Chapter 6
Grace
The sun rises over the mountain behind Dean’s house. It crests the peak, spreading light through the cloudless sky that, coupled with the evergreens and bare trees, makes everything look tinted in pale grey. White puffs of air blow out of my mouth as I watch the world wake up from my porch with a hot mug of coffee in my hand.
The steam tickles my face, thawing the tip of my nose.
It’s freezing out. The bite of winter stings my lungs enough to make me feel alive. The snow from last night barely dusted the grass. Sadly, it’ll probably be gone before lunch. And the winds that came with it have basically blown the rest of the leaves off the trees. It’s a very different gorgeous landscape today.
Oscar’s loud bark makes me jump in surprise. She bumbles up my back steps and heads right to me, wagging her tail. Too excited for her own good, she bumps into my leg, almost making me spill my coffee.
“Good morning to you, too.” Giving her a good head scratch, I look around for Dean.
I think I have a new obsession.
Last night I went through every post on his MountainWood account and tried to find him on other social media platforms, which turned out to be a total bust. I followed him on the app with my secondary account and went down a Dean thirst trap rabbit hole I have zero desire to get out of. I loved seeing the progression of his account. I know the video that gained him the most followers was the one I self-pleasured to yesterday because it got the most hits by a landslide. And seeing how far he’s come with his edits warms my content creating influencer heart.
I’d love to help him level up. He’s got enough followers to make money off his videos, so why not rake in some extra dough? No one turns down easy money.
Not that content creating is easy, but he’s got the chops for it.
What I don’t understand is how he hasn’t capitalized his cabin business with these videos yet. It would be a little tricky, but it’s definitely doable. A hot lumberjack like him hosting guests in a place like this? He could put Bear Creek Cabins on the getaway bucket list for women across the world.
Grace, stop. It’s not your place to market him.
Besides, I don’t think Dean would appreciate encouragement like that. I saw how long it took him to move off the lawn last night when I zinged him with his handle name. I hope he didn’t think I was teasing him.
On the contrary, I was baiting him.
Oscar runs in a little circle and barks at me again before dashing down my steps, back up them, then back down again.
Talk about having the zoomies.
“You want to go on a walk?”
Her bark and wild tail wagging are a yes to me .
Zipping up my coat, I set my coffee cup down and follow her lead, taking the green trail. If there’s wildlife roaming around, Oscar will alert me. Animal instincts, right? Plus, I don’t see tracks anywhere, so I think we’re fine.
The stream greets us with a fast current rushing over rocks. At least the mud has frozen. It would be a shame to ruin two outfits in twenty-four hours.
Speaking of which, the second post I made last night got a ton of views. My client emailed this morning thrilled at the traction and ensured folks in the comment section that everything is machine washable, and the mud should come out with stain remover spray. I’ll take their word for it for now.
At least my out-of-the-box plan for their clothing line is working, which makes me super proud of myself. Having Oscar in the photos helped, too. Most models pose the same way—sleek, stylish, and edgy. No shade to them, but how can someone be outdoors and not get dirty? Oscar was the perfect accessory to the rugged outdoor wear that can take a beating and come out looking brand new every time. The fact that I rolled in the mud with a big, genuine smile on my face probably only went viral because “Grace Finch would never.”
What a laugh. No one, including me, knows who I really am. My mother would have my head if she caught me acting in any other way but meticulously poised and perfect.
When I was seven, I took a big pot from the kitchen and drug it out to our gardens. I plucked a bunch of flowers and leaves and mixed it with dirt. Then splashed hose water into it, rolled little balls of petal patties, and pretended to feed my invisible pets .
After I was done playing, I put the pot in the sink and changed into my dinner dress but forgot to scrub the dirt from under my fingernails.
My mother went through the roof. The things she said, the way she made me feel…
I never made another petal patty again.
Even now, I can hear the disdain in her voice if she saw the video I posted last night. “Mud is for masks in a spa, not rolling around in while wearing a three-thousand-dollar parka and fleece-lined cargo pant ensemble, Grace. You should be ashamed of yourself. Rolling around in mud like a pig. Is that what you are? Did I raise a pig? And why on earth did you wear your hair pulled back? You look ghastly. Wear it down and fix your lipstick. I won’t let you embarrass me.”
My mom’s blocked from my social media, so she’ll never see yesterday’s content. I kind of wish she could though. A little fuck you, look at me now , would be nice.
