. “A game?”
“Yeah.”
I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck. “I mean… sure. But I’m not any good. I haven’t really played many games before.”
He stares at me like I just told him I’ve never seen snow.
“You’re kidding.”
I shrug, a little embarrassed. “We didn’t really… do that growing up.”
Something flickers in his eyes. It’s gone almost as fast as it appears, replaced by a determined glint. He disappears into a cabinet and comes back with a box.
“Phase 10,” he announces, setting it on the table.
I eye it suspiciously. “Is this going to be complicated?”
He snorts. “You’ll be fine. I’ll teach you.”
He explains the rules with patient clarity, his big hands shuffling the cards with practiced ease. I stumble through the first round, laughing at my own confusion. He wins, of course, but he doesn’t gloat. He just deals the next hand and nudges me in the right direction when I get stuck.
It’s… fun.
Genuinely, stupidly fun. I find myself grinning and trash talking in a way that feels foreign and wonderful. The storm fades into the background as we get caught up in the rhythm of the game.
And then the lights go out.
The house plunges into sudden darkness. I gasp, the cards slipping from my fingers.
“It’s okay,” Calder says immediately, his voice calm in the dark. “Storm probably knocked the power.”
I hear him moving. A second later, a flashlight clicks on, casting a steady beam of light across the room. He sets it on the coffee table and grabs another from a drawer, placing it beside the first.
He feeds more wood into the fireplace. Flames leap higher, throwing warm light and dancing shadows across the walls.
“There we go,” he murmurs.
He drapes another blanket over my shoulders without a word. The extra weight is comforting. Bear climbs onto the couch beside me, all eighty pounds of him, and wedges himself against my side. I laugh softly and wrap an arm around his thick neck.
Calder settles on the other end of the couch. The game lies forgotten on the table. The only sounds are the fire and the distant roar of the storm.
The quiet that settles between us is different from before.
It’s heavier. Charged.
I feel it before I understand it. A subtle shift in the air that makes my skin prickle. I glance up and find Calder watching me.
The look in his eyes steals my breath.
It’s hungry. Not in a way that scares me. In a way that makes heat unfurl low in my stomach and spread through my chest. His gaze traces over me slowly, deliberately, like he’s taking in every detail. The firelight catches in his blue gray eyes, turning them molten.
My pulse stutters. For a moment neither of us moves. The storm rages outside. The fire crackles. Bear snores softly between us, blissfully unaware of the tension tightening the space.
I hold his gaze, my breath shallow as the world narrows to the intensity of that look.
The room fades at the edges until it is just him and the heat in his eyes.
Something is changing. I feel it in the frantic rhythm of my heart and the slow bloom of warmth spreading under his attention, like every nerve in my body is waking up at once.
“You can’t look at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
I shake my head like I’m caught in a dream, but I can’t look away. My throat feels tight. “I… I’m sorry.” I blush and bite my bottom lip, my gaze dipping for half a second before I drag it back to him, helpless.
“Look at me.”
I lift my eyes immediately, my stomach flipping at the command.
“Come here, Wren.”
I push to my feet and walk to him on shaky legs, scared and turned on at the same time.
I’ve been watching this man for weeks, memorizing the way he moves, the way he talks, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
There isn’t a single thing about him I don’t like.
After the dream I had of him last night, I can’t get the feel of his hands and the taste of his kiss out of my head.
It clings to me, a secret heat between my thighs.
He spreads his legs as I approach, making room for me to step between them. The space feels charged, my pulse pounding in my ears. When I move close enough, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap in one smooth motion. The sudden contact steals my breath.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Wren. Like a goddamn angel come to life.”
I shake my head automatically, disbelief and shyness tangling in my chest, but I tip my chin up so I can still see him. His eyes are dark and hungry, locked on my face like he is trying to brand the sight of me into his memory.
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he says. “All these thick curves are driving me insane. Trying to keep my hands to myself has been so damn hard.”
His words settle low in my belly, heavy and intoxicating. I stare at him, entranced, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Then don’t.”
His grip on my waist tightens. “You don’t know what you’re saying, sweetheart.
I don’t do soft. If I touch you, then you’re mine.
Mine for good, for always. I’m a demanding bastard who likes things a certain way.
So before you tell me not to keep my hands to myself, I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. ”
Each word feels like a slow drag of a match, lighting something reckless inside me. “And what is that?” I ask softly. My thoughts are hazy with want. He is trying to warn me away, but every warning only pulls me closer, wrapping around me like a promise instead of a threat.
“I need control. I’m in charge all the time. If you don’t listen, you’ll be punished. And no, I won’t hurt you, but you’ll know better than to misbehave next time. I’ll take care of you like you’re the angel you are, but what I say goes.”
A shiver runs through me. The certainty in his voice makes my breath hitch. I swallow hard. “Okay.”
He laughs darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Okay?”
I nod, my fingers curling against his shoulders to steady myself.
“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t think you know how depraved I can be.”
My pulse jumps. “Show me.”
“I will. But I’m doing it knowing I’m a bastard. I won’t be able to let you go,” he says. His hand slides up to the back of my neck, warm and firm, and he pulls me in. His lips meet mine in a kiss that is slow for half a heartbeat and then suddenly hungry.
A soft moan slips out of me as he slips his tongue into my mouth and takes control of the kiss.
The world tilts and I melt into him, my body going pliant in his hands.
He grips my hips and shifts me so I’m straddling him, the movement deliberate.
I feel the hard press of him at my center, the friction sending a sharp spark of heat through me.
I rock forward without thinking, chasing that sensation, my breath breaking.
“You still want more, baby girl?” he growls against my mouth.
I nod, my forehead brushing his, my chest heaving.
“Tell me, Wren. How many men have had my pussy?”
The question cuts through the haze. “Huh?”
He cups my pussy and looks me straight in the eyes, his expression intense and unyielding. “How many men have fucked you?”
My heart stutters. I shake my head, my lips parting on a shaky breath. His gaze sharpens. “Words, sweetheart. I need you to say it.”
Heat floods my face. I gasp. “N… none. I’m a vir—”
The word is swallowed by his mouth crashing back onto mine.
He kisses me deep and all-consuming, his hands tightening as he drags me closer, like he is trying to erase every inch of space between us.
I run my hands up his chest and fist his shirt, clinging to him as desire coils tighter and tighter inside me, leaving no room for anything else.