Chapter 6 Kaylee
KAYLEE
Iwake up slowly, which is unusual for me.
Most mornings my brain snaps on like a light—alarm, ponytail, shower, go.
But this morning, consciousness arrives in layers. Heat hits first. Then, the weight of an arm across my waist. And last, the smell of cedar and soap and…sex.
I’m in Dean's cabin. Dean's bed. With Dean's chest hair rough against my back, his body rising and falling as he breathes.
I just lie in it for a minute…the warm sheets, the morning light coming through the curtain, and the sound of birds outside.
The clock on the wall says six, so at least I can relax for a while.
Then I feel his mouth.
It starts at the back of my neck, soft and feather-light, as if he's testing whether or not I'm awake. His lips trace down to my shoulder, and his stubble scrapes gently against my skin, and a shiver rolls through me that I couldn't hide if I tried.
"Morning," he murmurs against my shoulder blade. His voice is rough with sleep, rumbly and deep.
"Mm. Morning."
He rolls me onto my back, and I blink up at him in the pale light. His hair is sticking up on one side, flattened on the other, and his eyes are that soft blue-gray. He looks younger. Rested.
He also looks like a man with a wicked plan.
"What are you doing?" I ask, though the answer becomes pretty obvious when he dips his head and presses his mouth to the column of my throat.
"Saying good morning." He kisses lower. "Properly."
“P-properly?” I stutter, as his tongue traces along my chest.
“Meaning, I’m showing you exactly why it’s a good morning.”
He takes my nipple into his mouth, and I gasp. His tongue circles slowly, lazily, and then he scrapes his teeth across the peak and I make a mewling sound as I arch into him.
"Mmm, such tender little nipples," he murmurs, moving to the other breast.
He works his way down my body with the patience of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. His mouth traces the curve of my ribs, nips at my waist, and when he reaches my stomach, he presses a long, slow kiss just below my navel that makes my muscles flutter.
"You're so soft here," he says, almost to himself, his thumb stroking the skin his lips just left.
I normally might deflect that—make a joke about skipping crunches or eating too many of the lodge’s cinnamon rolls. But the way he says it, with his mouth still hot against me and his hand spread wide across my hip, so possessively, I let it go.
He slides lower, and his hands ease my thighs apart. My breath catches because I know where this is going. "Dean—"
"Shh." He presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh, then the other, and his stubble rasps against the sensitive skin there. I squirm. "Tasting this sweet pussy is part of my good morning too, ya know.”
He settles between my legs—shoulders wedging my thighs wider, hands curling around my hips—and I’m already trembling with anticipation.
The first stroke of his tongue silences my nerves.
He licks me slowly, and the sound I make is not dignified. It's a full-bodied, back-arching moan.
"Fuck," I breathe.
“My god, your pussy is delicious,” he murmurs, as he licks and kisses, his tongue sliding through my folds, swirling around my clit, my hand flying to his hair to grab on.
He starts with slow, flat strokes that cover everything, alternating with focused, pointed licks right where I need them, and every time I think I've figured out the pattern, he changes it.
His tongue circles, then presses, then retreats to kiss the crease of my thigh before diving back in, and I'm writhing against his mouth in ecstasy.
"I hate that I love how you do that," I pant.
He chuckles, before dropping his mouth back onto me, and this time he sucks on my flesh and then my clit, working it with his tongue. I‘m bucking, seeing white spots behind my eyelids like fireworks at close range.
His hands grip my hips tighter, holding me exactly where he wants me, and he eats me as if I am breakfast for a starving lumberjack. The sounds he's making—deep, hungry growls—are obscene, and they're doing as much for me as his tongue.
"Oh my god, Dean, that’s so good. Right there…yes!" I gasp, and my voice comes out high and desperate.
He doubles down, tongue flattening against my clit as he shakes his head slightly from side to side.
Oh fuck…
I come so hard my whole body locks up, then breaks apart, pulsing and shaking, and I'm gripping his hair with one hand and the sheet with the other, and the sound I make is somewhere between a sob and a scream.
He works me through it as he groans…gentler, slower, his tongue soft until the aftershocks fade to trembling. Then he kisses the inside of my thigh, my hip, my stomach, and crawls up my body to hover over me with the most self-satisfied expression ever.
I grab his face and kiss him hard, tasting myself on his mouth, and he laughs against my lips.
He’s hard against my thigh as I push his shoulder and he rolls onto his back easily. I slide down his body.
“This cock deserves a good morning, also,” I say, wrapping my hand around him. He groans loudly.
I kiss his chest, then move lower…down his rippled stomach, following that trail of dark hair that has tormented my dreams for the last two weeks. I look up at him from between his legs and his chest is heaving.