Snapping a picture of me on a rock with Oscar, I post it with the caption, “Wake up and carpe this diem like the baddie you are!”
My little inspirational posts don’t get as many likes or comments as my others, but I don’t care. I like hyping people up, and if I can boost one follower’s confidence for the day, then I’m successful.
While I wait for the photo to upload—because cell service is spotty around here—a notification pops up on my screen.
MountainWood has posted a new video .
I click that bitch so fast it’s a wonder I don’t chip a nail.
“Good morning, gorgeous. Were you warm enough last night?” Dean smiles at the camera, but I swear he’s staring straight at me and only me. My pussy agrees. “Look at how perfect you are. Stunning… just like this view.” He slowly spans the camera to show off the mountains behind his house. Then he brings the camera back to him and cocks his brow. “What do you want to do today? Because I’m alllll yours…”
My heart gallops in my chest. This video just woke up my fucking ovaries.
He took the bait. YES!
He’s already got a dozen comments, too.
I want to get dirty with you!
I swear this man is the only reason I’d ever consider being a morning person.
Oh my lawd.
I’d let you split me like you do that firewood.
Respectfully, please turn me into a Twinkie or Toaster Strudel. I beg.
I want you to turn my throat into a daycare.
“Atta boy.” I heart the video and add a comment: Is the sun the only thing rising this morning? #woodfordays
Closing the app, I stuff my phone in my coat pocket and find a stick for Oscar. “Wanna play fetch, girl?”
A loud whistle echoes across the woods and Oscar takes off, leaving me and the stick behind.
I end up taking a bunch of photos and B-roll at the stream before heading back to my cabin. This morning’s walk in the brisk weather is just the thing to get my creative juices going, but I’m forcing myself to do the bare minimum for now. It’s too easy, as a content creator, to spend all my time making new material. I’m not here for work. I need to relax and make decisions about my future.
If only I could stay here forever.
There’s something so peaceful and perfect about this place. I’m a little sad I didn’t discover it sooner. Last night, Dean asked why I wasn’t staying at a “fancy” resort, and what I told him was the truth, but not the whole truth. I don’t want to be anywhere I could be recognized, for one. But they were also completely booked out and likely had been for several months. This was the only place available, within the distance I was willing to go, and seeing how barebones it is, I’m not too surprised.
He needs help running this place and the cabins are in desperate need of updates. It’s obvious he’s working on it, but renovations will take forever if he’s doing them all by himself.
“It’s not your business, Grace.”
Stomping up my porch steps, I kick the snow off the bottom of my boots. Dean’s truck rumbles past my cabin and stops two doors down. I walk around the porch to watch where he goes and see Oscar running behind the truck like a goof.
He hops out and plays rough with her for a few seconds, getting her all riled up and happy, then lowers the tailgate on his truck. It’s filled with lumber, buckets, a cooler, and tools.
Dean stalls, mid-unpacking, and looks over at me.
I wave first, and he tips his head in response.
Okay. I don’t know how to take that.
Heading back inside, I go straight to the fireplace to warm up. Shit. I totally forgot to add more wood this morning and my walk was too long! Poking the embers, I figure if I’m fast, there’s still a chance I can resurrect the little fire demon lurking in there. I just have to feed it quickly.
Grabbing the wood container Dean left yesterday, I stride out my front door and straight to the massive pile of perfectly stacked wood and fill my bin to the max.
“Whoa, whoa, I got it.” Dean runs to me, white puffs leaving his mouth.
“No, I can do it.”
“It’s heavy.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious, I had no idea.” I lean the bin against my stomach and start waddling back towards my cabin.
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“Stubborn and self-sufficient are not the same,” I say over my shoulder.
He huffs a little laugh but when I trip over a divot in the dirt drive, he’s on me in an instant. “Give it to me.” He tugs the bin.
I tug it back. “I’ve got it!”
“Just let me—”
“Lay off, before I beat you with a piece of oak.”
He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Fine.” He lets go and I reinforce my hold on it as I start walking again.
Tears spring to my eyes because I can’t believe I’m being difficult with him over a container of wood. It’s just that being self-sufficient is important to me and a baddie shouldn’t need a man, or a set of controlling super rich parents, to live her best life.
He’s only trying to be nice, Grace.
I turn around to apologize and am momentarily struck speechless. Dean’s staring at me with this mix of emotions I can’t decode. Frustration, for sure. But also… lust, maybe? Regret? I can’t even tell.