"Kaylee." My name comes out strangled.
I don’t answer, I just press my lips to the head of his cock, and he curses. I take him into my mouth and his moans—so deep and broken—are working me up all over again. His fingers thread through my hair, gripping loosely.
I work him the way he worked me, varying the pace, the pressure, and the depth. I go slow when he's getting close, faster when his breathing evens out.
He catches on immediately.
"You're the sexiest little brat," he grits out, his head tipped back against the pillow, the tendons in his neck standing out. "You're—Christ—you're amazing."
I hum around him and his whole body shudders.
I'm having fun. I'm enjoying this. His reactions are so hot, and knowing this strong, handsome, and once guarded man is completely under my power is exhilarating.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, and his grip in my hair tightens.
"Kaylee—baby, I'm close. I'm—" His voice fractures.
I swirl my tongue over the tip and saw at that sensitive spot just under it.
“Fuck, I’m coming—” His body curls forward, his hand cradling the back of my head as he spills into me. And I swallow everything he has to give.
When I finally lift my head, he's staring at the ceiling and huffing out heavy breaths.
I crawl up and lie next to him. "You okay there?"
He turns to look at me and blinks, his expression dazed, flushed, and so openly happy that it makes my heart stutter.
"You're remarkable,” he says simply.
"I know." I grin, and he laughs, reaching up to touch my dimple with his thumb.
We lie there for a while. His arm is around me, my head on his chest, and his heartbeat settles back to something normal under my ear as the light through the curtain gets stronger.
His hand moves slowly up and down my arm—shoulder to elbow and back. "I want this, Kaylee," he says. "Whatever this is."
"That’s deep."
He huffs a laugh. "I'm not good at this part."
"The talking-about-your-feelings part?"
"Any of it.” He pauses. "But I'm not going anywhere. And I promise to give you everything I can.”
I lift my head to look at him. "Actually, that's not bad at all, Dean."
His eyes crinkle. "Must be the afterglow."
I settle back against his chest and let the silence breathe for a minute. There's a bird outside the window singing something complicated and repetitive, and there’s the distant clank of the lodge kitchen starting up for breakfast.
"Connor talked to me yesterday. Right before I came to see you,” Dean says, and his voice is quieter, almost tentative, like he's testing the weight of something before he sets it down. "About a permanent role."
"What kind of permanent role?"
"He wants me to develop a new program. Wilderness Skills and Safety. Not just filling in for the crew, but building something from the ground up—curriculum, training progressions, guest workshops. Something with my name on it."
I push up onto my elbow so I can see his face. He's looking at the ceiling, jaw working, and I realize this isn't casual information. This is the other half of his choice…to settle down.
"Dean. That's—that's huge."
"Yeah." He swallows. "It is."
“What did you say?”
"I told him I needed a day to think about it." He turns his head to look at me, and there's something raw and uncertain there. It’s probably the kid inside of him whose uncle was the only person who ever made him feel worthy.
"What's there to think about?"
"Whether I'm the right person. Whether I'll screw it up. Whether putting my name on something permanent is—" He stops and laughs at himself…a short, humorless sound. "The usual."
I put my hand on his chest, over his heart.
"Listen to me. I have watched you for two weeks. You’ve gone above and beyond what’s been asked of you…
teaching kids how to throw, fixing marriages through sawing demonstrations.
" I chuckle. "Connor isn't giving you this because he feels sorry for you.
He's giving it to you because you earned it.
You deserve it, Dean. You're a natural teacher who is so generous with his time and his heart, and everyone at this camp can see that.”
His jaw ticks, and he blinks hard. "Kaylee."
"Say yes."
He nods, and the tension in his shoulders seems to release on the spot. It’s as if he just set down something he's been carrying for a lifetime.
"Yeah," he says. "I will."
I lean down and kiss him. When I pull back, his hand comes up to brush the hair from my face.
This is what I wanted all along.
But this time, I didn't wait to be chosen. I looked at the truth—every part of it—and I said yes, he’s the one.
I chose him with clear eyes and a full heart.
"We should probably get to work," I say, though I make no effort to move.
“People are going to notice we're both late.”
“People are going to notice a lot of things.”
“I’m more than okay with that.” He grins.
I give him a quick kiss, then steal his flannel off the floor, because my polo is wrinkled beyond salvation, and this shirt smells like him. “I’m keeping this.”
He watches me button it with a look that suggests he’s not going to fight me on it.
"Come on, lumberjack," I say, reaching for his hand. "You've got a program to build."
He takes my hand and squeezes it. "I can’t wait."