“Do you mind getting the door for me?”
“Not at all,” he says a little stiffly.
He follows me to the cabin and opens the door. I could have easily put the bin down and opened it myself, but this is my way of trying to make amends.
And it’s a terrible apology.
“Sorry for being a brat.” I drop the bin next to the fireplace and rub my arms. “I just really want to do things for myself.” After brushing the debris and dirt off my coat, I pluck a piece of wood out of the bin and toss it into the fireplace.
“I get that.” Dean drops to his knees and blows on the embers, making them glow.
The fire starts right up, and he quietly adds a few more logs in various sizes, stacking them in a specific way. “This should last you a while. I’ll bring you another load and leave it outside your door later.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He looks up at me. “But I want to.”
His eyes are so lovely—dark brown laced with pitch black lashes women pay big bucks to have for themselves. He’s trimmed and shaped his beard since last night, which I noticed in this morning’s video, but it looks even better in person. His nose has this regal slope that’s perfect too. And his mouth… too kissable. Too fuckable.
His flannel shirt is thicker than the one he wore yesterday. It’s almost like a coat, which hides the muscles I know he has. My hands itch to run over his arms, shoulders, and down the chiseled abs that I drooled over in all his videos last night .
Dean slowly rises, his eyes never leaving mine, and he takes a step closer.
My heart thunders in my chest.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and I get a little light-headed.
“Are you warm enough now?” he asks in a deep, quiet voice.
All my feminism evaporates. “No.”
His brow twitches and a smirk plays on his face. “No?”
“I’m freezing,” I lie.
“Then get a little closer.” He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me to him. The heat from the fire has nothing on blazing inferno between us. “Is this better?”
“A little.”
My pussy floods with arousal.
This man is so different from the guys I’m used to, and I can’t stop myself from being drawn in by him. Animal magnetism is powerful stuff.
His attention drops to my mouth again, but… he looks like he’s second-guessing himself.
I can’t let this moment slip by. I want it too badly.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to make a move. When he still looks torn, desperation has me whispering, “Please fucking kiss me.”
Groaning, he gives into my demand and crushes his mouth to mine. My body melts instantly. His kiss is deep… hungry… controlling. If I didn’t know any bett er, I’d say he’s been on a short leash for far too long and it’s finally snapped.
I love that for me.
His hands drag down my back, but I can barely feel it with this big coat on. Frantic to get out of it, I tug the zipper, but the stupid thing catches and gets stuck. I groan against Dean’s mouth, still kissing him while fighting for my life with this fucking coat.
“Let me help you,” he says, smiling with this mischievous twinkle in his eye.
The zipper doesn’t listen to him either. It’s truly jammed, and I’m trapped inside it. No matter what we try, it won’t budge.
“Cut me out,” I say, growing more desperate. I can’t believe this moment just got ruined by a stupid piece of endorsement clothing.
“You serious?”
“Dean!” I yell. Spinning around, I search for a pair of scissors in every drawer and come up empty.
“Here.” He closes the space between us and pulls out a big pocketknife. The blade’s serrated and looks like something you’d skin animals with. “Are you sure about this?”
“If you don’t cut me out of it, I might just stab you with that thing.”
“Hellion.” He places the blade at the top of my neckline and saws downwards. The fabric rips in the most satisfying way. I peel it off like it’s on fire and I’m on him again in an instant.
He stumbles back.
“That was hot,” I say, practically climbing up his body.
His laugh gets lost in a groan when I wrap my legs around him and kiss him again. The knife drops with a resounding thud on the hardwood floor and Dean palms my ass with both hands.
I have no idea what’s gotten into me. But if I’m going to carpe the diem, I’ll also carpe this man.
“Christ, woman.” His hair falls in his eyes because I’ve messed it all up. “You’re a wild animal.”
“Shut up.” I kiss him again, running my fingers through his thick hair, loving how his beard scratches up my face. He’s right, I am a wild animal… and it’s all his fault. His tongue sweeps against mine and my pussy clenches with delight from all the sensations. “Fucking hell, your beard…”
“Do you not like it?” He sets me on the table, giving me a little time to catch my breath.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Allow me to sway your mind then.” He unbuttons my pants and tugs them down around my ankles. With a big smile, he loops my legs around his neck and gives me a wink.
Then he licks my pussy with a long drag of his tongue.
“Oh fuck,” I squeak. Electric lust zips through my body. I hope he can’t tell how much I need this.
Do I seem desperate? I must.
I am.
I don’t care. This man is going down on me like he’s got one shot in life, and this is it.
As bad as I want to watch, my arms, along with the rest of my body, turn into a puddle of mush as I lay flat on my back, lost in pleasure. He shoves his hands under my ass and lifts me up to feast more on me. He’s not even fingering me. Dean’s only using his mouth.
His glorious, skillful, fuckable mouth .
I grip the top of his head, threading his hair in my fingers and hold him against me, so I can grind myself against him a little harder.
The way he smells. The roughness of his touch. His goddamn beard.
That. Fucking. Tongue.
I break out in a sweat when he sucks harder on my clit. Head tipping, back arching, my shoulders dig into the table as I ride his face. He doesn’t let up or break rhythm and soon I’m seeing stars.
The noise that leaves my mouth doesn’t sound like me at all. Gripping his hair by the roots, I scream like a banshee. When my orgasm finishes running through me, I lay back, winded and dizzy.
Holy moly, I’ve never come so hard in my life.
Dean stays right between my legs and looks up at me, licking his lips. “You know the difference between the counter and the table, Grace?”
What? Why is he…. Geez, I can’t catch my breath. Why… is he… asking questions… right now? “Umm what’s the difference?”
“You finish what’s on the table.”
This motherfucker goes back for seconds.
After thirds , I can’t feel my face and my clit is basically trying to keep up with Dean’s tongue. Once I beg him to stop, he finally unhooks my legs from around his head and helps me stand. With a satisfied smirk and beard glistening, Dean pulls my pants up and sets me straight again. “How do you feel about beards now?”
“Ten stars. Highly recommend.”
He busts out laughing. “Only ten? I’ll have to put in my all, next time. ”
“It was on a scale of one to five.” And what does he mean next time? “I don’t know if I’d survive a next time if there’s more to it than what you just did.”
“That was me using my manners, Grace.”
His gaze sails up and down my body, making me catch fire.
“Your manners, huh? What’s it take to get you to lose those and be a beast?” Grabbing him by the collar, I drag Dean down for another kiss and can smell my pussy on him. It’s so fucking hot.
Oscar barks out front, and a truck beeps its horn in three quick honks.
“Fuck.” Dean steps back and adjusts his hard dick in his pants.
That fast, our bubble pops. “New guests?”
“No. More work.” He kisses me quickly before grabbing his knife off the floor and tucking it in his back pocket. “I’m so sorry, but I—”
A truck door slams shut.
“Go.” I scoot away from him and fix myself. “It’s fine.”
“I can come back later.”
“No need.” The last thing I want is to be an obligation. “It’s really fine.”
Dean’s head drops and he mumbles something under his breath I can’t make out. His shoulders droop and eyes stay to the floor as he makes his way to the front door.
I suddenly panic. “Dean?”
He spins around quickly. Awkwardly. “Yeah?”
The hope in his voice throws me off. Am I reading into this all wrong? Maybe he wants to come back later. Maybe I’m not an obligation to him at all .
My mother’s voice suddenly fills my head, shoving doubt into my heart. “Never be a burden. Men hate a draining woman, Grace.”
The desire to ask him to come back later dies on my tongue. I end up vaguely gesturing around the cabin at nothing and everything because I have no clue what I’m doing. “Um… thanks. You know, for…” I stall out.
We stare at each other, and he arches his brow, waiting for me to continue. “For?”
My mouth’s too dry. “For warming me up.”
He looks annoyed. “Anytime.”
I’ve fucked up here, but he’s gone before I can figure out how to make it right. Gripping the sides of my head, I’m reeling. “You’re so stupid, Grace!”
Did I just make him feel used?
Wait. Did I use him?
I don’t know what I’m doing with Dean. I didn’t mean to let things go that far with him, but didn’t want to stop, either. It was exciting. Thrilling.
Forbidden for the old Grace Finch. Exhilarating for the new one I’m becoming.
I want to do it again. But I’m not the center of attention here. Dean’s priorities do not include me. Nor should they.
He’s got work to do.
Standing in front of the blazing fire, I gather up my scattered brain cells.
“Grace, you are not an obligation,” I say to myself. “You’re a delicious little snack.”
And I’m going to keep Dean hungry for me.